Hey all! I am Katy Ursta married to my college sweetheart for 12 years, a mom of two boys, and a stage four cancer survivor. I started writing as a way of coping with my diagnosis, but found the more I shared about cancer, the more universal cancer became, and the more connected I felt to others and the less isolated I felt through the struggle. I own a virtual health and wellness company and commit to helping my clients find a deeper motivation to fight for their own health.
When I am not in the stands of my sons' hockey games, I am usually found folding the never ending piles of laundry, looking for the matching sock, breaking up hockey fights, or (let's just be honest) with my hand buried in the bag of chocolate, asking the question, "what do you want for dinner?" You can find more of my work on instagram @katy_ursta or on my website, katyursta.com
For decades, I have kept it a secret, hidden away behind a smile and casual conversation. I was afraid—afraid of being judged and treated as though I was something other than normal (as if such a thing exists). For a long time, I didn’t know what it was. I just thought I was different, but I didn’t really know why. And even now, 20-something years after being diagnosed, I still get a knot in my stomach when I think about revealing my secret to someone. But my secret can no longer be imprisoned behind bars of apprehension. It demands to...
It was a beautiful day. A day so beautiful that I hyped myself out of a depressive fog. Or at least, I was able to fake it. It was a gorgeous fall day, and I knew my days of enjoying fresh air were numbered. I knew I had to get outside before winter arrived to veil us with darkness and cold. I worked all day. It was not beautiful there. It was anxiety-provoking, stressful, and overwhelming. But, the sun gently coaxed me to pause the thoughts in my mind to enjoy the hour between work and dinner. I packed up...
Once 5 a.m. hits, I know I’m finally in the endzone. For whatever reason only known to my 9-month-old, between then and 9 a.m. is his current longest stretch of sleep. My three little big kids come quietly up the stairs and turn on the cartoons. The volume is turned down real low. They just know. Mommy is sleeping in. Once the baby starts fussing again, we’re all up and breakfast starts. My husband is long gone to work. My day is not quite as physically demanding as his day, but his isn’t as emotionally taxing. Despite our complaints here...
This morning I walked into my 6-year-old son’s room to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, tears in his eyes. I set down the laundry I was carrying and pulled him into my arms. “What’s wrong, buddy?” I asked. He melted into me, his voice breaking. “Mom, we’ve been sick for so long. We get better for like a day, and then the next thing comes along.” My heart sank, and I nodded—because he was right. RELATED: My Kids Are Sick Again Because Winter is Basically the Worst Our boys started kindergarten and preschool this year, and for...
Sweet friend, I see you doing the best you can to smile and act like everything is OK. You’re trying to hide the truth from everyone around you. You’re even trying to hide the truth from yourself. But it’s hard to continue through the motions. There is a heavy weight on your shoulders that can’t be seen, but it’s slowly suffocating you. I know you wish things were different. You wish you could smile and mean it. You wish you could relax more. You wish you weren’t gripped with anxiety. Sweet friend, I know this isn’t the story you expected....
For several years now, I have had these recurring, vivid dreams. In these dreams, I am never in my wheelchair. I am walking unaided and free from any physical restriction. My Cerebral Palsy is non-existent, and I am anticipating the breathtaking view that waits for me upon reaching the summit of the mountain I am climbing. As I sit cross-legged at the edge of the summit, I look out to the utterly amazing, praise-worthy view before me, and without hesitation, I lift my hands in worship. It is after that moment, now etched in my memory, that I wake and...
When a man marries, he is expected to be the leader and the rock of the family. Visibly unaffected by the winds of change, he continues on faithful and steady despite the adversity he faces. Yet the moment he is handed his first child, he begins a new life—the life of a daddy. He now wears a part of his heart on the outside of his body. His job is to teach his child, disciple his child, and lead his child. He is the one who does the hard stuff like being strong when others are weak. He is filled...
I’m 32, and like most of my friends, my kids are still young. My first is in kindergarten this year, and my second just turned three. Our lives are still filled with diapers, naps, and battles over food. But we’re reaching the end of that stage in life, and with infertility rearing its ugly head, we don’t have any reason to believe we’ll be starting all over with a newborn any time soon. At this point, it seems much more likely that our days of diapers and naps are coming to an end. That’s definitely not true of most, if...
In the days leading up to my 40th birthday, I occasionally found myself in tears. The same emotional meltdown happened a year ago, right before my son’s 10th birthday. The night he turned 10, I cried myself to sleep. My 9-year-old daughter, who’s been sleeping in my bed with me since the pandemic began, was sandwiched right beside me, wrapped up in blankets, my own personal heater. Before she fell asleep, she reached over and put her little hand on my cheek and whispered, “Don’t worry, Mama, you still have me.” It’s true, this was not my best parenting moment. ...
One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do is say no. When enabling was the popular choice. When pacifying was easier at the moment. I had a decision to make. But, really, it was never a decision. I couldn’t put my little ones through what I, myself, had experienced as a child. They say parents want better for their children, and I agree. I didn’t want them to feel lonely in such a loud room. I didn’t want them to be around a sickness that seemed to so eagerly root itself into another victim. I didn’t want them...
By Katy Ursta 
by Tynea Lewis 
by Shannon Whitmore 
by Laura Milligan 
by Her View From Home 
