But you look great!

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been hearing that from people I run into — at yoga class, during a theater rehearsal, in a work meeting, or at the fifth medical appointment of the month.

The “looking great,” in the eyes of those who know (or find out) that I’m getting chemo every three weeks, that I went through four surgeries in just two months, and that I’m still in the process of reconstructing the breast that was removed — and believe it or not, that process isn’t even over yet — seems to surprise them. Whatever “great” means, I honestly feel like crap.

During Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I always feel some responsibility to talk about it. But lately, I’ve been having mixed thoughts about speaking up. I’m a little tired of talking about cancer. First, because I’m tired — period. And second, because cancer doesn’t define me.

But going through cancer a second time — and this time in such a harsh, difficult way, with a unilateral mastectomy, countless reconstruction complications, and all the physical and mental adjustments to the implant — hasn’t been easy at all.

I’ve already received confirmation twice this year that I’m cancer-free, but I still do chemo as a precaution. The doctor visits, the parallel treatments, and all the things that come along with it still haunt me — every single day. It’s a daily act of living and surviving.

And recently, I found out I have skin cancer. Even though it has nothing to do with breast cancer, it’s always that feeling of, “Seriously?” The treatment and all its side missions have become a second job. Depending on the day, I spend three to four hours just dealing with treatment-related stuff. There’s no break. No rest. There’s home work, work work, and treatment work. And still, people say I look great.

This year, I really wanted to come here and share a message of strength for other friends and women who are in treatment — or about to begin. And even after all this venting, I want to say that despite everything — despite being fed up — I’m still positive. I still give thanks. I still have faith. But right now, it’s a daily mix of “get up, shake off the dust, and rise again,” and honestly, it gets exhausting. Fatigue knocks at my door almost every day. I try to ignore it, but sometimes I let it in. And people say I look great. Good for me, I guess.

How often have you reshaped your path?

My life has been anything but linear—and that’s what makes it mine.

I’ve worn a lot of hats over the years, each one a thread in the fabric of my creative journey. Here are just a few:

• Translator for a rock band on tour in Brazil

• Costume assistant for an American movie shot in Rio

• Fashion marketing manager

• Experience working at big companies like Nabisco and Sony Music

• Fashion blogger for 5 years

• Bar host at a vibrant gay bar

• Fashion producer

• English teacher in Rio

• Founder of a pop-up brand for emerging designers

• Fashion TV host

• Health coach

• Content agency owner

• And most recently: filmmaker, writer, coach, foodie, educator, and multi-business entrepreneur

  
  

Sounds like a lot, right?

But the truth is, each role helped me uncover a little more of who I am.

Reinvention became my rhythm. Every job, every pivot, every challenge taught me something new—about myself, about resilience, about creativity. And every step shaped the storyteller I am today.

Life isn’t always clean or predictable. It's full of plot twists. But there’s power in the mess, and beauty in the process.

I’m here to say that you don’t need a straight line to success. Your story—however unexpected—is worthy.

So I ask you:

Can you see a bit of your journey in mine? If so, I’d love to hear it. Let’s celebrate the twists, the reinventions, the heart-led choices.

Drop your story in the comments below or send me a message here.

From Your First Dove

First dove— that’s what she used to call me. I’m her first granddaughter, and she gave me that curious nickname.

Grandma Therezinha was always a fun, vibrant presence in my life, full of stories about her childhood in Cuiabá — tales of the unusual (and to me, hilarious) names of her friends in that quiet town that, according to her, later became unrecognizable, without the shady trees and inner gardens she remembered so fondly.

I never visited her hometown, but it felt like I knew it like the back of my hand from her countless stories — from the accident she had as a child, falling onto an iron fence and being bedridden for a year, to her strength, her mischief, and at the same time, her impeccable sense of organization and financial discipline.

I also remember visiting her at work at the State Health Department. As modest as it was, to me it felt like a dream. I still remember her black leather pencil case filled with pencils, erasers, and pens. She took the bus from Leblon to downtown Rio — and of course, more stories came from that route, like the one about a drunk man who passed out during a turn and landed on her foot, actually breaking it. A tragic story, yes, but when she told it, it became pure comedy, always accompanied by her wonderful laughter.

That was Grandma. A passionate Aries who could go from laughter to anger, from teasing to praise, in a heartbeat.

During my teenage years, I started spending even more time at her place, especially because of the beach. I’d stay weekends — and even weekdays — after fencing classes with my cousin Inoã and my aunt Leila, who lived with her. I’d sleep in her room — and even with her legendary snoring, I loved it! You know how a grandmother’s home feels, right?

A few years later, I moved in with her completely, bringing everything I had. It was a sort of crazy deal — “I’ll keep you company” — since she was living alone again, and I had been craving a room of my own since I was three.

Grandma Therezinha became my second mother in a quiet, loving agreement that lasted until I was 27 and got married for the first time. Those were years full of life lessons: about self-esteem — how she always said she saw herself as beautiful and confident, without shame — about family, in our big Sunday lunches, and about friendship, during our trips to Talho Capixaba, our gossip sessions, and the soap operas we watched together.

I remember the letter I wrote her, crying, as I said goodbye to her house when I got married for the first time. Less than two years later, I divorced… and went back to her company. We lived together for almost seven more years, until I married again and moved to the U.S.

These past 10 years living abroad, I visited Brazil four times, and each time I emotionally recharged by spending time with her — asking her to tell my favorite stories again, flipping through her photo albums, asking about old acquaintances, begging her to make the banana cuca I loved, and soaking up her gentle head rubs with her long fingernails.

Ah, I could stay here reminiscing forever... even about when she’d pretend to understand what I said but actually hadn’t heard a thing because her hearing aid was off.

Oh, Grandma Therezinha... a lover of life, of cold beer, of vanilla ice cream she sometimes hid from guests. On my last visit, I got to introduce her to my furry son, my dog Herkey, who I took with me to Rio. She could never pronounce his name correctly, but the way she said it was the sweetest and most loving version — in true Therezinha style.

Your first dove is here, going through treatment, getting stronger, inspired by the way you lived and looked at life. I love you!