Weekly Round-Up: The Pinktober Begins Edition

Welcome, dear readers. I’m so glad you’re here.

The first days of October always carry mixed emotions for me. Twenty-one years ago, diagnosed with breast cancer in October, I wore my pink ribbon proudly—it made me feel less alone. Two decades later, I see Pinktober differently.

Nancy expresses this shift perfectly. She traces her journey from early survivorship to outspoken advocacy, describing how she and fellow bloggers began pushing back against what she calls “Pink Ribbon Fantasy Land”—the toxic positivity, trivialisation, and objectification that gloss over the realities of breast cancer. She calls for a move from surface-level awareness to genuine action: funding metastasis research, honest messaging, inclusion of men and stage IV patients, and a critical eye toward pink-washed marketing.

Abigail echoes that sentiment, writing from the perspective of nine years into her stage IV diagnosis. Each October brings renewed fatigue at seeing the same glossy campaigns. She urges readers to look closely at who profits from awareness, to remember that metastatic breast cancer is not the same as early-stage disease, and to turn awareness into advocacy that truly matters.

Barbara meanwhile, reflects on nearly two decades of observing October and how the pink ribbon became a global emblem, yet reminds us that awareness alone cannot fix what remains unequal—especially for those facing advanced disease or barriers to care.

Terri shares her experience at the Binaytara Northwest Women’s Cancer Conference, where she helped bridge the gap between patient advocates and medical professionals. The experience strengthened her belief in collaboration and patient-centred research—advocacy rooted in compassion and shared purpose.

In her latest post, Carolyn captures the delicate balance between realism and hope—the space so many of us inhabit when facing uncertainty yet still choosing meaning.

Connie recounts following her intuition on a trip she almost didn’t take. Trusting that inner pull led her to moments of connection, renewal, and gentle reminders that intuition often speaks through both heart and body.

Finally this week Beth writes about the quiet courage of choosing solitude over socialising. For her, time alone isn’t withdrawal—it’s restoration. Reconnecting with art and creativity becomes a profound act of self-care, a return to what sustains the spirit.

Until next time,

May you find space this week for stillness and self-care—for the quiet moments that restore you and reconnect you to what truly sustains your spirit.

Much love always

Marie xxx