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The other day I spotted a pack of golfers strutting around in head-to-toe pink for a breast cancer fundraiser. In September. I had to do a double take because, hello, Pinktober isn’t technically here yet. But honestly? Bring it on. If someone wants to sweat it out on the back nine while dressed like a flamingo for the cause, I’m not going to stop them. Funding is the only reason more of us are still here to roll our eyes at pink golf polos. Research is the magic word. Research is how we get more birthdays, more holidays, and more sarcastic blog posts like this one.

Seeing them actually reminded me that about this time seven years ago, I was the one suiting up—not in pink, but in a chemo chair with ACTHP running through me, expanders in my chest, and the prospect of a double mastectomy ahead. Somewhere in between trying not to puke and Googling “how long until my eyebrows come back,” I had to sit my boys down and explain what was happening. They were young. I was terrified. And yet, keeping them informed and calm somehow forced me to be informed and calm, too. (Parenting hack: if you can’t figure out how to soothe yourself, try explaining it to your kids—instant fake zen mode.)

Now, fast-forward to survivorship. You’d think this is the part where everything’s tied up in a neat little pink bow. Nope. Here’s a PSA:

Things not to say to breast cancer survivors:

1. “…but you’re ok now…”

Hard pass. No, we are not “ok.” Survivorship is not some sparkly after-party where we’re handed goody bags and free margaritas. We live with scanxiety, aches that don’t go away, and the daily reminder that the monster could come back.

2. “At least it was a good cancer, that’s the one to get…”

OMFG, no. There is no “good” cancer. You know what’s good? Ice cream. Puppies. Bottomless brunch. Cancer is not in that category.

3. “Free boob job!”

Lol. Just no. Reconstruction is not a trip to Beverly Hills for designer implants. Mine are… let’s call them “unique.” One has a mind of its own, the other is slightly blueish like it missed the spray tan appointment. But hey, they don’t want to kill me, so I’ll take the win.

So yes, wear your pink, run your races, golf in your hot-pink pants. I see you, and I appreciate every effort. Just also remember: survivorship isn’t about being “done.” It’s about showing up every day in this new, messy, hilarious, terrifying, grateful-as-hell version of life