A dance through grief and growth after breast cancer

“Everything was perfect,” she says. “We had just bought a house. We were trying to have a baby. My then-husband had a great job lined up. Life was unfolding exactly as we hoped.” 

Then, one day, Courtney was in the shower when she found a lump. A few weeks later, Courtney was in a doctor’s office receiving her first mammogram and biopsy, all in the same day. Within 48 hours, she was diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer. She was only 29. 

Advocating for fertility preservation — and other thrivers

At the time of her diagnosis, Courtney was living in a small Midwestern town. Seeking care that could anticipate and address the unique needs of a young woman with breast cancer, she initially chose to commute to Chicago. She transferred to a facility in Atlanta after she and her husband relocated midway through her treatment. There, she had to advocate to access care. Her doctor in Chicago had to personally call a contact at the breast oncology program in Atlanta to ensure Courtney was seen. 

Courtney underwent chemotherapy, surgery, radiation, and hormonal therapy. “I did all the things,” she says. “And because we were trying to get pregnant, we also harvested embryos before treatment began.” 

Fertility preservation for young cancer patients wasn’t routine, and insurance coverage was rare in those days. But because she was treated at an academic medical center on the cutting edge of research, Courtney’s care team responded to her needs and helped her pursue fertility preservation without delay or cost. “We were on the forefront of what would become oncofertility,” she says. “Because I was treated at an academic institution, they made it happen. That’s why I have my son.” 

Halfway through her chemotherapy treatment in Atlanta, Courtney joined a weekly women’s cancer support circle at the Young Survival Coalition. She found friendship, advice, and a sense of belonging in her new home. She also took part in the Suppression of Ovarian Function (SOFT) clinical trial, which looked at whether adding ovarian suppression to hormone therapy could help lower the risk of breast cancer coming back in young women. That study helped shape how doctors treat premenopausal women with hormone-positive breast cancer today.  

“I may have been overtreated,” she says of her treatment, “but my participation helped make it possible for others not to be.” 

Courtney left the world of TV writing and stepped into nonprofit work, first at the Young Survival Coalition to support others through advocacy and action. 

Life after treatment: “I didn’t recognize myself”

The aftermath of treatment, however, left her reeling. “I was really angry,” she recalls. “Grief for me was masked as anger.” She felt that everyone around her was eager to celebrate and carry on with life as it had been once treatment was over. But for Courtney, it wasn’t that simple. “Everyone wants to move on because it makes them feel better. But that doesn’t make you feel better.”

She describes sitting in a support group when another woman who was five or six years out from treatment told her, “There will be a day where you don’t think about cancer.” Courtney didn’t believe her. “I told her she was lying.”

Many thrivers – people living well after a cancer diagnosis – experience an emotional disconnect like Courtney’s. Families, friends, and colleagues expect relief and gratitude after treatment ends, but people who have been through cancer treatment have lasting physical changes, relationships that have been impacted, and a vulnerable sense of self — to say the least. Courtney remembers walking past the nursery in her house that she and her husband had intended for their future child. Instead, it was filled with cardboard boxes. “You don’t recognize what happened to your life and who you are.”

She adds, “You look in the mirror and don’t recognize yourself. Hormonal therapy. Early menopause. Weight gain. My hair thinned. My intimate relationships changed. I was a 30-something, squishy woman with no energy.”

Healing by connecting with her pre-cancer self

Over time, Courtney made the decision to reconnect with her pre-cancer self. She reflected back to who she was when she was age 12 and what had she liked to do, believing that she needed to find the core of herself, “Before the world told me that I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, or smart enough. That’s who I needed to try to find again.”

“Pre-cancer Courtney,” as she called her, was fearless. She liked to do “cool” and “hard” things. So, in her early 30s, Courtney took pole dancing lessons. Circus classes. She skydived on her first “cancerversary,” despite a deep fear of heights. She climbed Mount Kilimanjaro, even though she disliked hiking. “It was important to do things that scared me to remind myself I could still do hard things.”

But the most lasting outlet became ballroom dancing. “When I walked into that studio, I wasn’t Courtney the survivor. I wasn’t a mom or a CEO. I was just Courtney.”

Dancing helped her reclaim a sense of joy and physicality. “Even as a size 18, I could get my body to do cool things. And I won competitions. That blew my mind.”

Letting go of the cape

For a time, Courtney leaned into being what she calls a “super survivor.” She volunteered, spoke at events, supported others. “I built a shell around myself. My grief and anger were all buried under that cape.”

Eventually, the weight of that shell became too heavy.

Around five years after treatment, her marriage ended. She realized that neither she nor her husband had been given the right tools to navigate the emotional toll of cancer. “We were essentially kids when I was diagnosed,” she says. “And we never got the help we needed. By the time we tried, it was too late.”

It was during couples therapy (what they jokingly referred to as “therapy camp”) that she recognized the full impact of cancer’s hold on her life. “There was this exercise with foam props. My husband placed a giant box in the center to represent breast cancer. He stood far away from it. I hid behind it.”

That visual struck her. “Cancer was the elephant in the room. Not just in our relationship, but in me.”

To heal, Courtney took a step back from the breast cancer community for a long while. “I needed to deal with my own stuff.”

What Courtney wants you to know

Now, almost 20 years after her diagnosis, Courtney talks openly about what life after cancer treatment really looks like. Her experience has included moments of panic and anger, a broken dancing pole in her living room, and the painful end to her marriage. It’s also included becoming a mom, climbing a mountain, competing in ballroom dancing, taking on a leadership role in cancer advocacy, and so much more. Today, she is the chief executive officer of Zero Prostate Cancer.

The journey has not been a straight line, but having mental health support and a strong community helped Courtney find her footing along the way. She’s found that life after cancer isn’t about “getting over it” but about finding your way through.

She explains, “Cancer changes your shape. It changes the world around you. And at first, you just want to get as small as possible to fit inside it. But eventually, you have to decide how you want to fill that new shape.”

She encourages other survivors to reject the “shoulds,” anything that tells you how to feel or behave. “There’s no ‘should’ in survivorship,” she says. “You don’t have to feel grateful. You don’t have to feel strong. You just have to figure out how to be happy.”

“The light of who you are at your core? It’s still there,” Courtney says. “You’re not the same. You’re forever changed. But you can still find your way back.”

Courtney Bugler’s tips for life after breast cancer treatment

• Healing isn’t a straight line. You might feel hopeful one day and angry the next. That’s normal. Be kind to yourself as you figure things out.
• Take care of your mental health. Courtney advocates for therapy and mental health support, telling everyone, “Do not leave treatment without mental health plans.”
• Find people who understand. Support groups, whether they are online or in person, can make a big difference. These are the people who get what you're going through and can help you feel less alone.
• Let go of the “shoulds.” You don’t have to feel strong, grateful, or happy all the time. There’s no “right” way to feel after cancer. What matters is being honest with yourself.
• Remember who you were before cancer. What made you happy before life got complicated? Try doing something that brings that joy back.
• Try something that scares you (just a little.) To feel strong again, Courtney did things like skydiving and pole dancing. You don’t have to go big. Even small new challenges can empower you.
• Enjoy your body, no matter the size or shape. Courtney danced competitively as a size 4 and a size 18. And it’s not just about weight. After cancer treatment, she notes, scars remain. She learned to love what her body could do, not just how it looked.
• Take a break when you need to. Helping others is great, but not if it wears you out. Courtney stepped away from advocacy to focus on herself and heal.
• Know that cancer may always be a part of you. Courtney says, “You’re not the same. You’re forever changed. But the light at your core is still there.” You can still build a beautiful life.
• Choose what your new life looks like. After cancer, things feel different. At first, you might try to shrink yourself to fit into the new shape of life. But you don’t have to. You can decide what fills that space now.