Mandy Antoniacci

For the last 17 months, I've been holding my mother's hand as she battled cancer.

‘My mom has cancer.’

It’s hard to describe the weight of those words, except to say it feels like falling and never hitting the ground. I disappeared from this space, and frankly from the world, because her diagnosis was fast-moving and aggressive, and I made a decision, without really making it at all, to try and be quicker than it.

I know there are many of you reading these words who understand this immediately, where the world keeps spinning for everyone else while your entire existence narrows down to scan results and medications and appointments and portals and pain and waiting for doctors to call back.

I became that person. I became her person—completely and invisibly, during what has been the hardest 17 months of our lives.

But…the good news, the merciful news, is that we are finally in a place of freedom from it, as my mom is doing beautifully. We’re finally feeling what it’s like to exhale again over here. We’re planning again. Sleeping again. Just yesterday, she looked at me and said, “You need a few inches off your hair and a few pounds on your bones,” which means, she’s mothering me again. It’s heavenly. Like walking out into sunlight after living underground for a very long time.

So, my mom’s now getting her life back. Slowly, I am too. I’m returning to my manuscript, this space, my beautiful city, and returning to myself a little bit each day.

To everyone who stayed here while I was gone, thank you for waiting.

And to my mom, who isn’t on social media, but is sitting right next to me as I read this aloud:
I am so lucky that you held my hand first.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. ♥️🌷

Happy birthday to me! 🎁🏅
This weekend, I ran my first marathon. Not my first ever, but my first after eight spinal surgeries. My first after learning how to walk again, how to trust my body again, how to believe in something beyond the pain.

It also happens to be my birthday. And this year, this race was my gift to myself—one I wasn’t sure I’d ever unwrap. I didn’t show up to chase a clock or some version of me I’ve long since left behind. I showed up to honor the strength it took to get here. To celebrate the person I’ve become.

I’ve been away from this space for a while, working on my book, my body, and frankly, my mind. It’s been a season of reckoning and rebuilding. A season of asking myself what’s possible when the odds tell you otherwise.

So, if you’re carrying something heavy—something that feels endless—please know this: what you’re moving toward is closer than it seems, even when it hurts, even when you’re tired, even when the voice in your head tries to convince you to stop.

And who you are now, in this very moment, is worth celebrating. 🎉

Thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for walking (and now running) beside me.

Keep going.
I love you. ♥️💪

Don’t mind me, this is just what it feels like to finally be back! (And what I would envision a deodorant ad audition looks like).
Launching something new soon. Get ready, world! 🖤

Mandy Antoniacci Author • TED Speaker • Marathoner

Currently tucked away writing my book.
Back soonest.

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