I was diagnosed with the BRCA1 gene mutation in early 2023, aged 25. My family has a strong history of breast and ovarian cancer but it was only after my mum died from cancer treatment complications that I took action and got tested. Having watched my mum go through treatment, I wanted to take every action possible to prevent getting cancer.

Getting a positive result didn’t come as a massive surprise; more than anything, I felt grateful to find out early enough to have choices. Having that faulty gene means I’m at significantly higher risk of getting breast and ovarian cancer at some point; for every 100 women with the BRCA1 gene mutation, 65–85 will develop breast cancer and 40–63 will develop ovarian cancer in their lifetime.

Armed with this knowledge, I had three options: do nothing, have regular breast screenings with the hope of catching cancer early or have preventative surgery to reduce the risk. I chose a double mastectomy and breast reduction which, according to my doctor, would reduce my risk of disease by 95% (although that number is different for every woman).

I would be the first generation in my family to have the capacity to stop cancer in its tracks. But that fact didn’t make the prospect of surgery and underdoing a fundamental, physical change any easier. I wanted to become – and feel – the strongest version of myself going into that operating theatre, so strength training became a core part of my prep. I also started speaking to other BRCA+ women who’d undergone a double mastectomy and breast reconstruction. As well as practical advice on recovery, they showed me that it was possible to thrive post-op – that having a mastectomy wouldn’t hold me back from doing anything I wanted to; one woman I met had just started rock climbing.  

Rewind a few years and I was at an all-female gym, picking up weights for the very first time. I didn’t see what all the fuss about strength training was all about; I distinctly remember asking the friend I was with what the point was in picking up bits of metal… only to put them back down again. Lifting weights (to my mind) wouldn’t improve my 5K time, make hiking any easier or get me up a mountain any quicker. But my friend persuaded me to stick with it, and before long, I noticed that I was becoming stronger. The thought of lugging a heavy suitcase through the airport no longer filled me with dread, and I knew I could carry lots of equipment without assistance. But it was only after having a double mastectomy that I really saw the impact years of strength training have had on me.

Back in 2023, and I was advised that in the few days after my operation, I’d need help sitting up. For the first 48 hours, it’d be a struggle to stand or walk about independently. Waking up alone after surgery (visitors weren’t allowed on the ward) and feeling disoriented from painkillers and anaesthetic, I immediately worried about not being able to move. And that’s when I tapped into all that time spent at the gym. 

I lay in that hospital bed picturing my PT telling me to engage my core, and with that muscle memory, I managed to pull myself up into a sitting position unaided. When the time came to get out of bed, I remembered the words they used to say me when my squats weren’t deep enough: “Trust that your legs will get you back up.” Just as I trusted my glutes and quads to push back up from the depths of a heavy back squat, I trusted they’d get me standing up and moving around. It felt infinitely harder than a squat but I still did it.

In the immediate aftermath of major surgery, everything revolves around just being able to function in the most basic of ways. You focus on being able to dress yourself, reach for something off the top shelf, take a shower. But once that had passed and I saw my results, it dawned on me that my breast cancer risk was now at less than 5%. 

Women have increasingly cottoned onto the mental and physical benefits of strength training, but it wasn’t until I was in recovery that I found this refreshed appreciation for my body. Tying up my hair for the first time felt as good as achieving the wildest new PB. Of course, there were moments of frustration – like failing to wash my hair properly for weeks on end – but the mindset I’d developed at the gym allowed me to focus more on the things I could manage. 

Every time I’d added a weight to the bar, I’d been subconsciously teaching myself to trust my body – and that self-belief was a huge factor in building back mobility after my operation. I was attached to a battery-powered negative pressure dressing and drains for a few weeks after coming out of hospital, and that meant having to contend with a lot of equipment while struggling to move – something I managed to navigate using the old hinge movement. I’ve never been so grateful for doing all those deadlifts as I was hinging over to put on my socks or wash my face.

It’s been over a month since my operation, and I’m in no state to head back to the gym yet; it’ll take a few months before I can pick up a weight again. But I have started going on walks and hope to use the bike machine soon. I love exercising even more than I did before my operation, and my long-term goal is to return to my former strength again.  

Understandably, body image is something I’m still coming to terms with. I like how my implants look and I’m proud of my scars, but building back my self-confidence is an ongoing project. I’ve noticed that there’s a misconception around breast reconstructions; some people think they’re free boob jobs. That obviously isn’t the case: reconstruction comes with its own set of challenges that include a loss of sensation and the inability to breastfeed. My implants aren’t a cosmetic enhancement – they’re the result of a potentially life-saving operation. 

Images: author’s own