30 years of horizon

My name is Anik, I’m 36. I’m a partner, godmother, aunt, daughter, friend — and, reluctantly, retired for the past three years. I used to be a consultant and manager in work psychology, with a deep passion for talent assessment and development. I love people, science, philosophy, and spirituality.

I’ve been living with breast cancer since 2017, and it became metastatic in 2020. That means I navigate daily between medicine and mystery, between statistics and symptoms — and what my body quietly defies with persistent grace. I am present, curious, clear-eyed, sometimes funny, often tired — but fiercely alive. I didn’t choose this challenge, but I choose to shape it with perspective and beauty.

I’m getting involved today because I know how much it costs to be young, sick, and invisible. Because between survival care and hopeful speeches, something is missing — a kind of “medicine”: the everyday kind, the human kind. Feeling good, feeling free, feeling connected. And I believe that’s where true healing begins.

When I joined my first therapeutic wilderness expedition in 2018, I had been in remission for just two weeks: half my chest was still burned from treatment, the long scar still raw. Yet I trusted the team’s gentle words and climbed into that big canoe. Soon, as the landscapes passed by and bonds formed, my difficult year faded from my mind. A deep, unexpected, and much-needed peace settled in — just days before my 30th birthday.

Then, when the brutal recurrence struck, it felt like tumbling back down my mountain… And it was in the rivers below, with the foundation again and the people gathered there, that I rebuilt my footing and reconnected with peace.

These experiences have radically transformed how I see life. Far from hospitals and treatments, I rediscovered hope, vitality, and trust — in my body and in my dreams. I started moving again, breathing differently, feeling alive despite the aftermath. Most of all, I met other young people and adults who, like me, carry heavy things in silence. Some of them are still my friends today.

Together, in the woods, on the lakes, or around the fire, we opened up. We laughed. We cried. We healed — differently. By sharing our vulnerabilities and joys with our feet in the river or a mug in hand by the fire, we rediscovered a simple, yet powerful joy. What life should truly be about.

Little by little, I learned to walk alongside my fears and tame my grey clouds. These adventures helped me dream again, see a future, make space for hope, and look beyond the statistical horizon.

Today, seven years after my first adventure, even though cancer is still a part of my reality, I live fully and fiercely — fueled by these precious memories. I’ve caught my breath again, found my place, and dared to imagine new horizons. But that healing didn’t come from nowhere. It was planted, supported, nurtured… by the generosity of the foundation and its donors.

Your support can transform lives, just as it transformed mine — so that other young people, too, can rediscover that peace, that joy, and that priceless connection to life, whether cancer is still present or not.