How My Filipino Catholic Roots Sustained Me Through Breast Cancer
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Michelle and her husband at the beginning of chemo praying for intercession when the 1st class relic of St. John Paul came to visit Austin
“Hail Mary, full of grace…”
This is the story of how the Filipino Catholic faith I inherited became the anchor that kept me from drifting away.
The Soil That Grew My Faith
I grew up in the Philippines in a deeply Catholic family for whom faith wasn’t just something we practiced on Sundays—it was woven into the fabric of our daily lives. My mother brought us to Mass every week, and we attended church on feast days: Sto. Niño, Our Lady of Good Voyage, and Our Lady of Perpetual Help.
Michelle and her mom who was her 1st and best Theology teacher
Faith in the Philippines feels different. It’s deeper and more visceral. I remember going to church on Wednesdays for Our Lady of Perpetual Help and on Fridays for the Black Nazarene. Every January, we would travel to Tondo for the Sto. Niño feast day, and in May, we’d make a pilgrimage to Antipolo for Our Lady of Good Voyage.
When I moved to the U.S. in 1997, I brought these practices with me. But I’ll be honest—my prayer life ebbed and flowed with the seasons of life.
Then came November 8, 2022, and four words that would test everything I believed: “You have breast cancer.”
My Mother’s Roadmap
In those first raw moments after the diagnosis, I stood before God with brutal honesty. I asked, “Why me?” After everything I’d already been through—financial struggles growing up, emigrating to the U.S., infertility—here was another mountain to climb.
But as I prayed, I kept thinking of my mother, who died of Stage 4 colon cancer in 2012. I watched her continue to pray and trust God even when she was in great pain. Her faith never faltered. I never once heard her question God or ask why this was happening to her after all she’d endured.
Her faithful witness became my roadmap. If she could maintain her faith through terminal illness, I could maintain mine through treatment that offered hope of healing. I saw my mother live her faith through financial hardship and then through illness. She never ran out of challenges, yet she never ran out of faith. Her example brought me closer to God and showed me that faith isn’t about the absence of struggle—it’s about who you run to when the struggle comes.
A Mother’s Intercession
As I began chemotherapy, I joined the Catholic Women in Community group at our parish for a 33-day consecration to the Blessed Mother. Every week, we gathered for reflection and prayer, going deeper into Marian devotion precisely when I needed her maternal presence most.
The Blessed Mother has always been central to my Filipino Catholic faith. I grew up going to the Basilica of Our Mother of Perpetual Help in Baclaran on Wednesdays. My university church was the Miraculous Medal. I had always been Marian at heart, having been educated at St. Mary’s Academy from kindergarten through high school.
But consecration during chemotherapy—that deepened everything.
As we progressed through those 33 days, I felt the Blessed Mother walking beside me in a way I never had before. She became more than a devotional figure. She became the mother who understood suffering, who watched her own Son face an unjust death, who knew what it meant to feel your heart break and still trust God’s plan.
Then something remarkable happened. After completing the consecration, I received an unexpected package in the mail. Inside was a Miraculous Medal necklace and a charm that simply said “Hope.”
I knew it was God-sent. It was His way of telling me not to lose hope. I’ve worn that necklace every single day since as a tangible reminder of God’s perfect timing and His gentle reassurances when I need them most.
Passing Faith to the Next Generation
One of the most emotional moments of my entire cancer journey was receiving the Anointing of the Sick. Our eldest son, then 17 years old, had reached out to our associate pastor to request this sacrament for me. Our family gathered as holy oil was placed on my forehead and palms and prayers were spoken over me.
All three of my sons cried that day. So did my husband and I. But beneath the tears was a deep sense of peace. That sacrament marked the moment cancer became real for our family—and the moment we understood we weren’t facing this alone.
It is my hope that my three Filipino American sons are witnessing how I’m living my faith not just through good times but especially during hard times. I pray they’re learning what my mother taught me: to face their future battles with faith, hope, and trust in God. I hope they see God as their anchor, and I pray that this faith takes root in their hearts. Challenges will inevitably come—but with God at the center of their lives, they can stand firm and not waver.
Michelle and her family towards the end of her treatment
From ‘Why Me?’ to ‘God, Use Me’
Somewhere in the middle of treatment, my prayer changed. It shifted from “Why me?” to “God, use me.”
I realized that God had a plan and a purpose for what I was going through. My pain was being transformed into purpose. My struggle was becoming my strength to help others. This wasn’t just something happening to me—it was something flowing through me to bring hope and healing to others walking the same dark valley.
Today, as I walk alongside other women navigating their own breast cancer journeys, I carry forward what my Filipino Catholic heritage taught me: that God is found not just in the feast days and celebrations, but especially in moments when all we can do is lean on our faith and trust that He sees us.
The Anchor That Holds
My Filipino Catholic roots didn’t just sustain me through breast cancer—they transformed how I saw suffering, faith, and God’s presence in our darkest moments.
Somewhere in the middle of treatment, my prayer changed. It shifted from “Why me?” to “God, use me.”
Those devotions I learned as a child in the Philippines—the rosary, the novenas, the feast days, the Blessed Mother who walked beside me—weren’t just traditions. They were life rafts thrown to me across decades, prepared by a God who knew exactly what I would need when the storm came.
This story celebrates the richness of Filipino Catholic spirituality and honors the generations of Filipino women who taught us that faith isn’t about the absence of struggle, but about who we lean on when the struggle comes.
My faith didn’t keep me from cancer. But it carried me through it. And now, it propels me forward to be for others what my mother was for me: a faithful witness that even in the darkest valleys, we are never, ever alone.
Michelle Moreno-Apolo is a Director of Software Test Engineering, a wife to her husband of 22+ years, and mother to three Filipino-American teenage boys. In 2022, she was diagnosed with Stage 2b Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. Through her platform, Living Pink to the Fullest, Michelle helps women navigate breast cancer by strengthening their mind, body, heart, spirit, and relationships, carrying forward the legacy of faithful witness passed down through generations of Filipino women.
