The anti-aging power of old friends and good times.

“GET OFF MY LAWN!” is something I assumed I’d be yelling regularly at ‘kids these days’ at a grand old age somewhere near the end of my life. I’d be wearing who-knows-what because I’m too old to care about looking in mirrors, and I’d be complaining endlessly about the weather, politicians and the neighbours who have too many cars parked in their driveway.

But the sneaky thing about life is that there is no guarantee any of us will have those beautiful pleasures. Some of us will get a shorter run, and there’s no logic to it. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong, and it’ll never mean you deserved it. It just means… it happens.

Or in my case, it is happening. And although it is normal to feel anger, proclaim how unfair it is and question every single life decision I’ve ever made… ultimately I had to learn to let it go, because it is a waste of the precious time I have.

They say hindsight is 20/20, so let’s borrow that perspective together and realize we’re currently IN the moments we’d one day give anything to return to. The big, the adventure, the boring, and the ordinary. Time is flying by, in case you haven’t noticed. 

Now, the thing about being in the 4th quarter of your life – is that you think about the beginning a lot, the good old days when you were young and wild and free. Turns out, sometimes I can’t stop thinking about those formative years when my friends were the most important thing to me in the entire world.

“YES MOM AND DAD if I miss this Friday night with my friends I think I will actually DIE.” is what I remember saying every single weekend… Jokes on me I guess! 

I’m talking about a specific group of my friends, who have always been affectionately referred to as my high school friends. But the truth is they’re really my middle school friends, and I am lucky enough to even have a kindergarten friend… and they’re the friends that I’m dying to spend my biggest milestone birthday with so far. 

Ba-Dam-Tss!

That milestone? The 40th.

Since January, there have been many different birthday celebrations with different friends and family. But for as long as I can remember, there was always some level of discussion about how we’d have to do something big together, like a trip!

And it’s actually happening.

We have all built lives that have gone in a ton of different directions and we honestly don’t all keep in touch as much as you’d think. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. We live in different cities, we have different types of jobs, we’re married, have children, are single, don’t have children, we’re renovating, we’re engaged, we’re a little bit of everything. And I’m proud of us.

So who thought this would actually come together? Honestly, not me. But here I am, one of the loudest supporters of this celebration, and the reason is this. 

These are the friends who taught me everything I know about being a friend. I also learned how to be a girlfriend, a good friend, a best friend, an asshole (only sometimes…), and they’re the ones who I even credit for my sense of humour. So if you don’t think any of this is funny you can blame them.

They’re also the people who I made mistakes with, broke rules with, made the biggest decisions of my life with, chose future paths with, laughed with, cried with, hated, loved, grieved with and have stuck with, and will always be there for, no matter what for an incredible 25+ years! 

How lucky are we? I don’t know how common it is, but it feels pretty freaking special.

I know that not everyone who reads this has had this same experience. But hopefully you have at least one or two people who’ve known you for a long time, during the same impressionable time period. Who’ve seen different versions of you, who’ve watched you grow up, rooted for you, annoyed you, or silently supported you over the years. It all matters.

There are so many kinds of relationships and friendships, and the deep connections I’ve made with friends later in my life are equally significant to me, but I will get to that another day.

Right now, this milestone in my experience of life has me thinking about these specific people more than ever, because I owe so much of who I am, as an adult, to them. 

When you’re racing around Burlington in the middle of the night in your parent’s minivans, doing a scavenger hunt against the rest of your friends – you’re learning so much about what you can and can’t get away with, and you’re building your tolerance for risk. Plus you’re also figuring out which household you can go home to and not get in trouble with when the police escort you home… 

Growth mindset, am I right?

Or that time we decided that throwing bacon on a car as a prank instead of eggs would be much funnier – and more respectful – to the other car owner because it is easier to clean and won’t chip the paint…

Maturity. 

And being dropped off in the middle of a forest to go have a bonfire with people from multiple schools when cell phones didn’t exist? 

Lessons in nature and navigation. 

Our first jobs at McDonald’s, Tim Hortons, a movie store, the local arenas, you name it – we were all there for each other, showing up at each other’s places of work and allowing them the privilege of learning how to overcome temptation to slack off, focus and do their work properly…  

You’re welcome. 

Deciding who to call for a ride. Choosing a partner for an important group project. Staying overnight at the friend’s house your parents told you not to stay at. Sneaking out of the basement bedroom window to go meet other friends. Organizing group trips to cottages, and weekends away camping in torrential flooding rain. Learning new skills like snowboarding, managing money, rollerblading, driving, running from the police, and figuring out what’s funny and what’s straight up offensive… All very important life skills.

Thank goodness for those friends. 

Now we’re having children of our own, and one day we’ll know exactly what they’re trying to get up to. 

Preparation and evolution. 

If that isn’t all convincing enough, get this. There’s actually fascinating research showing that acting younger with the people you knew when you were younger, can actually make you biologically younger. 

Read that again.

It was the famous 1979 Harvard study called “counterclockwise” by psychologist Ellen Langer. A group of older men spent a week together living as if it were 1959 (20 years younger). They were surrounded by music, magazines, pictures and memories of their youth, and also told to act and talk as if they were in that year.

By the end, they were different. Their posture, memory, grip strength, and even eyesight had improved measurably. And this study has been backed up by other studies since… So naturally the only conclusion is that it’s actually GOOD FOR YOUR HEALTH.

In other words, a vacation with old friends to a beautiful turquoise ocean, sandy beach, hot temperatures and a pickleball court is necessary. As long as we listen to good music, talk about old memories, look at old pictures, talk like we used to, laugh a ton and forget that we’re older with big responsible adult lives. 

Ok.

It’s science. When people reconnect with younger versions of themselves, through old friends, familiar rituals, or nostalgic settings – stress levels drop, mood and cognition improve, and their bodies respond as if they’ve turned back the clock.

Twist my arm.

And I know that friendships evolve and change with time, and I love that. We all grow much closer to some and farther from others, because life does what life does. What matters is that we all shared those formative years with each other and that means we’ll always be connected in one way or another.  

For the good, the bad and the lessons learned, I’ve found gratitude in all of it. Even for the hardest parts, because once you’ve overcome those challenges, you see them for what they are. It’s all just a part of the human experience and a chance to keep growing into the person you want to be, and building the life you want to live. 

And for the love of… GET OFF MY LAWN.

National Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day

Metastatic breast cancer (also known as stage 4) is responsible for 100% of breast cancer deaths. Yet, only 2-5% total research funding goes towards MBC.

Many people think of breast cancer and they think of the end of treatment. That you ring a bell, get your life back, and move on.
But anywhere between 25-30% of early stage breast cancer will progress to stage 4.

Metastatic breast cancer doesn’t move on, it moves IN.

It spreads to your bones, your brain, your lungs, your liver, and it never leaves.
There’s no cure. No “all clear.” Just treatment… for life.

It’s the cancer that kills, but the one no one talks about in all of the awareness campaigns.
Because it doesn’t fit the pink fairytale. Because “forever” is a little harder to market.

We live scan to scan, with bodies that look fine and carry fear quietly.
We live knowing time is precious, so we live differently.

When you know your time is limited, you try hard to stop wasting it.
You love louder. You forgive faster. You chase fun, adventure and joy.

So, metastatic breast cancer isn’t pink and pretty. It’s bold. And it’s brutal.
But it also makes you see this beautiful life in a way you never thought possible.

That’s why October 13th is so important. #stage4needsmore

Cancer gave me a mic – and I’m not giving it back

Questioning my life decisions just before I go on stage is a normal part of my process. “No, for real WHY do I do this to myself?” I asked my husband, minutes before I was about to walk onto an elevated stage in front of over 2,500 people downtown Toronto last year. My nerves were going crazy, my stomach was weak and my body was vibrating in anticipation. 

I’m pretty sure I said something like ‘‘why can’t I just go get a normal job or do anything normal?!” He laughed at me and reminded me that this is what I do every time I’m about to go on stage, and that I’ll kill it.

At least one of us was confident and having fun.

I remember telling him that I clearly need to find a new process, and started to literally dance out the nerves in a little area beside the stage – there’s a video of that somewhere!

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been comfortable speaking in front of people. Plus, I give a lot of credit to my earlier career in fitness because one hour at a time, one group at a time, I wasn’t just giving my clients exercise coaching. I was telling stories, filling silences, connecting with strangers, and making people laugh – even when they hated their lives because they were doing a lot of burpees.

Burpees were my thing. Ah, the good old days.

As a personal trainer and fitness instructor I learned how to entertain, pass time, read a room, and use humor to make hard topics feel lighter. I guess you could say that fitness was my first stage.

So when I was originally diagnosed with early stage breast cancer, speaking up about it felt like the natural thing to do. 

I had to abruptly shut down my fitness business to have surgery and start treatment, and I decided it was a perfect way to keep my very supportive community up to speed with everything that was going on. 

I started a blog to process everything, to share, and to connect. And I shared a lot of the day to day stuff on social media. To this day I cannot express how grateful I am for the community that supported me, because it made all the difference in the world. It gave me an even bigger reason to get through treatment and helped me stay positive.

But when my cancer came back as stage 4 and incurable, everything changed. It felt different. I felt different. This time, I didn’t want to talk. I felt exhausted, and narrating my whole experience suddenly felt scary. What if all I’d be was “the positive cancer girl.” 

I was also afraid of what I’d be sharing with the world. This time the stakes were different with my children. There was no longer an end to this fight, and how it was going to go down was very uncertain. I didn’t know how to share openly and still protect them. They were young and although we were honest about everything, we still had to keep it age appropriate and be extra sensitive to their experience. 

The gravity of my diagnosis, what it meant, the prognosis… I felt like I needed to keep some of the hardest details close, and I didn’t know how to balance it all. 

So I didn’t. I retreated. I went quiet. I posted a couple times on social media. I wrote no more blogs. I quit my jobs, I focused on treatment and I didn’t think I’d ever have the time to work again.

My world was shrinking. 

Then, in the middle of that darkness, the universe handed me something unexpected. A public speaking competition. I almost didn’t enter, but the timing, the ‘Against All Odds’ theme and how it came to be felt like it was a strong message that this was something I needed to do.

So I entered. And I gave my first real stage speech ever.

And I won first place.

Standing on that stage, hearing the audience laugh, feeling the energy in the room, and learning how my story impacted others afterwards, something inside me lit up again. It felt right. 

That’s when I started to realize that maybe this was what I’m supposed to do next. I’d always loved speaking, and now I had something even more meaningful to say.

My words could help others who were fighting their own battles, and often battles that no one even knows about. Maybe my vulnerability could help others move forward with strength, hope and positivity too. 

Resilience is not born, it’s built. I could be a part of that.

The saying is ‘if my story helps even one person it’s worth it’ and let me tell you – yes. It’s true. It’s everything. 

So I followed that path. One more competition (and one more award winning speech). Then a podcast. A charity keynote. An audience of over 2,500 people. And one more, and one more…

And eventually, in a plot twist I didn’t see coming, I found myself not just speaking – but helping others speak and share their own messages and stories. Helping people find their voices in their own lives, whether on a stage, in a boardroom, or at a networking event (or even their kitchen table) felt natural too.

At first I was coaching fellow stage competitors, and then instructing classes at the University of Toronto’s School of Continuing Studies. Leading others to tell their stories, connect with confidence, and use their voice with purpose has meant more to me than I could have ever imagined. I’ve met so many incredible people and it has been such a fun way to go back to work.

And yes, I am happy to be back at work. It feels like a privilege thanks to my ‘special’ perspective on life.

I’ve learned that using your voice is one of the most powerful ways to take back control when life feels uncontrollable. Stories, speeches and communication changes the world. 

It’s a way to turn pain into purpose, fear into connection, and uncertainty into meaning. It’s how we remind ourselves and each other that we still have something to give, something to say, and in some cases, something to live for.

For me, speaking isn’t about having the mic. It’s about creating impact. It’s about leaving something behind that’s important and personal. For me it’s real, unfiltered, hopeful, and inspiring.

Cancer takes so much, but it can give a lot too. A couple things it gave me was the clarity and courage to go after this career path.

So although I may question my life decisions every time I’m about to speak in front of audiences of any size – it’s the most amazing and energizing feeling in the world. I love it. I truly feel like I’ve been led on the right path, at just the right time, and I’m just getting started.

The gritty side of gratitude

Gratitude has become a buzzword in our culture. Write down three things you’re grateful for, they say. Light a candle, sip some tea, and the world will feel brighter. But when you’re living with stage 4 cancer, gratitude feels different.

It’s not about pretending everything is fine, because mam, it is most definitely NOT fine. And it’s not even about minimizing the hard stuff – because sir, tried that been there, and it doesn’t work. It’s about learning to hold both truths at once: that life can be brutal and strikingly beautiful at the same time.

I remember feeling completely devastated one day in a routine appointment with my medical oncologist. I was nearing the end of my chemotherapy, and we were touching base to decide that in fact, my chemo would end, and I’d continue on only 3 targeted therapy infusions every 3 weeks as my maintenance treatment for the foreseeable future. Is forever too much to ask for?

We sat down and got right into it. I was surprised to hear that the decision to end chemo at that point was based on the research, which says that after six months there’s no good evidence that chemotherapy would continue to work the way it was and that the risks associated with side effects and long-term issues weren’t worth it.

K.

Basically, like all stage 4 cancer treatments, you gamble and hope for the best. It was working, it seemed like my cancer had stabilized, so now was the time to test out the next phase of treatment.

Then an innocent question to my primary oncologist, how much time do I have?

She took a breath and thought for a second, before telling me that if everything went perfectly then she doesn’t see any reason why I couldn’t get to 5 years.

The breath was knocked out of me. Did she just tell me TO MY FACE that I have five years to live? I meant how much time do I have on this treatment. Not how much time do I have to live. I started to tear up, as she started to say some kind and understanding things to what, make me feel better? She just punched me in the face, there is no feeling better.

I couldn’t believe it. My husband and my kids were waiting for me outside because IT WAS MY DAUGHTER’S BIRTHDAY and we had a plan to go out for a special breakfast after I had my quick-no-big-deal appointment. She was turning 8, so naturally it was easy for me to do the quick math and I realized I’d be lucky to see my daughter go to high school.

That’s cool. That’s totally normal.

Then the craziest thing happened when I got into the car with my family. I decided to crawl into the back seat and sit between my son and the birthday girl, leaving the front seat empty. My kids were confused but thought it was the coolest thing ever – they each immediately grabbed an arm and squeezed it a tight as they could and laid their heads down on each of my shoulders. They got so close to me you’d think we’d all merged into one person.

My husband looked at me from the rearview mirror and he could see my eyes watering as I desperately tried to keep it together. His face told me that he knew something not-good happened in my appointment, and I just shook my head implying that we can’t talk about it right now.

I knew, that he knew, that I knew something, that I didn’t want anyone to know yet, you know? You got it.

That crazy thing? A wave of gratitude washed over me. The feeling of these kids holding me so tight, the empathetic husband chauffeuring us to the breakfast restaurant, the sunshine in the sky on that beautiful summer morning… The gratitude didn’t erase the pain, but it gave it context.

That morning’s breakfast that sticks out in my mind and I’m grateful that I had the extra motivation to be extremely present with my family. Sure, I remember that appointment too – but it’s not my biggest memory from that day. I remember the conversation, the sticky syrup that somehow ended up in my son’s hair, the delicious warm meal, the spilled hot chocolate on my lap, and the laughter, among other things.

The tears kept coming to my eyes that morning, but it was because of the love and gratitude I was feeling. One might even say that the world looked brighter that day.

I’ve decided that this *jOuRN*ey of mine is going to include sharing some hard truths that often get overlooked. Or, in my case, sharing the hardest truths that I’ve been keeping to myself for so long. I guess I feel like I’m protecting others by keeping these kinds of details to myself, but now I’m choosing to believe that there’s some good that can come from being open and honest.  

We didn’t get any pictures of that breakfast that morning, but we did get some pictures and video of dinner that night. Sandwiched between my kids, smiles big and eyes bright, wearing a matching dress with my daughter, port bandage popping out of my dress and very little hair to show, singing and laughter, stolen worried glances with my husband – it was a perfect example of how brutal and beautiful life can be all at the same time.

Oh, and don’t forget to light a candle, sip some tea and write down 3 things you’re grateful for today.

Facing fear

Fear shows up in unexpected ways. With stage 4 cancer, it’s not the kind of terror that paralyzes, because well, you learn quickly that you don’t have that luxury. Instead, it’s quiet, subtle, and creeps in during a routine doctor’s appointment, a scan, or even just a moment alone.

But fear has a role. It’s a reminder to live deliberately, to prioritize what matters, and to embrace courage in small doses every day. Courage isn’t the absence of fear, it’s acting despite it. Wait, that is a good saying, I totally made that up all by myself right now.

When I was just getting used to this new incurable diagnosis I was filled with fear. It wasn’t what I expected though, because I guess I thought I’d be scared for my own life or something. But I wasn’t. I was scared for my children’s lives. 

And by that I mean I feared for what their lives would be like if I wasn’t in it anymore. Losing a parent is one of the most traumatic things that can happen to you at a young age, and all I could see was all of the things that could go wrong. 

Some kids take tragedy and become resilient and live very happy successful lives despite it all – but some kids don’t. Some struggle in school, struggle in relationships, experience depression, anxiety and pain, or fall eventually fall into self sabotage or addiction… or insert any bad thing you’ve ever worried about here. Why are we so good at that? 

This fear became debilitating and plunged me into depression for months and months before I got help. I felt helpless and hopeless, and it was scary because I had never experienced that before.

The turnaround came when I was taught how to reprogram my beliefs and thoughts through specialized therapy, mindfulness and meditation. I also dabbled in anti-depressants for a few months while I built the necessary tools. I learned to accept that the future is unknown, but that it’s ok to be uncomfortable with the unknown. I learned how to question my thoughts and beliefs and focus on what I know in the present moment – what is the actual truth? What do I know to be true right now?

So I focused on the truth. Did I know for sure that I wouldn’t be here in the future? No. Are my kids for sure going to have horrible lives if I’m not here? Also no. The other thing is, I came to the realization that I am actually here to help them through the trauma of losing a parent – because I’m here right now. I get to help them build coping strategies and find outlets that they can fall back on when life hits them with the hard stuff. 

I am present, aware and capable of being there for them and guiding them through life’s toughest lessons. Basically they have an extra annoying mom encouraging them to get out there and make the most of life! 

So it’s not about avoiding fear – it’s about acknowledging the fear, letting it teach you, and using it to fuel living fully.

That time I made a room laugh about breast cancer (speech video)

This past July I was lucky enough to be invited on stage at an event by Helen Xenidis, For Once Upon Woman – Her Story. The event was supporting The Healing Ink Collective to help raise funds and awareness for women in the reconstruction phase of their breast cancer treatment. It is so much more than 3D aeorla tattoos, it’s about helping them feel a little more like themselves at a time when they really need it.

The event was filled with inspiration, education and I got the memo to bring some laughter! The women who shared their stories on stage shared incredibly vulnerable and heartfelt stories, and really brought some important messages into the lives of the audience.

I got on stage and completely threw out any plan I had – something I do from time to time – because I really wanted to bring the energy level up, share some heavy parts of my own story in a way that would make people smile and laugh, and not just talk about joy – but physically create it right there and right then in that room.

Sometimes you have to laugh your way through a difficult situation, because what else can you do? Other then cry of course… which I promise I do too! Just not that evening… lucky for the audience! A little less awkward right?

Thank you Helen for a wonderful event, and thank you Jennifer for capturing all the speeches so they could live on far beyond one evening. Meeting the other speakers was the best part, because connection in this cancer community is truly special.

When you click on the vide you’ll be taken to a page with the other stories as well! Watch & share if you know anyone who might resonate with anything you see. Your support means a lot.

Video by @jenniferjjmedia www.jjmediaonline.com

Website: www.onceuponawoman.com @onceuponawoman.herstory

Learning to love the small moments

One of the first lessons cancer taught me is that life isn’t only measured in years, but in moments. Big milestones are incredible, sure, but they’re rare. The truth is, stage 4 cancer forces you to notice the tiniest moments and to appreciate the small milestones, even ones that you’d miss if you blink. 

I love drinking a nice cup of coffee in the morning – bonus if I actually get to sit down while I drink it! I notice the way my daughter spontaneously dances in our kitchen or the living room… sometimes to music that only she can hear in her head. My son’s curiosity about the world gives me more moments than I can count. I love that I can actually see him thinking in real time when a new fact or idea is presented to him, and the way he squints his eyes has his ability to slow me down and stop me in my tracks.

The way the sky looks when the sunlight appears over the treetops on my street in the morning, and the way the backyard turns golden just before it goes down. It’s cheesy but I’m going to say it anyway – these small moments are tiny miracles, and now, more than ever, I stop to savor them.

I want this month to remind you, and me, that the little things matter. That a simple laugh or a quiet moment of peace can be more transformative than the big achievements we chase. Life isn’t just about survival. It’s about noticing, appreciating, and celebrating, even in the smallest ways.

Why I’m sharing truth, laughter & lessons this October

Lindsy Matthews

Ah October. Beautiful, traumatic, October. This is the month that I am constantly reminded about my complicated relationship with the color pink – OH and that I have breast cancer. 

It is breast cancer awareness month, and it happens to also be the month that I was originally diagnosed with breast cancer – 7 years ago! You know what they say… time flies when you’re fighting for your life. 

You know, looking back at the very beginning I see someone who got really good at pushing through some really hard times, but was ‘fine’ because she always knew that there was an end to the chaos, the panic and the fear. Early stage breast cancer is super treatable. Some would even say “a good cancer” if they were really, really brave. Try saying that to someone’s face who has cancer.

I beat cancer back in 2020 and I was lucky enough to call myself a cancer survivor. I’d hear people say “wait, YOU had cancer? That’s so crazy you’re so good looking you’d never even know!” or something like that, I don’t exactly remember. A lot of compliments though, for sure. 

Then my body had to go and release some secret stash of breast cancer cells and release them into my central nervous system. Rude. In other words, the cancer found a way to survive all the targeted treatment, radiation, chemotherapy and surgeries and metastasized. 

In January of 2022 I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer (MBC). I know what you’re thinking – how many stages are there? 4. So when people hear ‘stage 4’ they might immediately think of endings. But here’s the truth – it’s not about dying – it’s about LIVING. Living bigger, brighter and more intentionally than ever before.

When we discovered that my disease progressed I was given very little hope that I’d be here long enough to continue experiencing all of the wonderful things life has to offer, for example like renewing my mortgage again. Spoiler alert, we just renewed our mortgage this past summer at a MUCH higher interest rate – lucky me! 

But seriously, lucky me. I think about that all the time. I am so incredibly lucky that my first line of treatment is working so hard at keeping me stable. I am in active treatment right now and I will be for the rest of my life… that is as long as I continue to be one of the lucky ones.

This year I’ve decided that I want to use October for good, and aim my energy at making a positive impact in the cancer community, for my friends or your friends with breast cancer, and for anyone going through hard times in general. For the next month, I’ll share the raw, the real, the painful, and the joyful truths of living with incurable cancer. I’ll tell stories about my diagnosis, the lessons I’ve learned, the moments that made me laugh until I cried… and the times I cried until I laughed.

Basically, I’ll share the wisdom I hope my children, my friends, my family, and all of you will carry forward.

This isn’t just about me. It’s about helping everyone remember that life is fragile, precious, and far too short to waste.