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It's your story, Kate. Nobody else's
I was waiting in line at the pharmacy when I glanced at my phone and saw a headline: “Princess of Wales Reveals Cancer Treatment in Moving Statement.”
Everything seemed to go quiet around me. My own brush with mortality was long ago, but like anyone who’s had cancer, it’s still seared into my memory.
I never paid much attention to the greedy, gossipy headlines about the royals, even throughout the sizzling departure of Meghan and Harry to Hollywood. But I have close ties to the UK—my own grandmother is British—and Kate Middleton’s life has always seemed closer to my own. Her family’s home is just down the road from where my brother lives in England, and my niece went to the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, where she met Kate and William when they were dating. So, Princess Catherine’s sudden disappearance from public life months ago caused me to speculate along with everyone else.
Now, I hurried to my car and watched the video of Kate seated alone on a garden bench, looking pale but composed as she made her announcement. “This of course came as a huge shock,” she said.
That’s when I cried.
Princess Catherine is 42 and has three children. The youngest, Louis, is five. I was in my early 40s when I received my own shocking diagnosis —breast cancer—and had three children as well. My youngest son was also five.
After the doctor called to give me the biopsy results, I took a walk on that mockingly beautiful October day and wondered how I could protect my children. My youngest was adjusting to kindergarten. My older two were navigating the wildfires of adolescence. How could I be honest without scaring them?
This is the perpetual balancing act of parenthood: how do you catch life’s constant curve balls before they whack your kids in the head? Whether it’s a job loss, a pandemic, a war, or a personal tragedy, we seek to guard the innocence of our children until they’re old enough to have developed some resilience, even while knowing that it’s the bad things in life that make you stronger.
I’m a ghostwriter and make a living by telling other people’s stories. My clients are celebrities and entrepreneurs, doctors and academics. Smart people who work hard. Often they’re rich or famous or both. But their lives, like ours, are complicated by illnesses and family dramas. When we collaborate, I help them delve into aspects of their journeys that are sometimes uncomfortable, even painful, as we shape their narratives.
These painful stories often make it into their books, but not always. I respect the fact that sometimes the juiciest anecdotes need to be cut because my authors want to protect themselves or their families. “Nobody has any right to your life stories but you,” I tell them.
This is the perpetual balancing act of parenthood: how do you catch life’s constant curve balls before they whack your kids in the head?
Obviously, I couldn’t hide everything about my cancer from my children. But I could hide most of it, I decided, so I did.
After my surgery, I’d get out of bed before the children came home from school, get dressed, and act as normally as possible. I told them about the cancer and answered their questions, but assured them that I would get stronger, just as Kate has done with her children. Then I’d turn the focus back to homework, Cub Scouts, music lessons and cross country meets. Our messaging as parents, I think, must always be that there is joy to come, even if the shadows are lingering today.
Other than family and close friends, who provided wonderful support by picking my kids up after school and providing meals, I kept my cancer diagnosis to myself. I’m luckier than Kate and my celebrity clients because nobody cares enough about my personal life to notice if I stop posting on Instagram.
Last night I met my youngest son, now in his 20s, to see Dune II at our local IMAX. As we waited to enter the theater, I turned to him and said, “Hey, what do you remember about me having breast cancer?”
He frowned. “Not much. I mean, I know you had it, but that’s about it.”
“Good,” I said.
It’s a shame that social media allows us to be Peeping Toms at millions of windows without consequences and that so many trolls can make witless remarks day or night. But what I would tell Kate is this: “It’s your story. Nobody else’s.”
