Not the brochure version. Not the nurse handing you a folder full of pink and platitudes.
The real version.
The one where you’re sitting in your car, keys in the ignition, trying to remember how to breathe. Where you scroll through your contacts and can’t figure out who to call—because you don’t even know what to say yet. The version where the word cancer just moved in and took over your body like it pays rent.
No one gave you a manual. No one told you where to even begin.
So here’s where we begin:
Let’s Get Something Out of the Way: It Sucks.
Say it out loud. It sucks.
It’s brutal. It’s unfair. It’s terrifying.
And it’s a club you never signed up for.
We’re not going to dress it up in pink ribbons and hashtags right now. There’s room for that later. But for now, there’s just… you. And all the questions that are too big and all the answers no one has.
Your Body Is Different Now.
That’s the truth.
Whether you’re heading into surgery, halfway through chemo, or crawling your way out the other side—your body has changed.
The softness, the shape, the way you used to put on a bra in the morning without thinking—gone.
And no one warns you about how hard it is to figure out who you’re supposed to be inside this new skin.
Spoiler: You’re not “going back.”
You’re becoming someone new. Even if you never asked to.
Clothes Are Armor. And Bras Are a Kind of Armor Too.
Let’s talk about the thing no one talks about: what the hell do you even wear?
Not in a “does this match my blouse” kind of way.
In a “can I look in the mirror without crying” kind of way.
That’s where we come in.
At Myya, we help you to pull yourself back together.
We’re here for the days you can’t bear to look, and the moments you just want to feel like yourself again.
We offer post-surgery bras and breast forms that fit—not just your body, but the messy, raw place you’re in.
No pressure. No pity. No pretending.
Just softness, support, and a quiet little reminder: you still deserve beautiful things.
You Don’t Have to Have This Figured Out
Read that again.
You’re allowed to take your time.
You’re allowed to hate this.
You’re allowed to change your mind.
You don’t have to be strong every day.
You don’t have to have a five-point plan for your new body.
You don’t have to make any decisions yet.
You’re still you—even if everything else feels broken.
You’re Not Alone
We’ve seen hundreds of women walk this same road.
Some call themselves survivors. Some don’t.
Some laugh through it. Some scream through it.
Some do both in the same hour.
They’re people like you—figuring it out one step at a time. Crying in dressing rooms. Rolling their eyes at drains. Finding little moments of joy anyway.
You don’t have to do this alone.
Not if we have anything to say about it.
We’re here. Real humans. No scripts. No judgment. Just questions that actually mean something, and answers that don’t insult you.
So What Now?
Breathe.
Take the next step. Whatever it is.
And when you’re ready?
We’ll be here.
With bras that feel like a hug.
With comfort that doesn’t come with conditions.
With no expectations of what you “should” feel like by now.
No pamphlets.
No slogans.
Just truth.
And you.
