My Divine Lesion: How Cancer Cracked Me Open to Wholeness

I was lying on my stability ball, heart wide open, back arching in a full, delicious bend. My shoulder blades melted over the curve as my fingertips brushed the ground. Breath moved freely. My chest expanded like a prayer.

It may not sound like a milestone, but after the tightness, the scar tissue, and two months of post-surgery recovery—it was everything.

As I laid there, tears prickling at the edges of my closed eyes, I whispered a quiet thank you to my resilient body. I felt gratitude ripple through my cells, a deep honoring of the vessel that had carried me across such tumultuous terrain. Healing, I realized, was not a straight line but a spiral, a winding dance between surrender and strength.

I’m so deeply grateful to be here now…

Whole. Healthy. Finally free—after what felt like a 6.5-year sentence of living under the shadow of breast cancer.

Today, I walk with an embodied peace I used to only imagine—peace in my body, peace in my choices, peace in my soul.

There were nights—three, to be exact—where I was stripped bare and brought to my knees in ways I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And yet, I would never take them back. Because those dark nights planted the seeds. They cracked me open to truths that my nutrition and movement protocols alone couldn’t reach. It wasn’t about what I was consuming on my plate but what I was consuming at the consciousness level. My breast cancer was not some misfortune to be “fixed”—it was a spiritual initiation. A sacred teacher.

I’ve always believed that the wound is where the light enters. And I trusted—at a bone-deep level—that the Divine doesn’t just dwell in sunsets and synchronicities. It lives in ruptures, in scar tissue, in the places we’re most afraid to look. I began to see my stinky, bleeding open tumor that had practically eaten into my entire breast not as a sign of brokenness, but as a living altar. And I knew it was guiding me home.

I was in the shower—my sanctuary. The 528 Hz frequency pulsed from the Bluetooth speaker. Frankincense and sandalwood oils perfumed the air from my diffuser. Steam cocooned me. But that day, peace was nowhere to be found.

I looked down. Blood. Everywhere.

A red sea spiraling around my feet. The open lesion had ruptured. I couldn’t step out—it would look like a crime scene. So I stood there. Naked. Shaking. My heart pounded. For 75 minutes, it bled. I whispered ancient mantras and names for God. And held my own trembling gaze in the foggy mirror.

“Okay,” I said. “I hear you.”

And in that moment, I wasn’t just bleeding—I was breaking open. The illusion of control dissolved.

Later, still raw and dazed, I found myself in the bathroom again—book in hand. A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson fell open, as if on cue, to a single, piercing sentence:

“God’s plan will work. Yours will not.”

The message hit with the weight of thunder and the gentleness of grace.

I wept. Not out of defeat, but release. I was being asked to surrender—not to illness, but to a path beyond my own construction. I had so carefully curated my natural healing journey… but now I was being shown that the divine doesn’t limit itself to one modality.

Love doesn’t always look the way we expect. And control isn’t the same as trust.

For so long, I’d been choosing from fear—fear of getting wounded, fear of betrayal, fear of giving up control. But in that moment, I made a different choice.
I chose Love over fear. Not just emotionally, but practically.

I said yes to what I’d long resisted: Surgery. Conventional medicine. Antibiotics.

And to my surprise, the Divine showed up there too.

The team assembled around me like an answer to a prayer I didn’t even know how to form. Surgeons with hands guided by something higher. Nurses with eyes that saw me, not just my chart. I softened. Over that next year, I gently laid down my resistance—the righteousness, the rules, the rigidity, the “my way or no way” mindset.

It was humbling. But holy.

Two weeks post-surgery, my breast oncologist came into the room beaming. She hugged me tight and said, “Did you see the fantastic pathology report?”

I hadn’t.

“All margins clear. I don’t even need to see you for six months.”

I walked out in a daze. Sat in my car. Opened the report. And began to sob. The kind of sob that unravels lifetimes. My hands shook. My breath caught. I was finally free.

And here’s the truth:
I’d waited for a mystical healing moment for 6.5 years. I had meditated, Joe Dispenza style, every single day. I’d obsessed about my diet being sugar, gluten, dairy free and made from scratch with all organic ingredients. I used movement as medicine. But I’d still been gripping tightly to how healing was supposed to look. I was waiting for some flash of white light, some miraculous moment that would make it all make sense.

But the miracle did happen. Just not in the way I expected.

It came in a surgical suite. In trust. In tears. In choosing love when it felt hardest.

That’s when I understood the deeper truth:
Wholeness is our birthright. It was never missing. It was just buried beneath all the trying.

I didn’t need to become whole.
I needed to remember I already was.

That was the moment I knew: I didn’t just receive a medical outcome. I experienced a spiritual healing.

The Divine met me at the depth of my surrender—not at the height of my struggle.

Even as I recovered, I felt called to deepen my science-meets-soul path. I enrolled in a Functional Labs certification—not because I needed another credential, but because I knew that symptoms aren’t random. They are sacred messengers. And so-called “normal” labs often miss the story unfolding beneath the surface.

I wanted to read between the lines of the body. I wanted to listen for the root, not chase the ripple. I wanted to know what emotions lived in the liver, what patterns shaped the hormones, and what narratives were etched in the nervous system. Because true healing honors both the energetic imprint and the biochemical reality.

And above all else, I wanted to treat myself like someone I deeply loved.

Not just when I got it right. Not just when I hit my goals.
But when I was messy. Frightened. Bleeding in the shower.

I stopped trying to “fix” myself. I started holding myself like I would my beloved fur baby—no judgments, just unconditional love.

That was the moment my body exhaled.
That was when the tumor softened.
That was when healing began.

Because what I learned is this:

Inside the wound is the antidote.
Not just to the rupture itself, but to the entire path that brought me there.

True healing is the reclamation of the parts of ourselves we’ve rejected. The broken, shameful parts. Wholeness isn’t perfection—it’s integration without polarity—welcoming the mess and the mystery, the surrender and the science, without needing to split them apart.

We are not made of cells alone.
We are made of stories.
And this was the one I was asked to live—not to keep, but to offer back.

I alchemized my wound into wisdom, and I’m sharing this because I know—at the bone level—that I didn’t go through this just to survive, but to serve.

Now I guide conscious women in turning health setbacks into powerful comebacks.
Through a science-meets-soul approach, I help you rebuild trust with your body so you can live with unshakable freedom.

I’m here as your mirror—to shift something inside you, spark change, and help you unlock a new level of limitlessness.

You don’t have to choose between medicine and mysticism.
Between data and the Divine.
Between clinical results and cosmic faith.

Healing doesn’t ask for your perfection.
It only asks for your presence.

Your comeback story is already within you.

Rupina Meer is a breast cancer thriver and Functional Health Practitioner helping conscious women turn health setbacks into comebacks blending functional diagnostics, nutrition and epigenetics through her Science-meets-Soul Alchemy method. To explore working together, visit zen-trition.com/book-now

But it wasn't always this way...

Then came the moment that changed everything.