Rachel Sobel has a knack for finding the funny in just about anything. The award-winning writer, author, speaker and self-described “do-over wife” has made a career out of telling it like it is, whether she’s writing about marriage, motherhood, divorce or the everyday absurdities of life.
But the past year gave Rachel something she never expected to write about: breast cancer. Now a survivor, she’s adding advocate to her already impressive résumé, speaking out about early detection and self-advocacy while working on her memoir, Breast Case Scenario. We caught up with our longtime contributor to talk about the year that changed everything, how her experience has reshaped her personal and professional priorities, and why she refuses to let even cancer get the last laugh.
She’s Got Issues readers already know you as the funny, candid writer who can find humor in pretty much anything. But the past year has tested that superpower in a whole new way. Take us back to your breast cancer diagnosis—what happened, and how did that moment change the trajectory of your life?
Cancer was not on my vision board. I had plenty of other things to worry about, and apparently my boobs felt they weren’t getting enough attention.
There’s something surreal about hearing that you have breast cancer. You’re still you—the same person with the same family, responsibilities, and ridiculous group texts—but suddenly everything has a before and an after. Your brain jumps ahead while you’re still trying to process the actual words. Am I going to be okay? What does this mean for my family? How is this my life?
My cancer was found early, and I’m incredibly grateful for that. Early detection gave me options and time. But knowing that didn’t mean I could just skip the fear and get straight to the inspirational survivor portion of the program.
Humor was how I found little pockets of relief. I could be terrified and still think something was funny. Making a joke didn’t mean I wasn’t taking my diagnosis seriously. Sometimes it meant I needed five minutes where cancer wasn’t in charge of the room.
The experience changed what I wanted to do with my writing, too. It became the foundation for Breast Case Scenario. I wanted to tell the messy, uncomfortable, occasionally absurd truth—not pretend I handled every moment gracefully. And I wanted to use my voice to talk about early detection and advocating for yourself.
I would have preferred to write a book without acquiring the source material quite so personally. But here we are.
You’ve been very open about the fact that early detection and advocating for yourself played a critical role in finding your cancer. What do you wish every woman—especially those of us in midlife—understood about knowing our risk, paying attention to our bodies and speaking up when something doesn’t feel right?
I wish more women understood that you don’t have to be a medical expert to deserve answers about your own body. You don’t need to arrive with a diagnosis, a PowerPoint, and three peer-reviewed studies to say, “Something feels different, and I want to understand why.”
Especially in midlife, it’s easy to chalk everything up to hormones. Our bodies are doing some deeply weird things, and apparently “welcome to your forties” is supposed to cover all of them. But a new or persistent change deserves a conversation, even if you suspect there’s a perfectly harmless explanation.
Knowing your risk matters, too. Ask about your family history, what other factors affect your risk, and what screening makes sense for you. Having no family history isn’t a free pass, and feeling fine doesn’t replace screening. Early detection played a critical role in my story, which is why I won’t shut up about it. Sorry in advance.
And if something doesn’t feel right—or an explanation leaves you with unanswered questions—keep the conversation going. Ask, “What’s the next step?” “What should I watch for?” “When should we follow up?” Get another opinion if you need one. You can respect someone’s expertise and still ask them to explain their reasoning.
We spend so much time worrying about being difficult, dramatic, or inconvenient. I’d love for us to put some of that energy into taking care of ourselves. You’re allowed to take up space in the exam room. You’re the reason the appointment exists.
Cancer doesn’t happen in a vacuum. You were still a wife, a mom, a daughter, a friend and a working writer while going through treatment. How did your diagnosis affect those relationships—and were you surprised by who or what became most important to you during that time?
Cancer does not care that you have a family, deadlines and approximately 47 things on your to-do list. It just barges in like the worst houseguest imaginable and makes itself everyone’s problem.
I was still a wife, a mom, a daughter and a writer, but suddenly I was also a patient—and figuring out how to be all of those people at once was exhausting. I wanted to protect the people I loved from being scared, even when I was scared myself. And I had to learn to let people take care of me, which is a lot harder than it sounds when you’re used to being the one handling things.
It also made me think about what showing up actually means. You don’t need a perfect speech. You don’t need to tell me everything happens for a reason. Please don’t give cancer a motivational tagline. Sometimes showing up is checking in, listening or letting me be funny one minute and completely fall apart the next.
Writing gave me somewhere to put all of it—the fear, the anger, the absurdity. I could still be myself on the page, even when so much of my life felt unfamiliar.
What became most important wasn’t some elaborate bucket list. It was more regular life with my people. Dinner with my family. Laughing with my husband. Being there for my kids. The ordinary stuff you barely notice until there’s a possibility you could miss it.
And no, I didn’t become a serene woman who never complains because she’s discovered what really matters. I still complain. I just have a much deeper appreciation for getting to be here to do it. If anything it made me louder and feistier.
So much of your career has been built around turning the messy, uncomfortable parts of life into stories people can relate to and laugh about. Was there ever a point when cancer felt too personal—or too scary—to write about? And has the experience changed the way you use humor in your work?
There’s a difference between writing about an embarrassing parenting moment and writing about something you’re terrified could take you away from your family. The stakes were different, and I had to give myself permission to process what was happening before figuring out how to put it into words. I didn’t owe anyone a funny, neatly packaged version of something I was still trying to navigate and survive.
But writing also helps me process. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m feeling until it ends up on the page. And cancer comes with plenty of absurdity. You’re having these deeply frightening conversations while wearing a gown that apparently requires an engineering degree to tie. Fear and ridiculousness can occupy the same room. In my experience, they frequently do.
I never felt obligated to make every part funny. Some things were just scary or painful, and I wanted to let them be that. But when something made me laugh, I wasn’t going to deny myself that because cancer was supposed to be serious. Trust me, cancer was getting plenty of attention.
The experience made me more intentional about humor. I want the joke to make room for the hard conversation—to help someone keep reading, feel understood or finally exhale. You can laugh and still be terrified. You can be grateful and still be furious. That’s the human part I want my writing to capture.
And honestly, I needed to know I could still be funny. So much suddenly revolved around my diagnosis. My sense of humor was something I recognized as mine. Cancer had already hijacked my schedule and my boobs. I wasn’t handing it the microphone, too.
Over the past year, you’ve gone from breast cancer patient to survivor and increasingly to advocate, speaking publicly about early detection and self-advocacy. How has that shift changed the way you see your platform—and what do you feel called to do with it now?
I’ve always used my platform to make people feel less alone in the messy parts of life. Now that includes breast cancer, which was a content pivot I absolutely did not pitch.
Early detection played a critical role in my story, and that has given me something important to say beyond “here’s this ridiculous thing that happened to me.” I want women to understand their risk, ask questions and speak up about concerns—even when they feel awkward doing it. You’re allowed to ask for an explanation. You’re allowed to say, “I’m still concerned. What’s the next step?” Being a pleasant, low-maintenance patient is not an achievement we need to chase.
I also want to be honest about survivorship. I’m incredibly grateful to be here, but gratitude doesn’t magically erase what happened or turn me into someone who greets every inconvenience with a inspirational quote. There’s room to be relieved, scared, angry and funny, sometimes within the same ten minutes.
With Breast Case Scenario and the speaking I’m doing, I want to make these conversations easier to have and harder to put off. I’m a writer sharing what I lived through, and I hope that makes someone feel comfortable enough to ask the question she’s been sitting on or book the appointment she keeps moving down her list.
I still want people to laugh. But if they leave laughing and thinking, “Actually, I need to follow up on that,” that’s a pretty meaningful use of a platform.
Professionally, this has also been a period of evolution: you’re writing, speaking, teaching and now have your memoir, Breast Case Scenario, on the way. Did cancer clarify what you wanted from your career—or give you permission to pursue things you might have previously put off?
Both. Cancer clarified what I wanted, and it made “someday” feel like a very flimsy business plan.
I’ve always loved writing and connecting with people through humor. But it’s easy to put your own ideas behind paid work, family responsibilities and whatever needs your attention immediately. You tell yourself you’ll get to them when things calm down, which, as a working mom, is an adorable concept.
Cancer made me take those ideas more seriously. Writing Breast Case Scenario gave me a place to tell the fuller story—the fear, the dark humor, the relationships and everything that doesn’t fit into an Instagram caption. I wanted to write a book that sounded like me, even when the subject was something I never expected to live through.
Writing, speaking and teaching all let me connect with people in different ways. Whether I’m sharing my own story or helping a student find the confidence to stand up and tell theirs, I love that moment when someone realizes what they have to say matters. Going through cancer made that work feel even more personal.
I’m careful about giving cancer credit, though. I would have happily pursued my goals without the medical subplot. What changed was my willingness to keep waiting until I felt completely ready. I want to do work I care about, take chances on my own ideas and actually enjoy the life I’m working so hard to build. I don’t need every next step figured out before I take the first one.
You’ve lived a lot of life publicly—from divorce and remarriage to motherhood, career reinvention and now cancer. After everything this past year has brought, who is Rachel today that wasn’t there a year ago? And what are you most excited about in this next chapter?
I’m still Rachel. Still sarcastic, still oversharing, still capable of turning a minor inconvenience into a full monologue. Cancer did not come with a complimentary personality transplant.
But I trust myself more. Between divorce, finding love again, motherhood, career changes and now cancer, I’ve had plenty of practice starting a chapter I didn’t necessarily plan. I’m more comfortable admitting that something is hard, asking for help and making decisions without polling everyone first. I can handle a lot, but I don’t feel the same need to prove it by handling everything alone.
I’m also more protective of my time. I want to be present for my family, do work that matters to me and leave some room to enjoy myself. I don’t want every good thing to become another task I’m trying to squeeze in.
I’m incredibly excited for Breast Case Scenario to be out in the world. There’s something both thrilling and slightly nauseating about people reading a book that contains so much of you. I’m looking forward to the conversations it will start, the women I’ll meet and the chance to keep writing and speaking honestly about things we’re often expected to make more palatable.
And I’m excited for things that have absolutely nothing to do with cancer. More time with my husband and kids. Laughing with friends. Making plans because they sound fun.
A year ago, I couldn’t have pictured all of this. Today, I’m curious about what comes next—and very much hoping the next plot twist requires a cute outfit instead of a hospital gown.
Rachel isn’t alone in the fight to end breast cancer. Read our interview with Radical Sisters author Judith Pearson about the three women who helped change breast cancer care and advocacy forever.
