Back when I was prepping for my chemotherapy, my doctor provided me with insight regarding the transplant process. Though I relied on my doctors, I couldn’t resist diving into the internet rabbit hole for answers. As I read about the harsh realities, I held on to my stubborn optimism—I was ready for the challenge.

Then came the inevitable hair loss during chemo. I found myself diving into personal cancer blogs, reading about others losing their hair. But I was oddly excited about my hair falling out. Didn’t see it as a “loss” but as a chance for a fresh look. So, I prepped early, snagging head covers and wigs online.

Read more about my Leukemia Journey

Hair loss Experience

As the strands started to go, it was a weird sight. Whenever I was lounging, the moment I rolled over, my pillow would be covered in hair. I had a mullet/wolf cut which was short before, so it wasn’t as bad.

At first, it was a few strands here and there, but by the second chemo, it was like a hair waterfall. When it got too much, and I was left with only a few strands, I called in my dad for a head-shaving session. I remember laughing through it all. It might sound wild, but I was genuinely excited. And let me tell you, I rocked that bald head.

One night, after my last chemo session for the day, my mom locked us in our room. Feeling a tad better, I decided to have a mini photoshoot with her. Well, mainly to try on the mountain of earrings my brother had dropped off the day before.

As I stood in front of the mirror, putting on my earrings, I felt a shift within me. It was empowering, like a surge of emotions all at once. It made me appreciate my mind, body, and this new version of myself—radiant and glowing in the reflection.

I smiled looking at my reflection.

It came naturally to me I never forced a smile. I felt grateful of the fact that I was still able to smile in this situation. Being truthful to myself and my emotions is of utmost importance.

Unlike many stories I read, losing my hair wasn’t emotional—it was a thrill, a chance for a whole new look. But little did I know, this was only the beginning of my battle with confidence.

Post Transplant Struggles

Three months post-transplant, everything turned upside down again. GVHD (graft-versus-host disease) started showing up in my mouth and eyes. I hadn’t eaten anything during my BMT (Bone Marrow Transplant) for three weeks straight, and even after discharge, I couldn’t get food past my lips.

My senses of taste and smell were completely off. My esophagus shrunk from lack of use. Within those three months, I was readmitted to the hospital four times due to dangerously low protein levels and other complications.

I was reduced to bones—no fat, no muscle, just skin hanging off me. My burnt, charred skin was constantly peeling; everywhere I went, I left behind flakes. The intense chemo that had prepped my body for the transplant had utterly ravaged it.

I’ll never forget the day in March when my mother helped me bathe after I was discharged. I hadn’t bathed in over two months—I was too weak and in too much pain to move around. By this time, I had to be carried or use a wheelchair to get from place to place.

That was the first time in three months I saw myself in the mirror…

When self-love got unreachable

Seeing myself in the mirror was horrifying. I broke down, crying, and my heart ached, knowing how calmly my mother had cared for me through it all. I couldn’t have done the same. Every glance in the mirror brought me to tears.

I didn’t recognize the person staring back—sunken eyes, charred skin, and a body so thin you could see every bone. It reminded me of a skeleton from my biology lab in school, a nightmare worse than I could imagine

I questioned whether I would ever feel like my old self again. I had never been someone who cared about pimples or scars, but now I felt like a stranger in my own skin—an identity I struggled to accept. I longed for self-love, yet it eluded me. I even found myself avoiding mirrors, as they only deepened my heartbreak and sadness.

I’d joke with my mom that I looked like a malnourished beggar, but deep down, I was terrified. How long would this last? For the first time, I truly felt the despair of being a cancer patient. Though I survived, the road to recovery felt impossibly distant.

Pulling myself Back

I began distracting myself to avoid sinking deeper into depression. My situation was already dire enough, and I didn’t want to make it worse.

My eyes were swollen shut from the onset of GVHD, and I could barely open them.

When my eyes finally felt better, I started watching Naruto. Honestly, he kept my hope alive and rekindled my fighting spirit. He was the closest thing to motivation I could accept at that time. Everyone else trying to “motivate” me could just shut up.

I stopped looking at my old pictures because they felt like someone I used to know—a stranger.

Little by little, I started eating again. And I could finally walk— more of limping and stumbling around like a toddler. I had forgotten how to walk, and it was painful. Every small step felt like an immense stretch. It was as though I was carrying tons of weight. Lifting my arms felt like hard labor.

Whenever I had the energy, I’d ask my mom to help me try on clothes. My body was so weak that I could barely stand for more than a few minutes. Each time, I felt uglier—nothing seemed to look good on me. Why would it? I was just a skeleton covered in burnt, flaky skin.

Yet, deep down, there was a desperation inside me. I craved to feel good and look good again. I had spent months trapped in a hospital, dreaming of the day I could dress up and go out missing that feeling of freedom.

Finding My Way Back to Confidence

As difficult as it was to face the mirror and my own reflection, I knew that staying in that emotional state wouldn’t help me heal. Looking like a stranger, I felt horror but deep inside, I knew I had survived something most people never experienced. What I saw in the mirror was only a chapter of my life.

I concluded that to rebuild my confidence, I had to shift my focus from what was out of my control to what I could control—starting with my Brain. I remembered that I already have the most powerful tool in my recovery: The Positive self-talk I do in my head. The one that kept me going during my treatment.

From there, I began taking small, practical steps to reinforce this newfound confidence…

Fake it till You Make It

I kept the dress up game on as stubborn as I am I took it as a challenge. I still got up, wore a t-shirt mostly black or my regular clothes which had been locked in wardrobe gaining dust for more than a year. Put on my earrings the longer the better and my black goggles, walk up to the mirror and take a mirror selfie. I was not smiling though this time I just could not.

I took a leap of faith and started making this ‘photograph journal’ hoping that one day I’ll be able to smile again. Telling myself it will happen, if not soon but someday definitely.

I was practicing ‘Fake it till you make it.’ Literally.

Manifestation is no joke. And it is not about wishing away things in the air. It is really living before being what You want to be.

Be, Think and Do NOT Think, Do, Be.

Power of Positive Self-Talk

Yeah, I know how it sounds like overrated cliché but this really helps and makes a huge difference. I will be very honest and believe me when I say- positive self-talk saved me more than any chemotherapy and transplant could ever.

There I said it. I know how this sounds like some ungrateful, self-centered, impractical person would say but I will keep repeating- self-talk that you do with yourself whether loud in your own voice or inside your head is of utmost Importance!

The important thing here is to be mindful of what you say to yourself it is more important than minding your speech with your acquaintances.

Back at the hospital, I kept repeating in my head- ‘I feel good’ ‘I am healthy’ ‘I am normal, my body is healing.’ Whenever I was plugged into the chemo medicine I would say in my head- ‘I welcome you in my body now, do your magic.’ If I caught myself thinking pessimistically I would snap my brain back to positivity.

I had shut my mind towards all the negativity, whether it was the self-doubts or people’s speculations. Locked my mind to any incoming negativity during my time through the treatment. I continued it post-transplant because I did not want to sabotage my brain. The only thing that was left under my control.

Also don’t do it for the sake of doing it. Be religious with your positive-self talk. It does go a long way.

Some Practical Self-Care steps

I focused on keeping my brain on the right track and did I manage it all? Well, not everything was inside my head there is the heart, your emotions that needs to be taken care of. Your body needs care and so does your soul.

Self-care & self-love Rituals:

I started journaling again, and it has been a powerful tool for guiding my emotions. It’s no surprise that I had a lot of unresolved feelings and frequent mood swings. To help my mind focus on the positive, I needed something to channel my emotions and release all that was weighing on my heart.

At first, I couldn’t journal every day, but whenever I felt a bit better (since I was mostly bedridden), I would write down everything. Whether it was about missing my old self, feeling ugly, or recalling my days in the hospital, I wrote it all.

One of my main goals was to document my entire leukemia journey because of chemo brain. I still struggle with it and didn’t want to forget any of those horrendous treatment days or my mental state at the time. I feared forgetting those moments would feel like losing a part of my life.

 I make sure to end every entry on a positive note, filled with gratitude. This practice has really helped me resolve my inner chaos and create space for self-love to grow.

 Just light a soothing candle (if your sense of smell isn’t too sensitive like mine—though it took me over a year to enjoy fragrances again), sit down, take a few deep breaths, put on some calming lo-fi music, and pour your heart out.

Re-building body Image:

Being bed-ridden for more than a year your bones and muscle tonus is gone and you really need to put in the work to even walk properly. So, I got into physiotherapy ASAP.

They would come to my house for a two-hour session where we would work on my body- stretching, guiding me to movement exercises ending on meditation, of course my lungs shrank too. So, to BE first, you also need to put in the work. I had learned to accept my post-transplant body; body burned by chemotherapy and was working towards changing it. I still am.

Learn more about how The Power of Acceptance makes a difference.

Reinventing the Wardrobe:

This year, I finally reinvented and deep-cleaned my wardrobe. Not all my pre-cancer clothes fit anymore, as I lost an immense amount of weight (I waited three years to see if they would fit again). Plus, they didn’t appeal to me like they used to—especially the colors. This shift is quite common for Leukemia survivors post-transplant.

I’ve now removed most of the colorful clothes that were sitting around since COVID and donated them to an orphanage, which I highly recommend. What remains in my wardrobe now are mostly solid colors, neutrals, prints, and a lot of blacks and creams. This change was necessary, as my personal style and preferences have shifted dramatically since cancer.

Beauty & Skin-care:

I embraced my bald head ages ago and bought scarves and wigs to suit my style. Let me tell you—there is no shame in wearing wigs to feel good about yourself. Experiment to your heart’s content to find the perfect look for you. That’s the key to boosting confidence.

I tried scarves, caps, and even hats along with my earrings, and I found a style that complements my post-cancer body.

You wouldn’t believe how bad my skin got post-transplant—it was peeling off for the first year, and it was horrifyingly disgusting.

The biggest change I made, and the first one, was finding the right skincare. My skin has always been dry, but after the transplant, it became worse—flakier and drier than ever. I added serums and creams to my skincare routine, and they had to be fragrance-free. Fortunately, I didn’t have to search too hard. I also started using more sunscreen than ever before. Body lotion became a daily necessity, even in the summer.

So, find skincare products that suit your skin’s needs. Don’t ignore her! If you have sensitive skin post-chemo, consult your doctor or a dermatologist.

Closing Note…

It’s been three years since I finished treatment and I realized strength was not about looking strong, it was about knowing that I did survive. My bald head wasn’t a sight of illness but of resilience.

If you are reading this & struggling with post-cancer Confidence, or finding it difficult to love yourself, know that it is OKAY to feel unsure. But one day, you will look in the mirror and realize you are still here, stronger than ever.

Always remember, If your brain is working and you are the one in control of it- The Body Obeys it.