The Courage to Heal Differently ~ Eliza Riley's Story

In 2000, I was diagnosed with an aggressive cervical cancer. It was shocking—just six months earlier, my pap had shown only mild dysplasia. I was 26, planning my wedding, and in school. Life was busy, but good. When my doctor, also a friend, called to say, “It’s cancer. I’ve never seen it move this quickly,” I left class, drove home in a fog, and had surgery within days. At first, it seemed like the story was over. They “got it all.” But in 2007, it came back—mild dysplasia again. I was pulled into a cycle of constant monitoring and pain. For 18 months, every check was painful and inconclusive. I remember one drive home so vividly: clutching a heating pad, crying, exhausted from yet another appointment that gave no answers. That was my moment. I was done. Done waiting, done hurting, done hoping someone else would fix this for me. I didn’t know exactly what I would do—but I knew I had to try something different. I began to research holistic cancer healing and slowly started changing how I ate, how I thought, how I cared for my body. Nothing extreme. Just consistent, gentle shifts. Sunlight. Grounding. Supplements. Choosing calm over fear. And that’s when things changed. At my next appointment, the dysplasia was gone. That was 18 years ago—and it’s never come back.

That pivotal moment came after 18 months of being in limbo—of being watched, prodded, and told to “wait and see.” I had just driven home from another painful appointment, my cervix still raw from repeated checks, and I remember sitting in the car, holding a heating pad, tears streaming down my face. I felt tired—not just physically, but soul tired. I had followed every step. Surgery. Monitoring. All the things I was told to do. And yet, here I was again. I started asking the question no one else seemed to be able to answer: Why is this happening to me? And in that question, a quiet voice inside me said, “If they don’t know why it’s happening, how can they help you prevent it from happening again?” That was the moment I knew I had to make a change. I didn’t feel brave at all. I felt uncertain. But I also felt a flicker of clarity: I couldn’t just hand over my healing anymore. I had to take part in it. That realization didn’t feel like a roar—it felt like a whisper. But it was enough.

What motivated me was exhaustion, frustration, and the realization that what I was doing just wasn’t working. I didn’t feel like my body was supporting or communicating with me, in fact, I felt like it was betraying me. But more than anything, I felt like I had no control. Like most of us, I trusted my doctor implicitly. He was a friend. He wanted to help me. But I realized pretty quickly that the path to healing my body wasn’t really ours to choose. My health insurance got to decide. Over and over, he would say, “I want to do this,” and the insurance company would say, “No.” And that broke something open in me. I had to make a choice: keep doing what I was told—even when it wasn’t working, or step off the path entirely. I ended up canceling my health insurance while I was still fighting cancer so I could stop rushing, stop reacting, and start actually listening to my body. That was terrifying. When you get a diagnosis like that, the system moves fast. People push you into quick action with the best of intentions. But for me, the most courageous thing I did was slow down. Step back. Get quiet. And ultimately, that’s what led to my healing. The first steps I took weren’t dramatic. I changed what I was eating. I went outside more. I took supplements. I practiced calming my nervous system. I wasn’t trying to fix everything—I was just trying to participate in my healing in a way that finally felt like mine.

One of the biggest challenges was going against the grain. The traditional medical path is so clear, so urgent, and backed by authority. Choosing something different—especially something slower and less defined—felt incredibly risky. I kept asking myself, "What if I'm wrong?" Another major obstacle was dealing with fear. Not just fear of cancer, but fear of disappointing people who wanted me to follow the expected path. My doctor, my family, people who genuinely cared about me. It’s hard to go your own way when everyone around you is worried for you. There was also the pain. The constant checkups after surgery were physically grueling. Every appointment left me in tears and clutching a heating pad for the hour-long drive home. It wore me down. And on top of that, there was the frustration of feeling like my options were limited by a healthcare system that wasn't built to support individualized healing. But maybe the hardest part was the internal battle—trusting myself when I had no roadmap, no guarantees. I had to learn to listen inward, to stay grounded in my own body, and to keep going even when nothing around me said, "You're doing the right thing."

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that healing isn’t something that gets handed to you. It’s something you take part in. Even when the path isn’t clear, even when you're scared, your body is worth listening to. I also learned that courage doesn’t always feel brave. Sometimes it feels like quiet exhaustion. Sometimes it feels like doing the tiniest thing differently. But it counts. It matters. And it adds up. Another piece of wisdom I’d share is this: you can trust your care team and still advocate for yourself. You can be grateful for what modern medicine offers and still choose a path that feels aligned for you. Those things aren’t opposites. They’re part of a bigger picture. Mostly, I want women to know they aren’t broken. Our bodies are wise. Sometimes they whisper. Sometimes they scream. But they are always inviting us back to a relationship—one where we are allowed to be active participants in our own healing.

I would say, take a breath. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Just take one step. Then another. You don’t need to be fearless to move forward. You just need to be willing to listen to yourself, even a little. Trusting your body might feel impossible at first. I get that. I didn’t trust mine either. But eventually, I realized that even though it felt like my body was working against me, it was still mine. And I could still choose how to care for it. You’re allowed to question. You’re allowed to pause. And most importantly, you’re allowed to choose a path that feels right for you, even if it’s not the one people expect. There is no one-size-fits-all answer to healing. But there is always a next step. And you are allowed to take it at your pace, on your terms.

By trusting her. I spent so many years doubting my body, second-guessing my choices, and waiting for someone else to tell me what was right. Now, I celebrate the woman I’ve become by listening to her. By creating space for rest. By doing work that aligns with what I care about most. By helping other women find their way back to themselves. For me, it’s not about loud celebrations or big moments. It’s in the quiet things. The grounded things. The everyday choices that say, “I’m proud of who I am and how far I’ve come.” And honestly, I’m still becoming. But I celebrate that too.

Eliza is a holistic menopause coaching specialist who helps women in midlife reconnect with their bodies, balance their hormones, and feel good again—from the inside out. After facing an aggressive cervical cancer diagnosis in her twenties, Eliza began a deeply personal healing journey that led her beyond conventional care into a more intuitive, body-led path. Now, nearly two decades cancer-free, she supports other women in reclaiming their health through simple, powerful practices that honor both science and soul.