In 2017, three months after my 30th birthday, I was told that I was going to die, soon, from metastatic cervical cancer. It was the single best piece of news I have ever received. 

As a lifelong perfectionist, I was a driven career woman. First in theater, while excelling in retail, and later, in real estate. I hit all the marks, got the promotions, landed all the deals, but I was physically and emotionally bereft. I had no idea that I was living in a constant state of stress. I would lay in bed at night dissecting every conversation and beating myself up for not saying or doing the "right" thing. I was afraid of everything.

My first cancer diagnosis happened in 2012. I had been living the life in Boston. Perfect apartment on Beacon Hill, perfect position at a luxury retail store in Copley Place, dating the man who would eventually become my husband and my rock. Cancer wasn't even on my radar. There hadn't been a lot of cancer diagnoses in my immediate family and the "c" word only had come up for former smokers and older generations that I had never met. So, when they told me not only did I have cancer, but I would need surgery, it was quite a shock to my whole perfect world.

I was assured by my team of doctors that I had "the good kind of cancer" and that "we caught it early." "The 'cure rate' is high." As we began treatment, it became clear that it was actually much more aggressive than they anticipated. My "treatment plan" began with two minor surgeries (surgery is never minor btw) in 2012, which was followed by two more surgeries, and eventually resulted in a total hysterectomy in 2015. I was 28 years old and barely married for one year. My hysterectomy was supported by "preventative" chemotherapy and radiation. If you don't know much about chemo and radiation, they are highly toxic to not only cancer but every other part of your body.

I am not a shoulda, coulda, woulda, person, but I wish I could say that I learned to supplement my lifestyle to treat my cancer, as well, but I didn't. I continued to work 60-80 hour work weeks, forgoing quality time with family and friends to chase a goal that I don't remember setting for myself. The summer of 2017 was pretty intense work-wise and when my stomach began to swell, I was more annoyed than concerned. I ignored the red flags that my body was raising as clues to signal something wasn't right. A few weeks after the swelling began, a co-worker who was also a nurse urged me to leave work immediately and go see a doctor. There was something in her face and honestly, something inherent in me that made me listen to her. Less than two weeks later, I  was admitted to the hospital immediately. I was given six to twelve months to live. The cancer had spread to my stomach and surrounding organs. I went to sleep, and when I woke up, it was as though a light bulb went off in my brain and spread the light through my body—I would not embrace fear. I would focus only on love.

The seeds of love were sown. I left the hospital a week later and began very aggressive chemotherapy. My body was shattered. I could barely get out of bed. Every day, I would meditate and manifest on all the things I would do after treatment. My legacy became a huge focal point. You never think you would actually have to think about legacy at the age of thirty. I wanted to feel confident that if I died, I would have made a difference in one person's life.

For me, service to others has always been the most rewarding and fulfilling. You can't be stuck in a stress hamster wheel if you are actively trying to be present for someone else. So, while I was undergoing treatment and being present for those around me, I would get better and become a yoga teacher.

And in 2018, I did just that—odds really didn't apply to me. I managed to get my body into complete cancer remission and became a certified yoga instructor. It has been the most satisfying career I have ever had. A beautiful balance between work and life for me. In July 2019, my cancer returned, but this time, I wasn’t nearly as shaken as before. I decided to keep teaching yoga despite the side effects from treatment. I gave myself permission to be honest with my students about what my body was experiencing and adjusted my teaching style to align with my body's condition. The beauty was that, in sharing my vulnerability and letting go of my need for perfection, I found support, strength, community, joy, and appreciation. I’ve always believed and said that yoga was for EVERY body and here was the proof. As I opened up about my journey, friends and loved ones began connecting me with other people with cancer in the hopes that I could help them on their journey, deepening my sense of purpose to help others.

Toward the end of 2019, in the middle of chemotherapy, with the help of the universe, I walked into a beautiful coffee and floral shop and had a deep sense of knowing that I was supposed to teach yoga there. After speaking with the owner, who laughed off my determined premonition, I was even more focused. After a few months of persistence, I connected with the owner's girlfriend and we decided to partner together to open up The Sukha Barn. We had no idea that three months later a pandemic would hit the world and my liver would go into failure.

Pandemics have nothing on cancer survivors. We have been practicing making huge life adjustments and safety precautions as part of everyday living. Today, I have been living, strike that, thriving with cancer for eight years. I am accustomed to pivoting and adapting my life, so when we could no longer offer in-person classes, we were able to embrace online sessions and yoga offerings and our community was super supportive. We don't know if or when we will be able to open our physical space again, but we don't view this as a setback or business failure. I am fiercely proud that we went for it and did it. It was a personal achievement for us. We have been able to hold space for a community faced with uncertainty and despair during a very indented time and I will always be grateful to not live with the “what if?”

I have been hospitalized three times since March 1st, including a lengthy stay in July. It was in this space that I committed to writing a book about cancer and how to shift your perception and perspective. While it may not buy you more time like it continues to do for me, it will certainly maximize the experience you have with the time you are given. Instead of focusing on fear and anger, I am deeply grateful to move forward with clarity, love, and focus on my next passion project. Sometimes, we can walk through life as if we are promised another tomorrow. Making small changes today can turn the small seeds into blooming joys inviting gratitude and appreciation into the given moments. These little actions are what I consider my real treatment. Cancer is the symptom. Love and gratitude are the cure. My life has been completely full each and every day because I choose love.

My advice for you is to take the leap. You make the small changes to create space for the bigger opportunities. Trevor Noah said the following and it has always stuck with me, "We spend so much time being afraid of failure, afraid of rejection. But regret is the thing we should fear most. Failure is an answer. Rejection is an answer. Regret is an eternal question you will never have the answer to."

About the Author: Lauren Lopez is a 200RYT yoga instructor (currently studying for her 500RYT), co-owner of The Sukha Barn, an all-inclusive studio in Westford, Massachusetts, and working on launching ThrivR, a non-profit organization dedicated to empowering young adults thriving with cancer and other terminal diagnoses to embrace “thrive over survive” and offering access to information and inspiration to guide them daily and writing a book. After being diagnosed with terminal cancer a fourth time in March, Lauren continues to motivate others by living a fear-free life and spreading the sound of merriment everywhere she can. Lauren has also committed herself to whole wellness incorporating elements of Eastern Medicine, living intuitively, yoga, and energy work changing her diagnoses to thriving, not surviving.

Editor’s note: It is with heavy hearts that we report Lauren's passing after an unbelievable battle with cancer. She leaves a legacy and her inspiration will live on.

MORE ON THE BLOG