Four women share their life-affirming stories on living with metastatic breast cancer

And then you have to go, Okay, I didn’t do anything wrong, but this is my reality. And I made peace with it.

I have a sticky note on my desk that says, “You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore before you decide to be happy.” I look at it when I’m having a tough day and remind myself that being happy is a choice.

When I came out of chemo, I wanted to get stronger. I started weight lifting, went to the gym, and did heavy squats. I documented it on Instagram, and that gave me an identity after going through the initial stages of chemotherapy. But as time has gone on, I don’t really identify as much physically with that person.

I wanted my body to be strong. I wanted to show other people I could be strong. But it’s morphed into something else. What I think of as strength isn’t physical anymore. I wanted to be a better version of myself than I was before. Now I don’t feel that pressure.

You look fear in the face. After such an extreme experience, you’re not as afraid. That’s also a benefit from it. The worst thing that’s going to happen has already happened. I recognise that I can get through very difficult things, things that I never thought I could because I don’t have a choice — and I manage to find joy. I get up every day and do the best I can. 

It’ll be six years since my diagnosis in January, and I’m more hopeful than I’ve ever been for a longer future. I mean, you don’t wanna say these things out loud, right? You don’t want to jinx yourself. But I feel well. I’m still in this storm where things can change, but I’m living my life. I push through with positivity, affirmations, sleep, meditations, exercise, and champagne.

MAGGIE, 31

Ballet has always been my first love. I love the rules of it. If it’s right, it’s right. And if it’s wrong, it’s wrong. There’s no in-between.

But you can also still show your personality. Ballet dancers aren’t all robots. A tendu — or leg extended in front — can be beautiful. And it’s the simplest movement in the world. It’s not a flip. It’s not a turn. The simple steps are beautiful.

I’ve been a dancer my whole life and dance is my life. I was on the path to becoming a professional ballet dancer — dancing at the Joffrey Ballet Concert Group in New York — and got the news I had metastatic breast cancer.

I went in knowing nothing about it at age 23, and it took me a good year and a half to really understand what metastatic breast cancer was — and to understand that it’s not terrible. I have a short life expectancy, but I’ve accepted it.

It’s been seven years and my mindset has changed. Every year, new treatments come out and something new is discovered. It keeps me hopeful that maybe the next time I need to switch treatments, the next drug could be the one that keeps me alive for 10 or 15 more years. I now have METS in my brain, but I’m hopeful because you never know what’s around the corner.

Anytime I’m in the studio, I put aside what’s happening outside that door and am in the moment. Whether it’s teaching, dancing myself, or taking class, it’s like therapy for me — I can release everything. Even if I’m not dancing at the level I was before, I’m able to do the basics, and that’s therapeutic for me. Instead of talking to someone, I can dance my feelings away.

I remind myself of a Dolly Parton quote: “If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.” There’s always a hard time before a good time. There’s always something beautiful about a negative. I’ve had wonderful moments in the past seven years that I wouldn’t change for the world, and I’ve just had to go through something really horrible to get a lot of those moments. 

This article originally appeared on Allure.