Body Image
My journey into holistic hormone health has unfolded alongside a deeper relationship with self-acceptance and love for my body. After years in the professional ballet world, I developed a deeply dysmorphic view of my weight and physique—constantly comparing what I should look like to what I actually looked like.
Learning about female hormonal fluctuations was both liberating and empowering. It gave me a framework to work with my body rather than against it—offering flexibility, grace, and a way forward toward my goals.
Over the past couple of years, I’ve felt grounded in my body. I’ve grown mostly neutral about the seasonal shifts in weight and composition, and I was especially proud of where I’d landed physically in the months leading up to my diagnosis. Through my cyclical approach to movement and regular strength training (more weightlifting than I’d ever done before), I felt strong.
So when I began losing weight in January, I was confused. I assumed it had to do with a recent shift toward lower carb intake and less movement since my persistent cough was keeping me from doing much Pilates. Still, my pants were getting looser and looser—despite recently sizing up. That felt strange.
At urgent care, I weighed in just a couple pounds below my normal weight, which confused me even more. How could my clothes be looser, but the scale wasn’t budging much? Was I really losing muscle that quickly?
Looking back, that discrepancy should have been a giant red flag. Cancer—and its treatment—can bring rapid and dramatic changes to the body. And those changes have rocked my confidence to its core.
Once I was admitted to the ER and had a chest tube placed, the reason for the mismatch became clear: one liter of fluid weighs about two pounds. Between eight and ten liters were drained from my chest almost immediately. That’s a sudden loss of nearly 20 pounds.
By the time I was transferred to the Anschutz Center in Colorado, I weighed just 114 pounds—about 30 pounds below my usual. After weeks confined to a hospital bed, I watched my muscles waste away in real time. The skin on my legs sagged. My bottom disappeared. My face looked hollow.
I had never seen my body so weak, and I began to lose trust in it. Even walking a lap around the unit felt monumental. But I knew I was at a crossroads. I had to reclaim autonomy over my body in order to heal.
Even tethered to heart monitors and IV lines, I pushed myself to walk with my mom and the kind CNAs—first one lap, then two. When I was discharged after three weeks, I was nowhere near full strength, but I had the confidence to move again and the determination to rebuild.
Had my situation not been an emergency, I might have had time to emotionally prepare for the changes chemotherapy brings. Chemo targets rapidly dividing cells—like cancer, but also hair and eggs (a story for another post). I later learned about “cold caps,” which can help preserve hair during treatment—but that information came a little too late.
Before my diagnosis, I wasn’t just proud of my strength—I was proud of my hair. After a lifetime of fine, thin hair, a protein-rich diet and Wellbel supplements had helped it grow long and thick, reaching to my mid-back.
My long, strong hair in October 2024
About a week and a half after my first chemo cycle, I ran a brush through my hair and whimpered as a large chunk came out. Jordan, anticipating this moment, heard me in the bathroom and came to comfort me. It felt like the pieces that made me me were falling away. My feminine curves, my long hair—gone and gone.
Despite the shedding, I managed to hold onto most of it for about a week. But when the follicles fully died, it tangled into a matted mess within minutes. By the time I was readmitted for cycle two, I was ready.
I asked the nurses for clippers and shaved my head in the hospital bathroom. When it was done, I felt free. Lighter. Now I just had to learn how to tie a headscarf.
Freshly shaved matted mess
Embracing my new look
Needless to say, this past month and a half has been a rollercoaster. But time—especially time outside the hospital—really does heal. Sunshine, fresh air, nourishing meals, sleeping in my own bed, and being surrounded by the love of my life and our three dogs have been the balm I didn’t know I needed.
Between treatments, I have regular follow-ups to check my labs. That means constant weigh-ins, where I quietly celebrate every pound gained. My weight still fluctuates a bit, but I’ve gained back about 10 pounds from my lowest. I’m still below my normal, but I’m stronger. And that strength has brought back a little more confidence each day.
I’m learning to love this version of myself. I know it’s temporary—that soon I’ll be able to channel even more energy into rebuilding, and my hair will grow back.
For now, I’m finding gratitude in the little things… like how fast I can shower without all that hair.
