Before I tell you where I am now, I need to take you back a few years. I was a shell of myself. No energy. No libido. Brain fog so thick I couldn’t think straight. Weight was creeping on no matter what I did. I smiled through it, kept moving, kept momming — but inside, I was running on fumes. I remember one night crying to my husband because I didn’t have the strength to put my kids to bed. Not the will. The strength. I was 40 years old.
My first assumption? Menopause. I mean, that had to be it, right? Except — nope. I wasn’t in menopause. I just had zero detectable estrogen in my body. At 40. Which, honestly, might be more alarming than menopause would have been, because at least that has a roadmap.
So I did something about it. I found a doctor who listened, did the research, and started hormone replacement therapy — estrogen, progesterone, and testosterone. Within weeks, I felt like myself again. Like an actual, functioning human being. I remember thinking: so this is what I’ve been missing. It was that dramatic.
Fast forward to December. Yep, that post. Stage 0 breast cancer, caught on an MRI. Lumpectomy scheduled, hormones stopped. And then — because the universe has a sense of humor — my oncologist tells me the next step is Tamoxifen.
For those who don’t know, Tamoxifen essentially strips your body of any remaining estrogen. It blocks estrogen receptors to starve any potential cancer cells. It is, medically speaking, the right call. I understand that. I do.
But here’s the part nobody warned me about: I would be right back where I started pre-HRT.
I had my lumpectomy in February. The cancer is gone. I should feel relieved — and I do. But last week, I had to lie down three times before 3 PM. Three times. This may not sound earth-shattering, but I’m not someone who naps. I run on sheer will like every other mom I know. But the exhaustion hit like a wall. Remember that first-trimester exhaustion, ladies, double it. The hormones are gone, and it just… sucks.
My body, which I finally felt at home in again after years of HRT, feels foreign again. And I have at least three years of this ahead of me.
Here’s what I wasn’t prepared for: I am more angry about this than I was about the cancer diagnosis.
I realize that might sound strange. The cancer is gone. The lumpectomy worked. Early detection did exactly what it was supposed to do. I’m here, I’m healthy, I’m grateful — genuinely grateful. But I also feel like I’m being handed a consolation prize that consists of feeling like garbage indefinitely.
I fought my way back to feeling like myself once. I did the work, found the answers, and advocated for my own body. And now I’m watching that all get undone, medically and necessarily, but undone just the same. This was not in the breast cancer manual. The frustration of losing your hormones, your energy, your sense of yourself — twice.
I sadly don’t have an amazing inspirational quote to offer you at the end of this post. I’m in the middle of it. I’m still figuring it out. I DO know that being cancer-free is a gift. But it’s okay to also say that the road after the diagnosis is hard, too. Both things are true. And I’ll keep writing about it either way.
Have you navigated hormone changes, HRT, or life post-cancer treatment? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.
Editor’s note: Lauren previously shared her story anonymously, but is now choosing to put her name to her words. For her, it’s part of the healing process, rooted in acceptance and hope.
