'Everyone keeps telling me how lucky I am.'
Treatment finished. The scans came back the way you needed them to, the appointments thinned out and the calendar filled up again with the life you had before.
Twenty odd years of building a career, a title that cost you something to get, and a suspicion that has been getting louder since the diagnosis. That you gave the best of it to somebody else's company.
And you're not sure you want that life back exactly as it was.
Through treatment you had a team. Dates in the diary, people checking in, a plan with a start and an end. Then you were discharged, and everyone around you exhaled and went back to normal.
All of that support was built around the diagnosis. Almost none of it's built around the question you are actually holding now, which is what you want the rest of this to look like.
That question is lonelier than it sounds, because it's the one nobody asks you. They ask how you are feeling and whether the results were good. They don't ask whether the career still fits, or whether you want to keep giving your best hours to something you chose when you were a different woman.
A lot of women come through this and realise the work no longer fits. Not because the ambition has gone, but because they can see very clearly, often for the first time, that they were chasing success rather than purpose.
Purpose shifts. It's supposed to. The difficulty is that nobody hands you a way of noticing the shift and acting on it, and so you go back to the role, the routine and the standards you set for a life that has since changed shape.
Something that was dim before is pulling you forward now. You may not be able to name it yet and you do not need to. What you do need is to be able to see the next step.
I want to be straight with you, because this work doesn't start well any other way. I have not had cancer. I have not made the decisions you have made, and I am not going to suggest that sitting beside it is the same as living it.
What I know is the ground around it. My mum had breast cancer, a mastectomy and chemotherapy, and she has been discharged from oncology with a screening appointment every year that the whole family quietly counts down to. My dad had prostate cancer and a prostatectomy that should have been the end of it, except one cell had lodged in his urethra. By the time we knew, he was stage 4, and he died eighteen months later in 2021. In 2025 my own smear came back HPV positive, the colposcopy found three things worth biopsying, and I waited two weeks for a phone call that turned out to be good news.
So I know the waiting, and I know what a family rearranges itself around. I know that a clear result can leave you rearranged rather than relieved.
I do not know your version of it. That is yours, and it stays yours.
I have worked with a number of women through and after a cancer diagnosis, and their stories have almost nothing in common. Different cancers, different treatment, different ages, different decisions about their bodies and their work and their families.
What is consistent is what the diagnosis does to time.
It's a moment that stops everything, and in the pause a question arrives that most women have not let themselves ask for years. I have my health and I have a future, so what do I actually want that future to look like.
From there the same three things tend to surface, in different orders and at different speeds. The career comes under question, because it was chosen by a woman making different calculations about what was worth her hours. Purpose stops matching, because the experience has moved it and nobody thinks to check whether the old version still applies. And underneath both sits the harder one, which is a shift in identity and the question of who you are now that you are not who you were before.
There is no protocol for this part, and I would be suspicious of anyone offering you one. What there is, is the discipline of stopping long enough to get clear on who you are beyond today, before you hand the next ten years to an answer you never actually chose.
You have already proved you can get through hard things, and people have told you how strong you are more often than you wanted to hear it. Getting through is not the same as getting through as yourself, and it's the second one this work is for. That is what I call Transition Intelligence (TQ).
Six months, just the two of us.
We start where you are, and we get honest about what you are carrying that belongs to the woman you were before the diagnosis. Some of it comes with you. Some of it does not, and being willing to put it down is what makes room for anything new.
Then we work at every level. The forest, the tree, the branches and the leaves. The big picture of what you want your life to be for, and the very specific decisions about your work, your time, your money and your energy that either move you towards it or quietly do not.
It can feel messy while you are in it, and I would rather you weren't afraid of messy. With a rubbish bag in one hand and a clear view of where you are heading, we can clean it up together.
You come out of this knowing who you are and what's next, and we start building that next piece while you are still with me.
12 private sessions of 45 minutes, every two or three weeks across six months
Online, with a recording of every session so you are not holding it all in your head
WhatsApp support between sessions, for the things that will not wait
Tools and workbooks built for your situation rather than a standard curriculum
Complete confidentiality
25+ years of experience across HR, executive coaching and business transformation in seven countries
45 minutes is deliberate, as is the gap between sessions. Energy is not an unlimited resource after what you have been through, and the thinking that matters most tends to happen in the fortnight between conversations rather than inside them.
This works when you want it to.
You need to be willing to be honest in the room, including about the things you have not said out loud to anyone yet. You need to be willing to be asked difficult questions and to sit with them rather than answer them quickly. And you need to be ready to move at some point in the six months, because clarity that never turns into a decision is only a more comfortable kind of stuck.
In return you get honesty from me. If I think you are avoiding something, I will say so, and if I am not the right person for what you need, I will tell you that too.
This is not counselling and it's not medical or psychological care. If what you need right now is therapeutic support, that is the right thing to go and find, and it's not what I do.
Coaching starts from the position that you are whole, capable and deciding, and it works forward from there.
US$5,400 for the 6 months.
I have put the price here rather than making you ask for it, because you have had enough conversations this year where the important information came last.
There is no fixed rule. Some women want to think about what is next while they are still in it, because it gives them something to move towards. Others need the treatment behind them first. Book the call and we will work out honestly whether now is the right time, and if it's not, we will name when it might be.
No. That is the reason to come, not the reason to wait. Arriving with the answer already worked out would make this a very short 6 months.
Scans, appointments and the days when your body decides otherwise are part of the picture and we plan around them. The six months has room in it, and I would rather you moved a session than pushed through one badly.
Yes. Everything is online and I have clients across most timezones. I am based in Bangkok and I work with women in Asia, Australia, New Zealand, Europe, North America and South America. If your hours are difficult, say so on the call and we will find something that works rather than something you have to endure at 5am.
No. It's for women whose sense of who they are has been moved by a cancer diagnosis, whichever one it was.
Yes, on request. Please raise it on the call.

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