When Healing Meant Letting Go

I was 35 when I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

At the time, I had four little kids, ages six to one and a half. Overnight, we were thrown into a new world — genetics, surgery, chemo, and radiation. Our friends and family rallied around us, and we felt incredibly supported. Living in Israel, we also had to figure out the

Photo by Baran Lotfollahi on Unsplash

Israeli medical system, but we truly felt that every doctor and nurse we met did their best for us and treated us like family.

Looking back, I don’t think I made any big, conscious decision about how I would handle everything. I just knew one thing: I couldn’t keep it a secret. I’m a people person by nature, and the idea of hiding what I was going through or disappearing for months didn’t make sense. Thank G-d, I felt pretty good throughout treatment. I still picked my kids up from gan, did homework with my first grader, and spent afternoons at the park. People would say I was “amazing,” but really, being social helped me cope. Trying to stay normal was what I needed most.

The harder part for me was figuring out how to bring Hashem into all of this. I worked hard to see my diagnosis not as something random, but as something He sent me to build me. I wanted to move from seeing Hashem as distant to feeling that He was walking beside me every day. Learning to accept what was happening and to give over control didn’t come naturally. I’m someone who likes to be in charge, and cancer forced me to face how little control I actually had. It was a powerful push in the right direction, but definitely still a work in progress.

When I finished what I called my “active treatment,” I celebrated. My cancer had been estrogen positive, so I knew I’d have to take a daily hormone pill for a few years, but it felt like the worst was behind me.

Most women don’t get their period during chemo. My doctors had told me that whether it returns afterward really depends on the person — there’s no way to predict it. So when, almost right after finishing radiation, I got my period again — literally the day before we flew to the States for the chagim — I was thrilled. It felt like my body was coming back to life, like another piece of healing had clicked into place. I think it was the only time in my life that I was actually happy to get my period.

When I got back to Israel a few weeks later, I went for a check-up with my oncologist. I was so excited to tell him that my period had returned. He smiled gently and then explained that since my cancer was estrogen positive, the best thing for me would be to stop my body from making estrogen altogether. That meant starting a monthly shot that would suppress my ovaries — and stop my periods.

It was the only time I cried in his office. I broke down. I had thought that getting my period back was a sign of healing, that my body was strong again, that maybe I had “passed my test.” And now, it felt like I was taking a huge step backward.

I tried to argue with him. I really didn’t want the shot. He was understanding but firm, explaining that it was the safest medical choice. He suggested I try it for a few years and we’d reevaluate. I knew I would follow his advice, but accepting it was hard. Deep down, I also knew that “a few years” probably meant many.

Two weeks later, I went to the mikvah, knowing that afterward I’d start the injections. My head understood that it was the right thing to do, but emotionally I was fighting it. Still, I prepared. When I was ready, I called the balanit, and she came to take me in.

I remember walking down the steps into the water. When I reached the bottom, something shifted. Suddenly, a deep calm and acceptance came over me. I remember thinking, Hashem, I don’t know what’s coming next. I don’t know how this is all going to play out. All I know is that I have absolutely no control — and I’m giving it all over to You.

And then I dunked.

Shalva Schneider, LCSW, is the Director of Jewessence, a transformative seminary for young Jewish women who grew up in frum homes and are seeking healing, growth, and connection. A licensed clinical social worker with a private therapy practice in Jerusalem, Shalva brings warmth, insight, and depth to her work. She is an Eden Center trained trauma-informed kallah teacher. Shalva lives in Jerusalem with her husband and four children.