Photo: Melissa C. Myers

Photo: Melissa C. Myers

Welcome to badasscancerbabe

I am a cancer thriver and recovering workaholic. My "incurable" cancer diagnosis in 2016 changed my life. I refused to accept conventional medicine's assertion that I would die within 2 years because the majority of other patients had. I was not a statistic. I was a mother, wife, friend, neighbor, boss and colleague.

I began a healing journey using conventional and alternative methods to save my life. My goal was to see my then 8-year-old son graduate high school and college, get married and to ultimately become a grandmother. 

I started this blog to share the tips and tricks to a better life that I discovered along my journey. After a 20-year career as a marketing executive, I rededicated my life to bringing hope to cancer patients and ideas for stressed-out, workaholic parents to not end up like me. 

I invite all seekers regardless of health, religion, orientation, sex, or political affiliation to join me on this journey. 

In light & love,


Other places Tracy is writing

Survivornet video

November 10, 2018

When you give your time for what you're passionate about, you attract people and things like you. Maybe it will work for you, maybe it won't. Worse case scenario: if you do any or all of the above things, at least you'll feel better about yourself.



Only we mothers will understand the despondency of being separated from our child. The utter, hair-ripping despair. We must think about it now because it's up to us to change it. To continue to stand up for what's right. To continue to pressure our government to return every child to their mother.



I was blessed with another cancer victory this season - I skied again! I wrote about this spectacular moment in Elephant Journal. Here’s the story.

It got me thinking - what if we all trained for life like an Olympian trains for the games?


I healed opioid sugar addictions

Opioid addiction is truly a problem, but I wonder why we're not talking about an addiction that's equally deadly and addictive: sugar. A sugar addiction can be as hard, if not harder, to break than opioids.

I know because I've been addicted to both and I've recovered from both. I kicked opioids ten times easier than I kicked sugar.


I don't drink and it's none of your Business Why

A friend’s birthday party, a bar with old co-workers, a restaurant. All fertile stomping ground for the backlash. The judgement. The suspicion.


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“All the clocks are on real time,” I would tell my husband and son later that morning.

I had just adjusted the clock in my son’s room. His clock was the last remaining clock in the house that ran 10 minutes faster than what we affectionately call “real time.”

Real time and its cousin “fake time” were born, like all things, out of necessity.


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When we make “f*cking relax” a part of our over-packed agenda, the entire purpose is lost. But the problem is, who has time to relax and meditate? That 10, 20, 40, 60 minutes we need to relax or meditate can seem like a luxury we just don’t have most days. The irony is that the less time we think we have, the more our bodies and minds need to relax. As the old Zen adage goes, “You should sit in meditation for 20 minutes every day—unless you’re too busy; then you should sit for an hour.”


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I thought I was leading the “right life”—prestigious college, fancy job in New York City, kind husband, happy child, good friends, nice house…then I got incurable cancer...


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The headlines, t-shirts, and bumper stickers read “f*ck cancer.”

Well, as a walking miracle who survived incurable cancer, I say “f*ck that.”

When I was diagnosed with recurrent cervical cancer and given a 15-month expiration, I shared it on social media. I was met with a chorus of “kick cancer’s ass” and “fight girl fight.”

That’s the vernacular we know: battle of a lifetime, army of doctors, cancer warrior. CLICK HERE FOR MORE

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The wind is blowing in my hair and cooling my face. The hot ashphalt has a toxic rubbery smell mixed with all the flowers of summer.

Gross—I’m pedaling so fast I swallowed a bug. Spit. Spit. Spit. My legs are strong pushing up the big hill. My lungs are burning with exertion.

I’m 15. My bike is my steed: a silver 10-speed that gives me the freedom to go wherever I want. My body is young, fit, strong, and doesn’t mind cycling for hours. Whether to swim practice, Amy’s house, the grocery store, the movies, the video arcade, or dance rehearsal, it’s summer and my perky butt can pedal me anywhere. CLICK HERE FOR MORE

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The rape shaped far more of my future than I would have liked. I feared sex while also thinking it was the thing that gave me value. I wanted to be beautiful and sexy, but never too much so in case it lead to unwanted advances. I couldn’t always enjoy the physical sensations of sex because my mind went to the fear of that night, despite being with a kind, loving partner. I didn’t understand it, and I didn’t know what to do about it. So I just repressed it. CLICK HERE FOR MORE

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I had ignored my intuition for so long that when I started to listen, it was like asking a table of Italian mothers the best way to make Sunday sauce—everyone was talking at once—a complete cacophony.

Although, we get so busy with the frantic day-to-day life distractions, we must not forget to listen to the nagging voice in our head and our gut feelings. After all they are there to help us in our journey.


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