Before Paris Laundry was a skincare brand, it was a question I was asking for myself: How do I care for my body when so much feels outside of my control?

In August 2017, at 30 years old, I was diagnosed with triple-positive, stage 2B invasive ductal carcinoma. I was a mother of four small children, a military spouse, and someone who had spent months trying to convince herself that what she was feeling was normal. The exhaustion must be motherhood. The hair loss must be hormonal. The weight loss, anxiety, and mood changes must be the stress of raising children and navigating military life.

But underneath those explanations, I knew something wasn’t right.

For nine months, I went from doctor to doctor looking for answers. I was young. My bloodwork was normal. A lump in my left breast was initially dismissed as a cyst related to pregnancy and breastfeeding. Breast cancer wasn’t something anyone had suggested.

When the diagnosis finally came, I was terrified. But there was also a sense of relief. What I had been feeling was real. There was a name for it, and now there was a plan. I have always been someone who finds comfort in a plan.

Treatment quickly became a major part of my life. I underwent six rounds of TCHP chemotherapy, a year of immunotherapy, and a bilateral mastectomy. When surgery revealed residual disease in my lymph nodes, I needed an axillary node dissection and 20 rounds of radiation. Oral chemotherapy and years of hormone therapy followed.

Alongside the appointments and procedures, I was still a mom. I was still a woman trying to feel like herself in a body that was changing. That is where my relationship with skincare began to shift.

During treatment, I experienced allergic reactions to nearly every chemotherapy drug. Caring for my skin became more personal and more complicated. I started paying closer attention to the products I used, reading ingredient labels, and searching for options that aligned with how I wanted to care for myself. I wanted products that nourished my skin and felt beautiful to use. I wanted to understand what was in them and why. And I wanted the simple act of caring for my skin to feel comforting again.

Through all of it, I kept returning to one thought: Control what you can control.

I couldn’t control every part of treatment or answer every question about why cancer had happened to me. But I could make thoughtful choices about my daily routines. I could advocate for myself. I could decide what mattered to me in the products I brought into my home. Those choices gave me something to focus on during an uncertain time.