My name is Boadicea, and I am a mother, a fighter, and — right now — a woman standing in the ashes of everything I’ve ever known, trying to rise again.

I have two beautiful children — my 13-year-old daughter and my 4-year-old son — who are my light, my laughter, and my reason to keep breathing when it feels impossible.

A few months ago, I was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer. One surgery became two, then more tests, more waiting, more words you never want to hear. I made the decision to have a double mastectomy, to take back whatever control I could over a body that betrayed me. I’m still waiting on the next phase, still bracing for what comes next.

And as the universe would have it, just weeks after my diagnosis, my mum — my rock, my only steady hand — passed away. After years of caring for her through illness, I found myself caring for no one but ghosts. My dad died of cancer three years before that. They were both only 63.

Now, without their help, I’m navigating this battle mostly on my own — with my kids depending on me, and very little family support around us. My youngest still needs childcare, and with me unable to work or rely on others to help, the costs have risen sharply. Between medical bills, day-to-day expenses, and keeping a roof over our heads, the pressure feels endless.

I’ve worked every day since I left school. I’ve fought through separation, built a home from heartbreak, and poured everything I had into keeping my children safe. But now, for the first time, I can’t work. The bills don’t stop. The world doesn’t pause. And Christmas — the season that should be full of light and laughter — feels heavy with worry.

I don’t want riches. I just want to keep a roof over our heads, pay the bills, and give my kids the kind of Christmas where they still believe in magic.

If you can help — even the smallest amount — you’re not just keeping us afloat. You’re giving us hope. You’re giving me time to heal, and my children the chance to see that even when life falls apart, kindness still exists.

From the bottom of my broken but stubborn heart — thank you for reading, for caring, and for standing with us in this fight.

With love and light,

❤️Boadicea