Clea Shearer, cofounder of the Home Edit, is best known for organizing people’s homes, clearing away clutter and creating flawless, color-coordinated spaces. But her world was thrown into chaos in March 2022 when, at age 40, she was diagnosed with stage II invasive mammary carcinoma, an aggressive type of breast cancer. Since her diagnosis, she has candidly shared the highs and lows of her cancer journey, including crushing complications and setbacks, with her more than 280,000 Instagram followers. Now with her new book, Cancer Is Complicated, Shearer shares the lessons she learned along the way, hoping to make the experience a little less scary for anyone going through cancer treatment.
In this interview with Yahoo’s Rachel Grumman Bender, Shearer talks about spotting her own cancer, choosing to get a double mastectomy even though she didn’t have cancer in both breasts and how even if you have a talent for staying organized, life doesn’t always go according to plan.
I found my cancer on my own. While I was in the shower, I felt something in my breast. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a brand-new feeling. It was just the first time I stopped and was like, Wait, this is a lump. When they talk about lumps, this is the lump that they’re talking about.
I had just turned 40 three weeks earlier. So I kind of had it in my head that now’s the age where you get mammograms and you start clocking these things. As that started to sink in, I thought, Why would this be anything but a breast cancer lump?
So I got out of the shower, trembling, and I called my gynecologist’s office. They said that they could not fit me in for a mammogram [for months]. What I know now about my tumors from the pathology is that they’re very fast-moving and aggressive, so if I had taken that as an answer then, I think I probably would have been in a much different situation right now. Something inside me told me that this was very different, so I went to my primary care doctor, who jumped in and mobilized and made me a mammogram appointment and an ultrasound appointment. The day I went in for both, I was told that I needed an emergency triple biopsy [known as a triple assessment to get a rapid diagnosis] because there were concerning masses on the ultrasound.
I kept asking, “Is it cancer? Is it cancer?” The first radiologist just toed the line and said they needed a biopsy to be able to answer that question. Then in the biopsy room, I asked again, and they were just like, “Honey, you have cancer.” And it was right there, just out in the open. I have cancer. It shook my world.
My cancer was in my right breast, but I decided that I was going to have a double mastectomy. I very clearly was like, “I want them both gone.” If I can have cancer on my right side, then I can have cancer on my left side. My kids at that time were 11 and 8 years old. I didn’t want them carrying around the burden of this for such a long time. So the day before my double mastectomy, I sat down with my kids to tell them the news. I wanted it to be pretty quick: “I’m going to go in for surgery tomorrow and I’m going to get cancer out of my body.” They cried. And then they had a couple of questions.
My daughter wanted to know if I was going to be the kind of sick where I was bald, because I think that’s what a lot of people relate to with having cancer. I told her at that time I didn’t know, but there was a chance I wouldn’t need chemo. I answered things really honestly. I felt that even though they were young, they deserved to know the truth. I didn’t really shield them from anything because my doctor had said he believed my cancer was not just treatable but curable. And so when I talked to my kids, I could honestly tell them my true belief was that I would be fine.
This was before I actually went in for surgery, where they found the cancer had moved to my lymph nodes. So I didn’t know at that point that it had spread. When I woke up from surgery, I was given the bad news. My oncologist said, “You’re going to need an aggressive chemo schedule.”
The first line of my book says, “If you’re the type of person who likes having control over a situation, cancer is not the disease for you.” This is not the kind of disease that you can control, and every time you might try, you just get knocked to the floor. I used to tell myself to “control the controllables” — 95% of everything I’m about to experience or I’m experiencing I cannot control, and any time I think I have a plan, the plan just goes right out the window. But there were certain things I felt like I had control over, and I really wanted to focus on those things. For example, I didn’t want my hair falling out in the shower or on the pillowcase [during chemotherapy], so I shaved my own head.
My mom and [husband] John and I got into a routine where we would go to the chemo appointment together. My mom would needlepoint. John would be on his computer. We were a trio, and they sat with me at every single appointment. After, we would go to lunch next door at this little café that we love. And then I’d go home and take a nap. I’d think, It’s a pretty good day. And then of course I would be sick [from the chemo] two days later. Chemo was tough, but I also found a rhythm with that.
I was also very diligent about packing my chemo bag. It was important to me to have certain things with me, and I actually have a list of it in my book in case people need ideas for what to bring or what to gift someone. I had my Kindle. I had my fuzzy socks. I had a warm blanket because they give you, like, prison blankets, so it’s good to bring your own. I had a few snacks. I had my own water bottle, phone charger and headphones. I also had a couple little things I felt brought me good luck: My mom had given me a silver four-leaf clover and my friend gave me a little golden Buddha. It’s anything that makes you feel good, anything that makes you smile — it counts.
[After months of treatment, testing last year showed] I was negative for having cancer cells in my body, which is amazing because the chemo and radiation worked.
My journey is only my journey, but the biggest lesson I learned — and something that I really want people to take away to give them hope — is that I had so many more good days than bad days. I went into this treatment journey thinking I would have no quality of life and I would just be sick in bed all the time, and that simply wasn’t true. I think I would have been a lot less afraid had I known that or had that in my head as a possibility. Again, I’m not saying everyone will experience that. For me, I did. I want people to have that same hope. Chemo makes you sick, but it doesn’t make you sick the entire time.
Another lesson that I learned is to accept help. I am not someone who normally does. I’m a very independent person. But your friends, your family, even people who you don’t see all the time, they want to help. Accept the help. Accept the meals. Accept the company. Everyone in your orbit feels really helpless, and they want to do something for you. I actually did need help in a lot of different ways.
I always thought I was a very delicate flower — truly like a wilted flower in the snow. I never, ever anticipated that I’d be able to get through something like this. I’m not even stronger than I thought — I’m pretty damn strong. That to me was a shock. I only really sobbed hysterically over cancer about five times in the last three years. It’s not like I wanted to cry and didn’t. It’s that I found purpose in all of the good and bad moments. Sometimes I really feel like, How can I keep going? But you just find that you’re so much freaking stronger than you ever thought.
[Experiences like mine are] like a red blaring signal that we all need to prioritize our health over our busy schedules. Women specifically are historically not good at putting themselves and their health first. Everything’s more important. I read recently that everyone has a million problems until they have a health crisis, and then they have one problem. And that is the truth. I want people to realize that and remember that every single thing they have planned in their life goes away if you don’t have your health.
This has been edited for length and clarity.
