Why neither system has all the answers (and that’s okay)

My journey through breast cancer taught me that healing is far more complex than any single approach can explain. And perhaps that complexity is not a failure, but a form of liberation.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer at 41, I was already immersed in the alternative health world. I had been a health blogger, spoken publicly in the UAE about breast cancer prevention, and genuinely believed I could outsmart disease through lifestyle, perfect habits, and epigenetics. The irony of developing the very condition I had lectured about was not lost on me.

What came next surprised me: I discovered that both alternative and conventional medicine held important pieces of the puzzle, yet neither could address the full complexity of what healing requires. Each taught me lessons, though not always the ones I expected.

When hope becomes expensive experimentation

Based on what I believed at the time, exploring alternative methods felt like the logical first step. I invested nearly £11,000 in treatments that aligned with my values: high-dose vitamin C IVs, hyperbaric oxygen chambers, infrared saunas, various detox protocols including coffee enemas, fasting, supplements like turmeric (in such high amounts that it literally turned my skin yellow), or apricot kernels (which landed me in A&E).

What struck me most wasn’t whether these treatments were ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, but how little guidance existed around them. Beyond inspiring testimonials, I found vague protocols and limited clarity on safety, dosage, or realistic timelines. I was essentially experimenting on my own body while cancer cells quietly carried on.

It’s true that some supervised clinics do exist, offering these treatments in more structured ways. But even there, the reality is complex. These clinics often charge tens of thousands of dollars, don’t guarantee outcomes, and because they rarely follow patients over decades the way conventional medicine does, the data to back up their claims remains limited. For vulnerable patients searching for hope, this can be a heavy burden.

The effort these protocols demanded was immense: sourcing only organic food, sprouting seeds, juicing daily, following detox regimens, practising intermittent fasting, carefully timing meals and supplements, and eliminating entire food groups. It was socially isolating and mentally exhausting. And when I inevitably fell short of these impossible standards, I was left not only with fear but also with guilt, until every trace of enjoyment around food had been erased.

After two months, an ultrasound revealed what I didn’t want to face: the tumours had grown. Whatever benefits those approaches may have had, they hadn’t slowed progression. In that moment, I realised time was my most precious resource. Having already delayed conventional treatment for nearly two years (due to a delayed diagnosis), I needed to reconsider my path.

The challenge of non-invasive scan alternatives

My experience with thermography imaging showed how well-intentioned choices can sometimes backfire. Concerned about radiation from mammograms, I pursued thermography as what I thought was a safer diagnostic tool. What I later learned is that thermography is not a true diagnostic test and does not replace mammography. It may highlight areas of concern, but it cannot provide the definitive clarity needed for treatment planning. In my case, the images raised red flags, but I still had to undergo mammograms and a biopsy to get a proper diagnosis. Instead of avoiding risk, I had delayed critical information and essentially doubled the process.

By treating the lump I had found as a likely benign cyst and avoiding mammograms, I lost nearly two years of potential early intervention. Part of that delay came from an early consultation with an OBGYN who, after an ultrasound, told me it was ‘probably nothing’ and that I could do a mammogram or biopsy. At the time, already wary of these procedures, that phrasing was enough to put me off pursuing them. But when I later saw breast specialists, they suspected cancer immediately, even before the biopsy confirmed it.

Looking back, I can’t help but wonder: had I not resisted mammograms for nearly two years, I might have had more treatment options and could have avoided a mastectomy altogether. That’s my own speculation — but a sobering one. And the truth is, one mammogram would not have killed me.

I still believe thermography might have some role in routine screening when no lump is present. But once there is a palpable lump, delaying mammography is not worth the risk, and neither mammograms nor thermography can provide a diagnosis without biopsy.

A better non-invasive tool for detecting abnormalities is an MRI scan. This is now part of my annual monitoring because of my BRCA2 status, though not everyone has routine access to MRIs on the NHS. Depending on where you live, they may only be available privately. I continue to weigh carefully whether I should still use mammograms alongside my annual MRI, to back up the picture and give me more certainty.

Navigating conventional treatment with personal values

When alternative treatments didn’t deliver, I turned to conventional oncology. It felt necessary, but also deeply confronting. The standard aggressive protocols of chemotherapy and radiotherapy felt overwhelming. They didn’t align with how I wanted to approach healing, and I was concerned about the long-term impact, including the fact that chemotherapy doesn’t target cancer stem cells and massively compromises the immune system that is needed for healing.

I ultimately chose surgery, but declined chemotherapy and radiation. Together with my oncologist, I developed a personalised plan centred on hormone therapy and ovarian suppression, since my cancer was oestrogen-driven. It felt targeted enough to address the biology without the full systemic toll. (You can read more about this in my article on collaborative cancer care.)

Still, this approach came with heavy costs: medical menopause at 41, severe hot flushes, insomnia, headaches, joint pain, heart palpitations, low libido, and cognitive fog that made concentration feel like wading through mud. These side effects, invisible to others, were at times more disruptive to my daily life and work than the cancer itself.

What I came to value in conventional medicine was its ability to stabilise urgent disease and provide data about outcomes. But its emphasis was largely on longevity, not quality of life. Managing the person behind the diagnosis was often secondary to managing the disease.

Discovering the body’s innate capacity for healing

After stabilising with medical treatment, I turned to something both systems had overlooked: the body’s own capacity to heal when given the right conditions.

I had been meditating on and off for years, but what made the difference was beginning Joe Dispenza’s work in a consistent and committed way. Joe Dispenza is a neuroscientist and author whose teachings focus on how meditation can help us rewire old patterns, interrupt unconscious cycles, and create a greater sense of safety and alignment in the body. His work isn’t about 'curing' illness directly, but about transforming our inner state with healing sometimes emerging as a natural consequence of that change.

It’s worth saying that some people report extraordinary recoveries using this kind of inner work alone. There are hundreds of testimonials from people who credit meditation and nervous system regulation with healing their cancers. At the same time, it’s impossible to know the full circumstances behind each story, what type of cancer, stage, or other factors may have been involved. That doesn’t make the stories less inspiring, but it does remind us that each healing journey is unique.

For me, this practice addressed something neither conventional nor alternative medicine had offered: a way to bring my nervous system back into alignment, to transform the inner environment in which my body was trying to heal.

Why timing and context matter

One thing that often gets overlooked in healing stories is timing. When I was first diagnosed, I wasn’t in a place to do deeper emotional and nervous system regulation work. My energy was consumed by anger, trauma, chaos, and survival. I needed conventional treatment to create stability first. Only later could I create the inner space for practices like meditation, therapy, journaling, and boundary-setting to truly take root.

This is why no two healing journeys are alike. Each person begins from a different place, with different stress loads, relationships, biology, and support systems. And no treatment path, conventional or alternative, comes with guarantees.

While that truth felt frightening at first, it eventually became liberating: it meant I didn’t have to chase certainties. Instead, I could focus on creating the conditions for healing that were right for me, conditions that supported my body’s return to balance and became the foundation for any other intervention I chose.

Lessons in healing integration

At four years post-diagnosis, these are the insights that stand out most clearly:

·       Early detection preserves options. Using appropriate diagnostic tools early can make the difference between limited and broader treatment choices later.

·       Address biology when necessary. If the cancer is hormone-driven, that factor usually needs attention, whatever other approaches you’re exploring.

·       Look beyond biology. Chronic stress, unresolved trauma, and toxic dynamics all impact the immune system and overall healing. Exploring deeper patterns can be as crucial as addressing physical ones.

·       Support nervous system regulation. Practices that help shift the body out of chronic stress states, such as meditation, breathwork, gentle movement, and time in nature, can create measurable physiological changes that support healing.

·       Work with collaborative practitioners. Healing is not one-size-fits-all. Finding doctors and therapists who respect complexity and your personal circumstances can make an enormous difference.

·       Honour where you are. What’s right at one stage may not be right later. Give yourself permission to adapt as your needs and priorities evolve.

·       Embrace uncertainty. Since no approach guarantees specific outcomes, focusing on creating the best possible conditions for healing can become the most empowering foundation.

Embracing complexity as wisdom

Alternative medicine often suggests we can heal ourselves through perfect lifestyle choices and natural protocols. Conventional medicine frequently implies that it can cure us through aggressive interventions, provided the cancer is caught early enough. Both perspectives contain truth, but neither tells the complete story.

The reality is both more complex and more hopeful. Healing often requires addressing multiple dimensions at once. We may need medical intervention for immediate concerns, while also exploring emotional patterns, stress, or lifestyle factors that contributed to illness. We might benefit from targeted treatments to manage biology, while also making changes that bring our lives back into balance.

For me, the most helpful way to see alternative therapies now is as complementary. They can support wellbeing, ease the side effects of treatment, and strengthen resilience. They also amplify the deeper inner work of nervous system regulation, self-compassion, and lifestyle changes, helping to bring the whole system back into balance. Some people do report extraordinary recoveries using alternative methods alone, and those stories are inspiring, though the full context is often unknown. What feels clear is that these approaches have the greatest impact when integrated thoughtfully alongside medical care and personal transformation, rather than as replacements.

What I’ve come to understand is that healing is not about choosing one system over another, but about integration, taking what serves, leaving what doesn’t, and recognising that true healing happens on many levels at once.

The most profound shifts I experienced came not from battling my body, but from listening to it and creating conditions where its innate healing mechanisms could activate. Sometimes that meant medical intervention; more often, it meant looking honestly at how I was living, what I was tolerating, and how I was relating to myself.

The real detox wasn’t about juice fasts or supplements, but about letting go of the illusion that perfect choices could guarantee perfect outcomes. Healing, I learned, is less about certainty and more about trust — trust in my body’s wisdom, trust in my ability to navigate complexity, and trust that imperfect choices can still lead to profound transformation.

Cancer is often framed as a battle to be won or lost, but I found it to be more nuanced. It was not just about eradicating cells, but about listening to what my body was asking for and creating the conditions where healing could become possible. Sometimes that required practitioners who knew how to work with the body’s capacity, rather than override it.

What feels most important now is the recognition that the most powerful healing comes not from eliminating uncertainty, but from learning how to live and choose within it.

Every journey through illness is unique, yet each one carries lessons about how we live, love, and care for ourselves. Which lessons has your own journey revealed?