Holly Sayce

It is best, I find, to think of life as a road we all get to walk upon, and cancer as a sudden storm that hits without warning. Some people are more fortunate than others - some, for example, already had an umbrella in hand, or the means to purchase one. Others have friends who will lend them raincoats and gumboots, to make their journey that little bit more comfortable. But even then, no one truly knows when the storm will pass, and no one can change the weather. 

Whether you’ve got welly’s or not, it’s hard to walk in the rain, especially when you look around and see others still walking in sunshine. It feels unfair that this is the hand you’ve been dealt, and you might even wonder what on Earth you ever did to the sky to make it rain down on you so hard.

Currently, no scientist or weatherman can tell you for sure why you’re the one stuck dripping wet in the downpour. They can make their guesses that you were born under cloudier skies, or that longer walks of life are bound to see rain at some point, but really, when you’re standing there, soaked to the skin, it all feels quite arbitrary.

Everyday, 58 women feel the first drop of rain on their shoulder, and before they know it, the storm is upon them, and their path has become unrecognisable. No matter who you are, and what you have, the journey is always rough: to look ahead and see nothing but rain; to trudge your feet through the mud, soaking clothes weighing you down; to slip and fall on the wet concrete over and over; to reach the end of the foreseeable path. And nobody knows when the storm will pass. 

Strength isn’t measured by the violence of the storm, or how many layers of protection one does or does not have. The strongest people aren’t those who walk the fastest, or those who come out on the other side the driest. 

Strength is choosing to keep walking - even when you’re drenched, freezing, and know the rain may never stop. 

My mother, sister, and I, have been lucky enough to walk mostly under clear skies. That is why we are walking for those caught in the storm - those who have come out on the sunny side, and those who never did.

Although we might be seperated by 4000kms, my mum, sister, and I, have all decided to take on this challenge together, to walk a collective of 58kms in the month of October for the National Breast Cancer Foundation and Cancer Council. We walk in honour of Emma and I’s nana (our mums’ mum), Jan Fry, who beat breast cancer 7 years ago; and our grandma (our mums’ mother-in-law), Mary Sayce, who beat breast cancer 22 years ago. My sister and I are incredibly lucky to have grown up with the warmth and support of these women. They’ve been consistent forces of love in our lives, and their courage, resilience, and spirit - not just through their battles with breast cancer, but throughout their lives - have shaped who we are today. Their stormy battle with breast cancer, and the resilience they have shown in the sunshine ever since, has taught me what it means to be strong: to walk on in the rain, despite all the odds. To dance, not knowing when the storm will pass.

 To Nana and Grandma, we love you so much and we are so proud of you.