“Be strong.” That’s what they tell you, that’s what you tell yourself, and that’s what you think you must do to beat cancer.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer a year and a half ago, I started with a “fuck you cancer, I’m going live” attitude. And that attitude allowed me to handle my first six rounds of chemo, mastectomy, and radiation like a champ.

At the time, I didn’t think there was room to be sad and mope around about my diagnosis. I have a husband and two babies that need me—there was no other choice. My job was to get treatment, beat this disease, and bounce back to my life. I come from a long line of resilient Latina women, and I was channeling the strength of my ancestors to get me through this.

Then dropped the “H” bomb: hormone therapy. GOD DAMN.

I was not prepared for the side effects of hormone therapy.

After a couple months of taking it, I started to become super angry and irritable and felt emotionally heavy. Running around with a toddler can be tough, and when you lose your patience, it makes it almost impossible. I noticed that I would yell at my daughter more, ignore her, and didn’t feel confident to be around my children alone. These feelings didn’t last long and would pass, but each time they came, I swam in guilt.

My marriage suffered as well, and I became explosive with my husband and everyone was walking on eggshells around me. I didn’t feel like myself. I was embarrassed. I felt like I was dishonoring my ancestors, and I felt like a failure. I wasn’t being “strong.”

In my family, we normally don’t talk about our problems, especially to outsiders. I think this is true for a lot of Latino families. If you have a problem, you talk to God and no one else. Latino machismo is real, and therapy and feelings are thought to be white nonsense for crybabies. This is the attitude that surrounded and influenced me, which made it really fucking hard for me to cope with the flood of emotions I was feeling.

I finally broke down and realized I needed help.

Finding a therapist wasn’t easy (which is a whole other issue), but I was lucky to find someone that mostly fit my personality and situation well. After a few sessions, my therapist told me that all my irritability and anger were symptoms of depression. I thought being depressed was sleeping all the time, crying, being sad, or even suicidal. However, it was explained to me that anger is a huge sign of depression, one often overlooked. I wanted to be fixed and I was adamant in finding quick solutions, so I could move on.

It wasn’t that simple.

My therapist explained that the hormone therapy, all the trauma of the last year, hormone fluctuations from pregnancy and post-partum, side-effects from medications, or all of these could be what is causing me to be depressed. Instead of focusing on why I was depressed, we focused on how to cope and deal with these unfamiliar emotions.

Two months after I started therapy, I also went on an antidepressant. The combo of medication and seeing a therapist was a game changer for me.  I slowly started to feel like myself, and truly believe that therapy and medication have saved my marriage and brought me back to being the mother I want to be to my children. I still have my challenges and not everyday is perfect (I don’t think most days are), but I’m better prepared today to face each day.

I share this with you because I was afraid to ask for help. Those of us who suffer from mental illness and are lucky enough to have access to this type of support should talk about it. There is no shame in having a mental disorder, taking medication, or seeking support.

I can’t help but think there are other Latina or survivors/thrivers sisters of color, that grew up with the same cultural attitudes that prevent them from focusing on their mental health. I’m relatively new to the breast cancer community, but something that I have observed is that post-treatment life is a battle of its own.

The struggle is real.

Focusing on my mental health has made me realize being “strong” is more than putting on a brave face and pushing through each day with no complaints. Being “strong” is not boxing up moments of weakness, but facing them and acknowledging their existence.

I was strong when I admitted I needed help.

I was strong each time I walked into my therapy session.

I am strong because I’m sharing this part of my story.