I received news earlier this month that has stayed with me, settling deep in my chest.
Tracey Durrett—one of our members since Breathing Spaces began, owner of Curves of Los Altos, and the host of our Family Caregiver Walks in Mountain View—has been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer: angiosarcoma.
I am angry.
Tracey is one of the most gentle, genuine souls I know. She has already faced and overcome brain cancer with a quiet strength that left so many of us in awe. To hear this news now feels unbearable. It feels unfair. 
As I continue talking with her, I hear about the struggle to get clear information, to receive the guidance she needs, to make informed decisions. It infuriates me that someone facing a diagnosis like this has to spend precious time and energy pushing for answers, advocating for herself, fighting through a system that can feel like a wall too thick to penetrate.
When someone receives a life-altering diagnosis, they should not have to battle to understand their options or access the support they need. Yet so many people do. Sometimes the hardest part of being a patient—or a caregiver—is discovering that persistence becomes necessary. Asking again. Seeking a second opinion. Following up on the unanswered message. Continuing to advocate when exhaustion tells you to stop. It shouldn’t have to be this way. But finding the strength to push through can make all the difference.
And it has brought me right back to a place I know all too well.
In 2019, I lost my best friend, Parris, to breast cancer. Bay Area Cancer Connections was there then, supporting her through her journey. Today, they are walking alongside Tracey—and they also support the Family Caregiver Walks that Tracey hosts through Curves of Los Altos. Both have been cherished Care Partners since Breathing Spaces began. That connection is not lost on me. It feels deeply personal. Full circle in a way that takes my breath away.
With it comes a flood of emotion—grief, anger, fear, and a sadness that is heavy and achingly familiar. I understand now, in a very real way, those words we so often see:
F*** Cancer
But alongside that anger is something else—a quiet recognition of what it means to care.
I am not family.
I am not her primary caregiver.
And yet… I am caring.
This is what caregiving looks like, too. It doesn’t always fit neatly into a title or a role. Sometimes it simply lives in the heart—in the way we show up, the way we hold space, and the way we refuse to let someone walk through something like this alone.
These past few weeks I have felt completely undone. The tears come without warning. I find myself wondering what to say, when to reach out, how to best support someone I care about so deeply. And still, a quiet voice reminds me to pause… to breathe… to reach for support.
This is why we do what we do at Breathing Spaces.
Because caregiving—no matter what it looks like—can bring us to our knees. Because grief and worry do not require a title to be real. Because no one should have to walk through life’s hardest moments alone.
If you are carrying something heavy right now, I invite you to join us in one of our Care Circles. You don’t have to have the words. You don’t have to share your story. You can simply come… and breathe.
To our dear Tracey: You are not alone. We are all holding you close and walking beside you every step of the way.
You will beat this.
With love,
Cyndi
Cyn,
You are one of the sweetest, most deeply caring souls I have ever known. No matter what lies ahead for me, I will always be grateful for the support I have received from Breathing Spaces and (now) BACC.
Above all, I am blessed to have you in my life as one of my dearest friends. I love you!