What Does Running a Business Through Breast Cancer Treatment Actually Teach You?

I am woman, hear me roar. My business, my rules. Finally doing it my way, not relying on anyone else, proving I could build something and run it entirely on my own terms.

That was the version of me that got diagnosed with breast cancer back in 2010.

When I was diagnosed, I wasn't planning to stop — and most solo or small business owners reading this would be exactly the same. I dare you to tell me otherwise. You keep going because stopping feels like losing, and because if you don't do it, who will? So I took my laptop to waiting rooms. I worked around appointments. I told clients I was busy, which was, technically, true.

Then I had my first surgery. And the version of me that was strong and capable and in control of everything discovered something extremely uncomfortable — I was in too much pain to even type an email. I didn't even have the energy to answer the phone. And my business, the one I'd built entirely around myself, was sitting in what I can only describe as a black hole of silence.

The problem wasn't the diagnosis, or even my recovery process. It was that I'd built a business that could only run if I was the one running it.

So what actually broke?

Before I got sick, my business existed almost entirely in my head. And if you know me well, that alone should terrify you. Client contacts were on bits of paper, in random text messages, scattered across emails. My to-do list lived nowhere except my own brain. Nobody — including my husband — knew who owed me money, who my clients were, or how to access anything. My business bank account? Only I had access. I didn't even have an accountant with access to my books. My passwords? Gone with me if I went.

If I'd disappeared for a month, my business wouldn't have just paused, it would have evaporated, leaving a bunch of confused and upset clients behind.

This is what nobody tells you when you're building a solo business on independence and self-sufficiency. That strength you're so proud of — the "I don't need anyone" version of running it — is also the single biggest risk inside it. Forget the market, forget the competition. It's you! Being the only person who knows how any of it works.

What had to change.

My husband now knows the master password to my password manager and has access to the business bank account. My accountant has access to my accounting software. I have a backup designer. I have an up-to-date task list and a CRM that actually reflects reality. And on my desktop, there's a folder called "In Case Of" — instructions and contacts, all written for someone else to follow.

Every business is different, so I'm not handing you a checklist. But the shape of it is the same — someone else needs to be able to pick it up if you can't — especially if you didn't have any warning. I'll make a bet that most solo operators aren't set up for that. I certainly wasn't.

The part that actually shook me.

The systems were the practical problem, but deep down underneath there was something much harder to admit.

Here I was thinking I was strong. Independent. Capable. Needing other people was a weakness, and doing it all myself was proof I'd made it. Until that moment when I was suddenly vulnerable — and I had to ask for help, accept it, and tell clients I wasn't the all-capable, always-available woman I'd led them to believe I was.

So what really put me in my place wasn't the diagnosis, or the treatment, it was that moment when I had to actually admit, out loud, that I needed a hand.

But the best thing I found out was that clients were more understanding than I'd given them credit for. That asking for help didn't cost me the business — it actually saved it. And that the version of independence I'd been so proud of was really just a risk I hadn't tripped over yet.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

You don't have to go through breast cancer to have this hit home a little — every small business has a moment when life gets in the way. This is why I share my experience — the stubbornness, the systems, the moment the plan stopped working — and how I survived it. Honestly, with dark humour where it belongs, and without dressing it up as something it wasn't.

I speak at corporate events, women's business groups, lunch events, morning teas and fundraisers. The talk scales from 20 minutes to 45. It's not a medical presentation and it's not an inspirational hero story. It's a real small business owner to small business owner share.