Trying to cope with depression and anxiety, start a small business, and raise twin daughters battling cancer—that is what my daily life has become. Some days, I stare at a blank page, unsure where to begin, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. Yet, I continue to write. Writing has become my anchor, my way to process the chaos swirling inside me. This chapter of my life is far from finished, with no clear ending in sight, so I keep moving forward, one word, one breath, one day at a time.
I have struggled with anxiety and depression since my late teens. The first time it hit, it was terrifying—I didn’t understand what was happening, and I was trapped in countless panic attacks that seemed endless. For years, I chose the wrong coping methods, desperate for a quick escape, which only made the panic and depression worse. Medications came and went, none offering the relief I so desperately needed.
Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. At the root, I think, was the childhood bullying I endured. I am also a cancer survivor, and while it may sound inspiring to some, I never felt brave at the time. Other children bullied me relentlessly for my permanent scars. I looked different, and to them, that was enough to treat me as other, to make me feel unwanted. I endured years of torment in silence, dreading school, avoiding public spaces, and learning to hide in plain sight.
Anxiety crept into every corner of my life like an uninvited shadow. I didn’t know how to cope, didn’t know how to live a functional life. Then, just as I was trying to manage, my mother passed away after a grueling battle with cancer. It was a crisp September morning when I received the call. She was gone. And I was left asking, “Now what?”
The loss only deepened my anxiety and depression, which persisted for years. I relied on destructive coping mechanisms, trying to numb the pain that nothing else could reach. Cancer seemed to haunt our family relentlessly, and I could not understand why life had to be this cruel.
During the depths of my struggle, I met my husband. He is incredible—supportive, patient, and unwavering. We married even while my life felt chaotic and broken. It took hitting rock bottom to begin rebuilding, and by chance, I found a therapist who has been with me for over six years. She helped me navigate the storm, teaching me how to process, how to cope, and slowly, life began to feel manageable.
After three years of marriage, my husband and I felt ready to grow our family. We wanted a stable foundation, a place where love and hope could flourish. Soon, we were blessed with twin daughters, our only children, Ella and Eve.
Then, our world was turned upside down once again. Both of our daughters were diagnosed with cancer. They were just three years old, facing more in a few short years than many endure in a lifetime. Chemotherapy, hospital stays, blood transfusions, surgeries, infections, hair loss—our twins have endured it all. Eve suffered a twisted bowel that nearly claimed her life. She faced septic shock, organ failure, seizures, cardiac arrest, ostomy bags, feeding tubes, and life support. She continues to battle hearing loss and dangerously high blood pressure.
For me, anxiety has a way of hitting hardest in the mornings. I wake up gripped by fear, panic churning inside me, thinking of the next hospital visit, the next scan. Our daughters’ cancer scans are always looming—March 10th is approaching—and I am sad, scared, and exhausted. I carry the unbearable weight of their illness, shielding them from the fear they are too young to comprehend. I have nightmares of handing them over to doctors, of losing time with them, and the terror is relentless.
I remember the nights Eve was on life support. I was in full-blown panic and begged for help, for some relief that would allow me to be strong for my children. But there was nothing anyone could do for me. I had to endure in silence, fighting through for them, because they are my world, my everything.
The pandemic has added another layer of challenge. My husband was laid off, appointments were delayed or canceled, financial pressures mounted, and we remain in quarantine to protect our fragile daughters. Every day requires vigilance, care, and sacrifice.
During quiet moments, when Ella and Eve nap, I sit and worry, endlessly. To channel that energy, I started a small business, something I could control and nurture. I opened an Etsy shop called SweetSorelleCo—“Sorelle” means sisters in Italian, honoring my twins and my heritage. I create sweet, handmade items that bring joy, a small way to celebrate life amid hardship. It’s modest, but it gives me purpose, focus, and hope that we can meet some financial needs while our girls fight their battle.
My days are not easier. Medication and therapy help, but anxiety and depression remain constant companions. I manage medications, care routines, calls with doctors, and updates on social media. My children’s chronic illness dominates every moment. Yet, I’ve learned to put on a brave face, to smile through sadness, to give them strength even when I feel weak.
Through all of this, I’ve learned a few essential truths: never take a moment for granted, as tomorrow is never promised; be kind, because everyone carries unseen burdens; and embrace the day, no matter how difficult. Our life may sound heavy or sad, but it is ours. I often say we are lucky, while others may call us tragic. Ella and Eve are miracles, bringing light to every cloudy day. They were chosen to be mine, and I am endlessly grateful. They give me strength when I am lost. They are my heroes.
