My mum made everyone feel like they mattered

Could you tell us about your mum?

My mum and dad ran a coffee shop together, and she was its heart and soul. She wasn’t just the face of the shop; she was the shop. People didn’t just come in for the coffee, they came in for her warmth, her smile, her genuine presence. She’d sit with customers for hours, listen to their stories, offer comfort and make them feel seen.

But when mum was diagnosed with primary breast cancer, everything felt like a whirlwind. Suddenly, we were facing chemotherapy, a mastectomy and later reconstruction — words we barely understood at the time, let alone knew how to navigate.

We were completely new to this world, and it was terrifying. Watching someone you love go through so much and not knowing how to help or what to expect is one of the hardest things I’ve ever faced.

What kind of support did you get?

In those early stages, when fear and confusion took over, I found comfort in the Breast Cancer Now forum. Reaching out to them was one of the most important decisions I made. Strangers who had walked this path before us became a lifeline.

They offered advice when we noticed a new symptom, shared tips for making my mum more comfortable and reminded me that we weren’t alone — that what we were feeling was valid, and that we’d get through it together.

That community became a place of reassurance, guidance and hope. It helped me be there for my mum in the best way I could, not with all the answers, but with support, compassion and strength borrowed from others who understood.

What was it like after her treatment finished?

When we were told my mum was cancer free, it felt like my world had finally exhaled. After everything she’d been through, the chemo, the surgery, the endless appointments, hearing those words was the most beautiful relief. We cried, we laughed and we celebrated her strength, her resilience, her life.

Her 50th birthday that year was more than just a milestone. It was a victory. A moment that reminded us how precious time is and how incredible she truly was.

2 years later, everything changed. We were told the cancer had spread to her bones. It was metastatic. Incurable.

I remember sitting there, hearing those words and feeling like the ground had been ripped from beneath us. The joy we’d once felt was replaced with a kind of silence I can’t even describe. My world shattered.

I looked at my mum. Even then, she was calm, brave, still trying to protect us from the weight of it all. But inside, I was breaking. How could something that once felt like a victory turn into this? How could we go from celebrating life to counting time?

How did your mum respond?

That moment marked the start of a different kind of battle. Not one with a clear finish line, but one we fought day by day, with love, laughter and moments we clung to like lifelines.

Even when my mum was being told time and time again that the chemotherapy wasn’t working, she never gave up on hope. She didn’t let the bad news define her spirit. Instead, she became a beacon of strength for everyone around her.

At home, at the coffee shop, wherever she was, she had this rare gift of making people feel like they mattered. Even in the middle of her own battle, she connected with others going through cancer, offering advice, love and strength.

What made you start fundraising?

My mum talked openly about having a strong mentality, sense of choosing to keep going, to keep giving, to keep loving. That’s what I carry with me now. Her legacy isn’t just in the memories — it’s in every moment I choose to show up, even when it’s hard.

That’s why I signed up for the London Landmarks Half Marathon for Breast Cancer Now. When things took a turn, my mum told me not to do the run as her health could go from bad to worse. However, this pushed me to do the run even more.

It was heartbreaking not having my mum wait for me at the finish line. I raised over £4,000, and I’d completed it with hardly any training while going through one of the toughest moments of my life.

Completing the half marathon wasn’t just a physical achievement. It was a declaration. A way to show that love doesn’t end with loss, and that grief, while heavy, can be transformed into something powerful. It taught me that even when you’re broken, you can still move forward.

How have you been since losing your mum?

One of the hardest parts of losing my mum is knowing she won’t be here for the moments I’d always imagined she would be: watching me get married, holding her grandchildren, seeing me grow and thrive in life. That ache is something I carry with me every single day.

But in the middle of that pain, I’ve got my dad and my sister. And having them by my side means everything. We’ve been through so much, and even though the loss has shaken us to our core, it’s also made our bond unbreakable.

I want to inspire others who are grieving, who feel stuck or lost to know that your pain can become your fuel. Your story, your strength, can light the way for someone else.

What’s next for you?

My mum showed me that true power comes from the heart. That’s why I’m committed to helping drive change in breast cancer research, starting with raising awareness and support for life-saving treatments like Enhertu.

No woman should have to hear the words, “there’s nothing more we can do”. Whether it’s through fundraising, sharing my mum’s story or using my voice to advocate for drug approvals and access to new therapies, I won’t stop until we see real progress.

My journey has just started. Now it’s time to host charity events, attend talks and stand side by side with researchers, patients, families, anyone who’s felt the weight of this disease. I want to give that same support back that I received on the forum.

No one should face a diagnosis like this in silence or isolation. If sharing my experience can bring someone else even a little bit of peace during the chaos, then I know my mum’s journey, and everything we learned together, will continue to make a difference.

Join us. Reserve their space.

Throughout our Reserved campaign, we're reserving spaces for people lost to breast cancer. An empty chair, a place set, a sign left at a meaningful spot. It's a way of celebrating their memory, while showing the impact of every absence, and the urgent action needed to change the future of breast cancer.

If you've lost someone to breast cancer, you can reserve a space for them at a meaningful moment or place.