Welcome! I am so glad you found me.

My name is Anna Crollman and I am a breast cancer survivor. I never thought I’d hear my name and cancer in the same sentence. But here I am. Unfortunately, young women can and do get breast cancer. I can’t tell you how many doctors, nurses and strangers looked at me and said I was too young. I just so happen to be one of those unlucky women. One of the 12K young women diagnosed with breast cancer each year

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer at age 27, I felt isolated, alone — frustrated about the lack of resources available for young women with cancer. I struggled to find other young women in my area, who would understand what I was going through. The challenges of facing a cancer diagnosis in my 20s were unique. I had different things to worry about: intimacy, fertility, working, and body image. The faces I saw in the hospitals and waiting rooms didn’t look like mine.

I was fed up. I wanted to find resources online of other women like me. I couldn’t find anything. So, I decided to create my own. And that’s how My Cancer Chic was born. I was a lover of all things beauty and fashion and cancer wasn’t going to change that. Cancer may take my breasts and my hair but I would keep my lipstick and heels. I would keep my style and I WOULD find a way to feel beautiful despite it all.

I always loved journaling for myself but I had never shared my writing with anyone. Writing was therapeutic for me — A way to process my grief. I decided if I couldn’t find a story like mine, I should share my own. I didn’t want anyone else to experience the isolation that I felt. Lost in a sea of grey hair and old lady mastectomy bras. I wanted other young women to find their confidence and see their beauty during this awful time. I wanted them to have the confidence to rock the bald head and feel strong and sexy.

I hope that comfort and inspiration at My Cancer Chic and know that you are never alone.

I would love to hear from you! 






  1. Mac says:

    Tell us how to make a sock bun. Does it really have to be one of your husband’s dirty socks from a long day at work in the back yard? The stinkier and sweatier the better, right?

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