Pink Isn’t My Color
How We Decide What Becomes Part of Our Identities
I had called the week before–both my primary care’s office and the radiology place that had done the biopsy. I’d been waiting two weeks for the results…but everyone was out of town, on vacation. So I called my PC’s office again, two weeks to the day after I’d had the biopsy done. The friendly receptionist told me about the problems they’d been having getting test results from the place that had done it, thanks to technical difficulties, but she reached out specifically to them.
And then said something I knew was bad news: “Can you come in at 12:45 today?”
We all know that they give good news over the phone. We all know that if they ask to see you, it’s not good news. So I rearranged my day, and my husband and I went in.
Even so, as my PC broke the news that I have breast cancer and went through what they knew thus far, I had the silliest thought:
But pink isn’t my color!
I know, I know. It’s a weird reaction. But it stayed there in the back of my mind all through the next weeks and the next steps. And it stayed because, I think, it represents something far deeper for me.
I don’t want to be identified as someone with breast cancer.
I finally put it into words a week or so later, as my husband and I sat in the car waiting for our son to come out of youth group. Words he needed, because they hit on something he’d been struggling with too.
First, allow me to offer this: I take no issue with people choosing to incorporate these battles into their identity. Whether it’s being a cancer survivor or a Type 1 Diabetic warrior, or parent or spouse or sibling, whether it’s being a Wounded Warrior or a stroke survivor or anything else–we all choose what we incorporate into our identities, and we have a right to do that. No judgment from me whatsoever. Allow me to also say that I’ve gotten some pink gifts in the last few weeks, and I am so, SO touched and grateful, and I love each one. As I walk through this cancer journey, I love seeing the ribbons that remind me that I’m not alone, and that we’re all fighting together. I love the pink pashmina shawl, and the beautiful bracelet. But much like most of my other articles of clothing and accessories, they may be something I wear, but they’re not who I am.
Because in our family, we tend to come down on it this way:
The only things that get to become part of our identity are the things we choose. Things that happen to us don’t get to define us.
Now, that said…how you react to the situations and circumstances you find yourself in IS a choice. And that’s why so many choose to embrace those things and identify with them. Which is why I’m A-okay with it.
But I look at our circumstances as the things that shape us into who we need to be to fulfill the call God has put on our lives. Those are the words my husband said to me as we were racing to the hospital while our son was being flown by helicopter to Pittsburgh Children’s PICU, in DKA from the onset of diabetes.
And it’s something we’ve lived out since. I’m in lots of groups for families of Type 1 Diabetics, and I know how much it governs the lives of many, many families. I see the water bottles and T-shirts and stickers they wear. Because they are warriors–the kids and their parents–and they’re proud of it.
But my son doesn’t want any of those things. My son is totally chill and laid back and deals with his disease responsibly. He doesn’t get upset by it. But he also doesn’t want it. If they announce a pill next week that will manage it all for him, he will be first in line. He would give it up if he could. Diabetes is something that happened to him–but he does not define himself as a diabetic. He doesn’t deny being one, and he’s not the type to ever be like, “No, call me ‘a person who has diabetes, not a diabetic'” because he knows that amounts to the same thing. But if Rowyn were to write his bio, it would probably say something like, “Avid gamer, good at math but hates it, loves the colors blue and black, can spend all day building things, whether physically or on the computer.” Nowhere in there would he feel the need to mention that he wears a CGM (continuous glucose monitor) or an OmniPod insulin pump. He accepts it as his reality–but not as his identity.
And that’s exactly how I feel about this breast cancer. I accept that it is my current reality. I accept that I have to deal with it, and I will. I’ll handle it responsibly, and I’ll be open and vulnerable about it, just like I am about Rowyn’s Type 1.
But you know what? Pink isn’t my color. I’m not going to wear the T-shirt. I’m not going to get the stickers. I’m not going to drink from the water bottle. Not because I mind other people doing those things–and I will cheer you on if I see you with that pink ribbon! But because this is not who I am. This is just what I’m going through right now. I plan to be a breast cancer survivor, a thriver. I feel such camaraderie for the others who have gone or are going (or will go) through it. Yes, we are a band of sisters who never would have chosen this path but who will walk it in faith. I embrace the sisters. I’ll share the story.
But it’s just a chapter–it’s not my whole book. It’s just a challenge–it’s not what defines the competitor. It’s my reality, not my identity.
How do we decide what becomes part of our identities?
We choose. We choose what we leave as our legacy. We choose what we focus on. If you’ve chosen to embrace being a warrior and the battle you’ve been through, that’s awesome.
But I am not a warrior. I am someone who sometimes go to battle. It’s what I do–it’s not who I am.
I am the Beloved of God. I am the daughter of Ron and Karen. I am the sister of Jennifer. I am the wife of David. I am the mother of Xoe and Rowyn. I am a writer. I am a friend. Those things are what I will let define me, be part of my identity. The people I love, the calling God put on my heart, the words He put in my mouth (or in my fingers, LOL), the belonging to Him.
You can strip away my human relationships, you can take my physical abilities, you can even strip away my words, and my core being will still be intact, because it’s rooted in Him. But I am happiest with my people, with my books.
Not with my cancer. Strip that away, and I’ll still be me. But when it is taken away–and I believe it will be–I’ll be a stronger version of me. That’s what the battles are for. To shape us and strengthen us, and even to break down the parts of us that God knows we’re better off without. The Roseanna that emerges will be a better Roseanna than the one who stepped onto this path that Tuesday in her primary care’s office.
And she won’t be wearing pink.
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Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, editing, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary.
Well said, Roseanna. Praying daily.
What a beautiful post, Roseanna! I was so sorry to start reading your posts about having to deal with breast cancer. I found it hard to believe when I just saw you a month ago at a writers’ conference and was so blessed by your teaching. I think this post shows how healthy your spirit and your thinking is. It’s obvious you know God and put your faith and trust in him. Two things you could add to your identity, if you choose, are teacher and encourager. I know you teach your children and I was blessed to have you teach me a couple things over the past several years when I heard you speak at writer events. You are a blessing and I will continue praying for you.
Hi, Kelly! I’d actually JUST gotten my diagnosis right before the conference. A day to focus on writing and teaching instead was such a blessing! And yep, those are things that I also welcome into my identity!
This is a wonderful post. I just finished your first Imposters story and stumbled onto this, and I am so sorry to hear what a trial you are going through. I myself recently had skin cancer and I am still processing what it meant/means. When we were going through fiery trials during seminary, I had this “epiphany” of sorts. I felt like we were just facing so many fires. Then I remembered that people use fire to harden sticks, ceramics, everything. And I half laughing said, Well God you must need us to be very hard with all this fire! And surely those trials prepared us for future ones. I like how you’ve written of it here, though. We will surely face trials. But how we allow them to shape us into who God means is to be, that’s the important part, not the details of the trial itself. Thanks.
This is so beautifully written, Roseanna! Our identities should be firmly rooted in knowing who we are in Christ — and it sounds like your is!
Praying for you as you go through this battle, knowing that “in all these things we are MORE THAN CONQUERORS through him [Jesus Christ] who loved us” (Romans 8:37, NIV). THAT is who you are — more than a conqueror!
Absolutely love this Roseanna! I’m so with you on this! I’ve been recently diagnosed with skin cancer, but I, too, don’t want it to be part of my identity. Just a battle I’ve faced and with God’s help a battle I will win, and will have the outward scar that will always remind me of how faithful God has been in every season. Not a ‘survivor’ but a daughter of God, who is forever looked after by her Father in every small and big moment in life. Love love love it, and cheering you on, from this side of the internet, excited to see how God will use this in your life (and is already), and how He will turn it into beauty.
Thank-you for this, Roseanna. I don’t have any disease, but have just been sick for the last 5 months. I’m so ready to give it up and whatever shortcomings God wants me to shed. Oh, please. Or maybe he’s making my husband a saint… thank-you for saying what needs to be said. I am still myself and going through a rough patch right now.
God bless!
I had a friend in college who was very involved with the drama program, who happened to have diabetes. When we did a production of “Steel Magnolias”, someone suggested she should be the one to play the character with diabetes, and she was rather hurt by that because she did not want to be defined by diabetes. Instead, she played one of the other roles and did an amazing job.
Amen and Amen, Roseanna. I know I’m not your mother or your aunt or anyone at all like that but I am so very proud of you! God bless and keep you as you open your heart and mind to learn every precious thing He is imparting to you on this unique journey–in this season. Seasons change, they come and go, and so will this one. It amazes me how He has gifted you the wherewithal and presence of mind to communicate so clearly as you go through chemo. I did not have that experience, but I did have exactly what the Lord intended for me at that time. You are blessing many with your testimony! Thank you!
This is such great advice! As a breast cancer survivor myself, I so get this, and wish I’d had your wisdom when I was first diagnosed. At times, I wondered if I would always see the world differently or ever feel like “me” again. You are wise to realize that it’s just a chapter, a season that you will get through and not who you are. I’ll be praying for you, Roseanna. Treatment is as hard as they say, but it will all be a memory in a few years.
I totally get it, Roseanna. I did walk/run in the Susan G Komen races for the first three years after my diagnosis. But now it is something I rarely think about. I know others who have gone through this and now work with recent breast cancer patients. They have chosen to make it part of their identity. I choose not to. I like your ideas that we get to choose how to define ourselves, rather than let our circumstances do it for us.
I see where your son gets his positive attitude with his Type 1I still hate the disease and wish I get rid of it!
Praying for you!
Labels can mislead. I don’t wear the survivor one. Endometrial cancer was surgically removed from me. No chemo or ingestion of drugs was needed. The label
belongs to God: Jehovah Rophe, the One Who orchestrated my continued blessing of life. The One Who provided proper
medical care for the sepsis following the procedure.
I was His patient and I don’t want to take from His Glory and put the self in the limelight.
PLEASE publish as anonymous
Love this Roseanna!! ❤️ I don’t wear a dark blue ribbon either. 😉 But you surely can see it evident in how God used that battle to refine and grow and show me His steadfast love in even deeper ways.