Meet Lilly Ribner: Stage I Triple-Negative Breast Cancer Survivor

Meet Lilly Ribner, a Stage I Triple-Negative Breast Cancer survivor, mom of two, advocate, and someone still learning how to piece together a beautiful, meaningful life after cancer.

What is your cancer story?

When I first found my lump, life already felt like it was spinning with change. We had just moved from Oregon to California to be closer to family. I’d left my corporate HR job of twelve years because I was completely burned out and craving something that felt more authentic. Around the same time, my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. And then, out of nowhere, cancer joined the mix.

One night, I was lying in bed and felt a lump. My gut told me something wasn’t right. I was 37. I went to the doctor, got a mammogram and ultrasound, waited what felt like forever for results, and finally had a biopsy. I was diagnosed with Stage I Triple-Negative Breast Cancer, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma in 2023.

Within three weeks of my diagnosis, I was sitting in an infusion chair starting chemo. Everything moved so fast it almost didn’t feel real. After chemo came surgery, and then radiation. Thankfully, I responded well to treatment, and when my pathology came back after surgery, it showed no evidence of disease. I was officially NED.

I know how lucky I am. Catching my cancer early saved my life. Triple-negative is aggressive; waiting even a few more months could have meant a very different story. I used to skip breast self-exams entirely. Cancer wasn’t something I ever thought would happen to me. But something (intuition, the universe, divine intervention, whatever you want to call it) pushed me to check that day. That moment changed everything.

Now, I tell everyone: do your breast self-exams. That one small act can truly save your life.

Where are you now on your journey after active treatment?

My active treatment lasted about six months. I finished at the end of December 2023 and stepped into January 2024 cancer-free, expecting life to instantly feel amazing. Spoiler: it didn’t.

Transitioning into survivorship was harder than treatment itself. During treatment, I was in fight mode, just focused on getting through each day. But once it ended, I felt completely unmoored. I was exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. I thought finishing treatment would mean getting my life back, but I quickly realized I wasn’t the same person anymore.

It took time, along with a lot of self-compassion, to accept that. My energy is different now. I tire easily, and with two young kids, I’ve had to learn how to rest without guilt. I had to stop comparing myself to who I was “before.” That version of me doesn’t exist anymore, and that’s okay.

Now, I’m learning to embrace this new version of myself. I’m still healing, still growing, still figuring out what’s next. Before cancer, I’d already quit my corporate job because I was unhappy and searching for meaning. Now that I’m healthy enough to think about the future again, I’m drawn to helping others, especially through the emotional side of big life transitions.

That’s led me to pursue a master’s in social work. I’ve also become involved with advocacy organizations like Living Beyond Breast Cancer and Sharsheret, speaking and writing to help others feel less alone. If sharing my story helps even one person, that’s worth it to me.

I’m still a work in progress, but I’m proud of the woman I’m becoming. She’s softer in some ways, stronger in others, and so much more real.

How did you find your support network?

During active treatment, I didn’t join any support groups. I wasn’t ready to absorb other people’s fears or stories while I was in the middle of my own. But once treatment ended, I realized that’s when I needed support the most. Survivorship can be incredibly isolating. Everyone around you is ready to celebrate, but inside, you’re still processing trauma.

I started looking for virtual groups and eventually found one through my hospital. Some spaces didn’t feel like a good fit, and that was okay, too. I learned that it’s perfectly fine to pop in, see if it feels supportive, and leave if it doesn’t. Eventually, I found my people -  women who truly understood what it felt like to live in the in-between: grateful to be alive, yet still struggling to feel “normal.”

I wish survivorship support were easier to find. There isn’t really a central hub or directory for these groups. It often takes trial and error, but when you find your community, it makes such a difference. Those connections helped carry me through my hardest months after treatment.

Mental Health And Cancer: Let’s Talk About It

Writing about my mental health has become a huge part of my healing. Before cancer, I struggled with depression for many years. I felt like I tried everything (therapy, medication, lifestyle changes) but nothing seemed to stick. Then came my diagnosis, and strangely enough, something inside me shifted.

When I was told I had cancer, I remember thinking “Wait! I’m not ready to die.” It was like a switch flipped. Suddenly, everything in me wanted to live. During treatment, I was probably in one of the best mental spaces of my life. I was laser-focused on survival, on healing, on staying mentally strong. I refused to let myself spiral down Google rabbit holes. My mantra became: I will be okay.

But once treatment ended, that mental armor cracked. Depression came roaring back, deeper than before. The adrenaline was gone. The fight was over. And I had to face everything I’d just been through. My oncologist told me something I’ll never forget: “I’m less worried about your cancer coming back than I am about your mental health.”

She was right. I hit a low point and knew I needed help. I reached out, got back into therapy, adjusted my medication, and leaned hard on my support system. Some days, it took everything I had just to get out of bed and be a mom. The mom guilt was intense; I wanted to make up for all the time cancer had stolen, but my body and mind weren’t ready yet.

Over time, I learned that healing isn’t linear, and it’s not something you do alone. Asking for help isn’t weakness; it’s survival.

How did having cancer shift your relationships with friends, family, and children?

Cancer changes the way you see everything, especially people. Some of the people I expected to show up, disappeared. Others I barely knew showed up in the most beautiful ways. I received so much love (messages, meals, little gifts) that I still haven’t been able to bring myself to go through the box of everything I saved. One day, I will.

It was painful at first when certain friends pulled away. But I came to understand it wasn’t about me; instead, it was about their own fear or discomfort. That realization gave me peace. It also gave me clarity about how I want to spend my own time and energy. I used to be a people pleaser, always making space for everyone. Now, I’m intentional about who I let in. My relationships are fewer, but so much deeper.

I also learned how to gently educate people when their words hurt. When someone said, “Oh, you just had a lumpectomy.” I told them, “Please don’t say ‘just’ - that really minimizes what I’ve been through.” Sharing what does feel supportive became part of my advocacy. Sometimes people truly don’t know what to say, and that’s okay. Even a simple, “I don’t know what to say, but I love you,” means the world.

What do you want others to know about life beyond cancer?

Healing isn’t linear, and it definitely doesn’t happen on a schedule. But it does get better.

Parts of me died during this process, and that’s been hard — but I’ve also been reborn in ways I never expected. Cancer stripped me down to my core and forced me to rebuild from the inside out. What’s grown back is a version of me that’s more authentic, present, and deeply grateful.

There are still hard days. There is grief, fear, and exhaustion. But there’s also connection, clarity, and purpose. Some of my closest friendships have come from this community of survivors, in people who understand without needing words.

Cancer changed my life in every way. It took things from me, but it also gave me so much: perspective, strength, and a fierce appreciation for the people and moments that matter most.

If there’s one thing I want others to know about life after cancer, it’s this: you’re allowed to take your time. Healing doesn’t follow a straight path. Ask for help. Rest. Be gentle with yourself. Celebrate the small victories. You’ve already done the hardest thing – you survived. Now you get to figure out how to live again.

Photo courtesy of the author.