I Don't Hate Cancer.

I’m closing out 2021 with the last in a series of blogs chronicling my firsthand experience with the power of mindfulness in moments of personal upheaval.

Early on in my breast cancer experience, someone gave me a ring inscribed “f**k cancer.” While I truly understand and appreciate the spirit in which it was given, as I reflect on my journey now, the implied anger of that phrase isn’t how I really feel.

I don’t hate cancer. Rather, I love life. And, surprisingly, the two are intrinsically connected.

My cancer experience—the wake-up calls, facing the fear, and finding acceptance as described in earlier blogs—has given me a greater sense of the joy and peace of living than at any other time in my life.

Yes, of course, cancer is a terrible disease. No rational person would choose to have it. Yet, I’ve come to a new understanding that works for me.

One of the several books I read during this experience, Cancer and Vitamin C by Ewan Cameron and Linus Pauling, describes what a cancer cell is. My takeaway—and I’m paraphrasing here—is that each of the more than 35 trillion cells in our bodies has a specific job to do. Sometimes a cell gets tired of its job, steps out of line, and decides to go party. That’s what a cancer cell does. It goes rogue, wreaks havoc, and urges other cells to come along for the ride. I don’t know about you, but I can actually relate to that.

Then cancer therapy comes along and says, “Hey kids, you’ve had your fun, the parents are home, the lights are on, and the party’s over.”

I know this may sound goofy, but there was something about that image that appealed to my mindful spirit. I recognized that I had a choice. I could go to a dark, angry, negative place, hating my cancer, or I could take a lighter, more aware, even playful approach.


I purposefully decided that I wasn’t going to hate my body for having cancer. We’ve all beaten ourselves up enough over the years, looking in the mirror and not liking what we see. I wasn’t going to add self-inflicted pain and additional stress to what was sure to already be one of the greatest challenges of my life.

Rather, I was going to approach it mindfully—openly aware, in each moment, with curiosity and kindness for what is present. In our Inseus Mindful Self-Compassion Course, we pose the question: Are you an inner enemy or an inner ally to yourself? As an inner ally, we lift and empower ourselves. As an inner enemy, we inflict more stress and even trauma.

I emphasize that here because in order for it to work, this mindful approach had to amount to more than pure bravado. I had to take action beyond my medical treatment to heal completely—physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

Empowered by community, old and new

As if by instinct, I turned to yoga right away. Because of my compromised immune system and the COVID-19 pandemic, I centered my yoga practice virtually through Yogaview, my “home” yoga studio in Chicago.

I’ve been part of the Yogaview community since it’s inception 20 years ago, but more recently I’d let work and a busy lifestyle separate me from regular participation. I recommitted myself to daily virtual classes immediately following my diagnosis and took only three days off after my surgery before I was back in class again.

I practice vinyasa flow yoga, which is oriented around breath, alignment, and continuous movement. It is often very active, energetic, and athletic, and it can also be gentle, calming, and restorative at times. It felt wonderful to feel so alive and welcome among other like-minded practitioners every day, even if only on a screen.


My yoga practice was a very intentional return to basics and gave me a renewed sense of community and connection that became integral to my recovery. It’s the kind of connection that has replicated itself more broadly and in other ways since.

For the last five years, I’ve also been a part of a women's group called LiFT, which stands for Living in Flow Together. Unbeknownst to me until I shared my diagnosis at one of our (now-virtual) monthly meetings, many of the amazing women in this group have also survived cancer. The tribe immediately circled around and supported me, even helping to steer me towards some of the medical team members I chose. They also sent food, light, warmth, and love, which was just what I needed to build resilience. If you’d like to join a LiFT group, they can be found through ALTAR Community in Chicago.

Image Credit: ROW

One of my most meaningful new community connections has been with ROW, Recovery on Water. A Chicago-based rowing club founded in 2007, its stated purpose is “to give breast cancer patients and survivors the unique opportunity to interact, become active in their recovery, and gain support from their peers.”

Ironically, well before my breast cancer diagnosis, I had been invited by ROW to teach mindful leadership, meditation, and yoga to its members. After my initial diagnosis, I got back in touch and just as soon as my doctors would permit, I joined and now continue to row weekly with the ROW team.

There’s something about learning and participating in this new sport at the age of 53 that has been incredibly empowering. Rowing also feels a bit meditative with the repetition of movement and breath, the strike and sound of the oars moving through water, and the connection with the outdoors. Most important, the support I receive and the solidarity I feel with this community of warriors and survivors has been extraordinarily healing, inspiring, and nurturing.

Community outside in

I recognize that community can be much more than participating in an organization. Other connections have come out of the woodwork in lovely, surprising ways. When I was undergoing radiation, a friend I really don’t know all that well suddenly appeared and offered to drive me to my daily treatments.

Cancer has also presented me with opportunities to be present for others. One day after a two-hour practice with the rowing team, I had lunch with a friend who had recently been diagnosed to talk about her cancer.

She was at the very beginning of her journey, and like me at that stage, she was meticulous about the science and the details of the disease. I could tell that she was reading, reading, reading, learning, learning, learning and doing a lot of catastrophizing.

I sensed her enormous fear and found myself wanting to single-handedly pull her out of that place. I also recognized that everybody has to experience cancer in their own way and, at that moment, the best I could do was be present as part of her community of hope and positivity.

Empathy amplified

Even my professional life has opened up a new, unexpected sense of community. As an Inseus instructor, I teach our Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) courses and I was in the middle of one when I got my initial diagnosis. Ironically, that particular course was part of a research initiative with a neuroscientist who was researching the impact of mindfulness-based interventions with his community of cancer patients.


I’ve had cancer patients in MBSR courses before and have put myself in their shoes by remembering times in my life when I had experienced fear and uncertainty. Having actually now walked in those shoes, I recognize that embracing my cancer mindfully, as I’ve done, has allowed me to experience empathy like never before.


That’s not to say that if you haven't personally experienced another’s life-changing challenge, you can't empathize or be a good teacher. I’m only saying that for me in this particular instance, teaching felt even more intuitive, as if there's nothing separating me from the cancer patients I was teaching.

Family matters

The impact my cancer had on my immediate family is perhaps the most complex of all. The unconditional love, support, and strength of my husband, kids, parents, and siblings has given us a renewed appreciation for each other and strengthened our relationships.

I also have to remember that each of them shared, in their own way, many of the same emotions I experienced: the fear, anxiety, and stress, as well as the hope and heightened awareness of the healing power of mindfulness—taking one moment at a time, with openness, kindness, and without judgement.

So, do I hate cancer?

Absolutely not. As life-threatening as a diagnosis may feel, I’ve found that it can also be life-affirming and empowering. I credit mindfulness for enabling me to allow that to happen.

Throughout each moment of this journey, one of the practices that has supported me the most is noticing pleasant events. Whether it’s the feeling of wind on my face, the familiar voice of a friend, the warmth of a smile, the simple sensation of breathing—even in the midst of difficult times, pleasant events are always there if we look for them, notice them, and give them “air time.” To learn more about the science of gratitude and how another cancer patient has plugged into this powerful practice along her own journey, check out this 10-minute TED talk by Christina Costa.

I would be remiss to not also give credit to the entire Inseus community of students, practitioners, instructors, and friends who have given me the opportunity to continue to do what I love to do—learn, practice and teach—as I have navigated this challenging time. I invite you to join us to embrace living fully and connect with community. Click here to check out all of our upcoming programs and find one that resonates with you!

To close out this series of blogs on my cancer experience, and as we approach a new year, I’ll leave you with a special video that can inspire us all with its message of hope and courage.

Happy holidays and best wishes for a healthy, prosperous new year.

Mindfully yours,
Ashley