They told me I lost my leg to cancer. But the truth is—it was neglect.

For most of my life, I believed what I was told. I had cancer, yes—but the disease didn’t take my leg. The ignored cries, dismissed symptoms, and outright negligence did.

This is the story they never told. And the one I’m finally ready to share

I was born in the ’90s to an unstable mother who was ‘trying her best“. While I acknowledge her limitations, it wasn’t the nurturing I needed or deserved.

My mother married my stepfather after having my siblings from two previous relationships. He came into my life when I was just four months old, twelve years my mother’s senior. Together, they subscribed to the “cry it out” philosophy. Sharing how they’d “leave me all day in the room to cry”. They’d called me a “crybaby”. But crying was my only language

How long were those days, exactly?

I have vivid memories from an early age; those who have engaged with me know my experiences run deep and filled with wisdom gained through hardship. I have come to accept that I may be an old soul, and perhaps that is what has kept me alive through my trauma. I have memories of being left alone in rooms, I used to think I was sleeping, but now I wonder if was really “crying it out”.

As I grew, something was changing in my body. As a baby, everything was unknown, and I relied 1000% on my guardians, who constantly dismissed my cries for help out of fear I would become “spoiled.” [News flash: if you follow me on social media, you know I spoil myself, so that backfired.] I reached milestones and celebrated my first birthday, all while my right leg was swelling.

My mother often spoke of her background in the medical field, claiming to have “delivered babies, administered IVs, and drawn blood…” She must have noticed my ongoing cries and the swelling—and yet, a disconnect remained.

Finally, at 2.5 years old, I was diagnosed with Stage 3B Rhabdomyosarcoma. A tumor the size of a grapefruit had developed on my right calf, infecting my foot, and ankle, spreading to the knee, prompting an amputation three inches above it. They were also concerned about the spread to my lungs, which led to a median sternotomy — [having your chest/ribs cracked open] all just days before my third birthday.

It takes about 1.5 years for a sarcoma tumor to grow to grapefruit size on a toddler’s leg, and the time frame for its spread.. who knows

So, how could a mother with medical knowledge overlook my cries and the clear signs my body was showing?

I wish I could say, “Then I went home after my amputation, and everything was great.”

But my life, has been a neverending fight for survival—not just from cancer and multiple surgeries, but from a community that failed to support me. Instead, faced the threat of being sent to “boot camp for troubled youth,” enduring constant beating, berating, being ostracized, and continous accusations of being a “bad child” all while suffering from the neglect and abuse from everyone around me.

Years ago, while co-hosting a disability podcast, one of the co-hosts shared that she learned that “how a mother treats a child with disabilities reflects how the community will treat them.”
That sentiment has never resonated with me more deeply.

Every person I encountered—strangers, educators, neighborhood children, classmates, friends of my siblings, community members, ex-boyfriends, and family—added to my trauma through various forms of abuse.

Not a single person who is alive today, aside from my cousins and friends I made after age 25, offered help, care, or even offer a comforting hug, choosing instead to add more burdens to my already very heavy plate.

Now, here is where I take my power back…

As painful as it is, the truth is this: the neglect of my community didn’t just cost me my leg—a leg that could have been saved if I’d received care sooner—it cost me 25 years of trauma, abuse, and pain. I just turned 33.

Yet still, I survived it all.

I survived the amputation, the sternotomy, chemotherapy, blood transfusions, and several surgeries by the age of 5, and was walking and running with my peers.

I endured the surgeries, treatment, poverty, and the physical, mental, and sexual abuse I faced as a child up until age 8, and I was still a bubbly, talkative little Black girl.

I then began to face merciless bullying, all while enduring ongoing surgeries, worsening poverty, escalating abuse, and relentless neglect—still trying to maintain a smile and spread kindness.

I survived being actively encouraged to end my life as a teen—handed the means to do it, as if my existence was a burden. All while navigating surgeries, total neglect, and deep poverty.I had to get a job at 13 just to afford period products, while staying positive, and keep out of trouble.

I survived the disruption of my education, as my mother pulled me out of traditional schooling to home-school me, which never happened, making me a high school dropout at 15 without getting past grade 10. Yet, I leaned into my faith and remained vocal and opinionated.

I fought to keep my heart soft, even when facing sexual assaults attempted by my biological father, who I met for the first time at age 19. I escaped him, despite being placed in his space repeatedly. All while obtaining my GED.

I overcame abusive romantic and personal relationships as well as homelessness in my late teens and early twenties, enduring torment in the basement of a man who knew my story for three years. While getting accepted into my dream college in Chicago.

I survived a secondary cancer diagnosis at 23 and have now undergone almost 20 surgeries throughout my life. I survived chemotherapy, poverty, and the absence of my community, who remained comfortable in their theme of neglect and abuse while no one stepped up to ask if I was okay, or just sit in my space.

And even after all this,

I decided to share my story of overcoming cancer twice to inspire awareness and promote self-advocacy to young adults. During this time, I built a name and presence for myself, undeniable even to those who said I’d “never be”—this little Black girl has always been strong.

I did all this while creating my own sanctuary and place of solitude within myself, I pushed forward and didn’t give up. I continued to dream big, even bigger than what others envisioned for themselves, radiating love and positive energy regardless of the negativity I emerged from.

I eventually escaped it all, overcame it all—got my passport, moved to Ghana, and started traveling the world—where I currently write this from Bangkok, Thailand.

This is my story, my legacy…

Not about what happened to me, but how I still overcame and survived. I not only survived alone but began to thrive without any foundation beneath me. I became self-made, showing everyone who counted me out and told me I was worthless and that my birth was a mistake, who I am.

They could never defeat the strength that God, the Universe, and my ancestors instilled in me. I am the product IN SPITE of my environment.

Today, I reclaim my power.

Here are things you don’t know about Christine that her world tried to mute but couldn’t:

I AM
Smart—so smart, I truly love my brain.
Loyal
Dependable
Relatable
Authentic
Real
LOUD
Funny
A social butterfly
Personable
Kind
Sweet
Selfless
Brave
BOLD
Wise beyond her years
Trustworthy
Inspiring
Resilient
Unstoppable
Loving
Safe
Caring

I was NEVER a bad child, only a child with a completely unstable and neglected upbringing. Yet, I still thrived.

Now that I know my truth, I control my narrative, who I am and how I show up and see myslef. I will no longer cower behind voices telling me to shrink myself or that I don’t deserve a place in this world.

Watch me reclaim the space that has always been mine and what has been lost.

I have been lied to for 30 years.
Today, that lie is finally unveiled.

And I am free…

I encourage everyone who resonates with my story to reclaim your space and step beyond the narrative your community created for you. Become the person and live the life you’ve always dreamed of. No one needs to believe in you, support you, or love you—as long as you believe in, support, and love yourself.

I understand the pain. The pain inflicted by those who were supposed to protect you. But by continuing to live under the identity they created for us, we only empower them. Let’s stop giving them that power.

I am now flipping tables in every room I enter.
How about you?