What Do You Do When You Find Your Purpose?

What do you do when you find your purpose?

As Women’s History Month comes to a close, I find myself sitting quietly with a question that has echoed in my soul ever since I rang that bell and said goodbye to chemo.

I didn’t find mine on a mountaintop or in a boardroom. I found it somewhere between the beeping of infusion pumps and the silence of 2 a.m. prayers. Somewhere between losing my hair and learning how to breathe through fear. Between the moment I sat in that cold chair and the moment I stood in the mirror, looking at the woman who survived.

I used to be so many things. A wife. A mother. A professional. A woman with goals, a calendar full of meetings, and a life that had rhythm. Then came the word that rearranges everything. Cancer. And suddenly, all I could see was the fight ahead.

But cancer didn’t take me. It stripped me, yes. It bruised my body and cracked me open. But in that brokenness, something remarkable happened. I saw clearly. I saw the faces of women who looked like me, who didn’t get the chance to fight or survive. I saw the gaps. The inequities. The silence around our stories. I saw how many of us walk through pain with grace and still don’t get heard.

And I know I can’t go back to who I was. Not because she wasn’t worthy, but because I’ve seen too much. Felt too much. Survived too much. I’ve been given the gift of life when so many others didn’t wake up to see another sunrise. That isn’t something I can carry quietly.

Now, I’m back at work. That part of the journey is happening in real time, and it’s harder than I imagined. I thought returning would feel like reclaiming something. Like getting my life back. But the truth is, I’m sitting at my desk most days feeling like a stranger in a space that once felt familiar.

My calendar is full. My inbox is busy. I smile on Zoom calls and nod in meetings. I hit my deadlines. But there’s this quiet tug in my chest that never goes away. I’m not who I was before, and I’m trying to figure out how to show up as this new version of me in a space that expects the old one.

Some days, I feel powerful. Like I’ve been through the fire and came back with gold. Other days, I feel fragile, unsure if I belong in a world that kept spinning while I was fighting to stay alive. It’s disorienting. It’s lonely. And it’s real.

I’m not looking for pity. I’m looking for space. Space to evolve. Space to breathe. Space to find myself again. Cancer tried to write the final chapter for me, but I picked up the pen and started a new one. And in this chapter, I’m learning to balance the woman I was with the woman I’m becoming.

Mental health matters. I won’t pretend that I have it all figured out. Healing doesn’t end when treatment does. The body starts to recover, but the soul takes time. I’m still processing. Still grieving. Still growing. And I remind myself daily that it’s okay to not be okay. That it’s okay to ask for grace while I find my rhythm.

Women fight every single day. We fight to be seen. To be heard. To be safe. To be well. And we do it while holding up our families, showing up for our jobs, and carrying generations of strength on our backs.

So as Women’s History Month ends, I want to honor every woman who is fighting in silence. Every survivor. Every caregiver. Every sister, mother, daughter, friend. I want to honor the women who didn’t survive, and those who are still here, holding on with everything they have.

My purpose is to speak, share, and give back. To turn my pain into power. To help others find their voice before it’s too late. I didn’t survive to keep quiet. I survived to stand in the gap. To advocate. To pull up more chairs at the table. To make sure our stories aren’t lost in the noise.

So, what do you do when you find your purpose?

You walk in it. Even if your knees are shaking. Even if your heart still hurts. You walk. And you keep walking until your story becomes someone else’s lifeline.

Because love is my legacy. And now, my purpose is clear.

If my story moved you, I invite you to follow along as I build The Advocates Table—my platform for advocacy, healing, and empowerment. Let’s change the narrative for the next woman, together.

Tell me, what battle are you quietly fighting that the world needs to hear about?