12/02/2026
Sometimes experience is the best teacher, even when those lessons are hard.
“I used to think my job was to take care of everyone else,” Charlotte shares. “But cancer taught me that if I don’t care for myself, I can’t care for anyone.”
For much of her life, Charlotte Safrit cared for her mom through multiple cancer diagnoses. When she faced her own breast cancer while raising two young children, she had to learn a new role: caring for herself.
Read Charlotte's story below and let us know if you can relate.
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On her first solo trip to New York City, Charlotte Safrit sat in her car outside the Microsoft building and cried. She was about to attend a medical AI conference, not as a tourist or employee, but as a breast cancer advocate. She had asked for a free ticket and got one. She booked the hotel herself. She showed up alone.
“I thought, ‘I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to get here,’” Charlotte said. “I was almost 45, going to a conference on my own. And I realized trauma is paralyzing. You don’t see it until you’ve started to move through it.”
Charlotte’s journey to that moment began long before her cancer diagnosis. It started in her 20s, when she became a caregiver to her mother, a role that came to define much of her early adulthood. What she didn’t realize then was that those years of putting others first would prepare her to one day advocate for herself.
Charlotte had just moved into her first apartment when her mother’s breast cancer diagnosis pulled her back home. She had already moved back home before -- to support her mother through a difficult divorce when she was in college, putting her own dreams on hold without hesitation. Charlotte stepped in to manage her mother’s appointments, treatment research, and daily support. “She didn’t want to talk about cancer,” Charlotte says. “She wanted it treated, handled, and never mentioned again. So, I took it all on.”
Her mother had stage I breast cancer that had not spread to the lymph nodes. Her treatment consisted of a lumpectomy and radiation. Five years later, she was diagnosed with thyroid cancer.
By then, Charlotte was engaged. She split her time between caregiving for her mother and planning her wedding. She also learned to bake from scratch so her mother, who needed to follow a strict low-iodine diet for radiotherapy, could still enjoy meals. “We both love food, and I thought, this is one thing I can control. I’ll make all the foods she loves,” she says.
Five years later, Charlotte and her husband had their first child. “I had told every guy I ever dated that I can’t leave North Carolina. I must be within two hours of my mom,” she says.
But when her husband was offered a job in Pennsylvania with a much higher salary, Charlotte made the difficult decision to move. “I told my mom, ‘I have to choose my little family now.’” They relocated and soon became pregnant again, but heartbreak followed when they lost the baby.
Just a month later, her mother called to say doctors had found a spot on her lungs. It was small-cell lung cancer. Charlotte began driving back and forth from Pennsylvania to care for her, with her 2-year-old by her side — one week on, one week off — until eventually, her mother moved in with them during her final months. Charlotte says, “She passed when I was six months pregnant with my rainbow baby, Alistair.”
After her mother’s death from small-cell lung cancer, Charlotte was overwhelmed by grief, postpartum anxiety, and exhaustion. But she also started a moms’ group in her new town to help herself, and others, feel less alone. “It was the first time I stepped into a leadership role,” she says. “And I thought, maybe I can be something more.”
When Charlotte turned 40, she asked her OB about starting mammograms. But because she was breastfeeding, she was told her dense breast tissue would make imaging unreadable.
It wasn’t until stabbing pains in her chest sent her to a walk-in clinic three years later, that she was advised to wean and schedule a mammogram. Desperate to be seen, she told them she had stopped breastfeeding six months earlier.
That’s when they found the cancer.
“I blamed myself. I thought, ‘Why didn’t I wean earlier? Why didn’t I fight harder for imaging?’” she recalls. “But then I learned that other breastfeeding moms were having the same experience of being delayed or dismissed.”
Charlotte’s cancer was triple-positive and had spread to one lymph node. Her treatment included a double mastectomy with DIEP flap reconstruction, chemotherapy (AC-T: doxorubicin (Adriamycin), cyclophosphamide (Cytoxan), and paclitaxel (Taxol), trastuzumab (Herceptin) and pertuzumab (Perjeta), radiation, and hormonal therapy with ovarian suppression.
After spending years as a caregiver for her mother, often putting her own needs last, Charlotte decided she would show up differently for herself. She remembered how her mother had wanted everything handled quietly and privately, refusing to talk about her diagnosis or ask for help other than Charlotte. “That way of coping left me feeling isolated, overwhelmed, and invisible,” says Charlotte. “I didn’t want that for myself or my kids.”
So she made a conscious choice: “I told my husband, ‘I’m not cooking. I’m not cleaning. I’m going to walk, sleep, cuddle our boys, and heal.’”
Letting go wasn’t easy. “My whole identity was built around being the helper. But I had to put my ego aside and accept help. That was my way of healing.”
She allowed friends to fundraise for her family, even though she was raised to believe you never accept help from anyone. She asked a friend to care for her children so her husband could be by her side during surgery. She went to chemo prepared — with comfortable shoes, electrolytes, and a plan to walk afterward, even if it felt like trudging through snow.
She prepared her kids by slowly cutting her hair in stages, so they wouldn’t be shocked by the change in her appearance due to chemo-related hair loss. “I wanted them to see that I had control over something,” she says. “And I needed to recognize myself in the mirror, too.”
Charlotte’s cancer experience revealed gaps in care, especially for people breastfeeding during diagnosis. “Half the moms in my support group had to fight for imaging, and their outcomes were worse,” she says. “It wasn’t just me. It was a pattern.”
So, she began to speak out. Charlotte didn’t want to just raise awareness; she wanted to turn pain into purpose. “I couldn’t go back and help my past self, but I could help the next person,” she says, “That’s what keeps me going.”
She joined patient advisory councils at local hospital systems, where she’s already helped revise patient education materials and advocated for inclusive language around the tradition of ringing a bell to mark the end of chemotherapy treatment. She has presented at lactation and AI medical conferences, created educational graphics, runs breast cancer support groups, and began a podcast. She even developed a mobile app prototype to help cancer patients find information vetted by the breast cancer community. In 2024, Charlotte became an LBBC Young Advocate, actively participating in programs and content.
“I never completed my college degree,” she says. “But this is my education. This is how I learn and make change.”
