One Year After Setting World Records, I Chose a Preventative Double Mastectomy

People often assume I’m fearless.

I own a CrossFit gym. I’m a nursing student. I work in plastic surgery. I’ve spent years helping others become stronger, healthier, and more confident. Much of my life has been built around discipline, resilience, and pushing through discomfort. On paper, I look like someone who has it all figured out.

The truth is, I was terrified.

Breast cancer became personal for me in 2020 when my mother was diagnosed. As an adult, I had a front-row seat to the uncertainty, fear, appointments, treatments, and difficult decisions that come with a breast cancer diagnosis. Watching someone you love navigate that journey changes the way you think about your own health. It changes the way you think about risk, time, and the future you hope to have.

Years later, when I was diagnosed with atypical ductal hyperplasia (ADH), everything changed. Suddenly, I wasn’t the gym owner coaching classes, the nursing student studying for exams, or the medical assistant helping patients through their own journeys.

I was simply a woman trying to make one of the hardest decisions of her life.

A Tale of Two Decembers

On December 15, 2024, I experienced one of the proudest moments of my athletic career, setting world records after years of hard work, discipline, and dedication. Exactly one year later, on December 15, 2025, I underwent a prophylactic double mastectomy.

The significance of those dates wasn’t lost on me. One year earlier, I was celebrating what my body could accomplish. One year later, I was trusting it to carry me through one of the most difficult decisions I would ever make.

After surgery, life looked very different. I wasn’t focused on competitions, workouts, or accomplishments. I was focused on healing.

Sitting with the Fear

I was scared before surgery, waking up afterward, looking in the mirror, and wondering if I would ever feel like myself again. People often think strength means being fearless. This experience taught me that isn’t true. Strength and fear can exist at the same time.

For someone whose life has revolved around movement, fitness, and performance, being forced to slow down felt almost as difficult as the surgery itself. My routine disappeared overnight. My body no longer felt familiar. For the first time in a long time, I couldn’t simply work harder to fix something.

Recovery demanded something different:

• Patience
• Trust
• Grace

Those aren’t qualities most athletes enjoy practicing.

The Non-Linear Path of Healing

On May 12, 2026, I underwent revision surgery as part of my reconstruction journey. Like so many women discover, healing isn’t a single event. It’s a process. It’s physical, emotional, and often far longer than people realize.

As the weeks turned into months, I slowly rebuilt—not just physically, but mentally. I learned that healing isn’t linear:

Some days you feel unstoppable; other days you feel vulnerable. Some days you celebrate progress; other days you question everything. And all of that is part of the process.

One of the greatest lessons this experience taught me is that strength isn’t measured by what you can lift, how much you can accomplish, or how tough you appear to others.

• Strength is making a decision that scares you and moving forward anyway.
• Strength is trusting yourself when there are no guarantees.
• Strength is choosing your future over your comfort.

People often tell me, “You’re so strong.” The truth is, I wasn’t brave because I wasn’t scared. I was brave because I was terrified—and I did it anyway.

A Practice of Gratitude

Today, I am profoundly grateful:

• For early detection and modern medicine.
• For my surgeons and healthcare team.
• For my family, my husband, my friends, and my community who reminded me who I was when I temporarily forgot.

Most of all, I’m grateful for my body. Not because it’s perfect, or because it looks exactly the same as it once did, but because it continues to show up for me every single day.

Moving Forward Together

As a gym owner, nursing student, medical assistant in plastic surgery, and athlete, I’ve spent years studying what makes people physically strong. This journey taught me something far more important:

The strongest women I know aren’t the ones who never get scared. They’re the ones who keep moving forward anyway.

I’m sharing this because I know how lonely it can feel when your body changes or when you’re facing a choice that terrifies you.

If you’ve ever had to reinvent your relationship with your health, movement, or strength—or if you’re in the thick of it right now—I’d love to hear your story. Message me on Instagram, or come find me on the gym floor. Let’s keep moving forward together.