The Day Love Became Brave

February has always been my month. Since I was a little girl, it held a special kind of magic for me.

First, there was Valentine’s Day. But not for the reasons you might think—I never actually had a "Valentine." As a child, I just loved the aesthetic of it all. I was obsessed with the décor: the red, white, and pink, the retro themes, the cherubs, and the hearts with arrows shot through them. I loved it all.

I lived for the classroom parties. I loved showing my personality by decorating my card box and agonizing over picking just the right card to slip into each of my classmates’ slots. And, of course, the Little Debbie Valentine cakes. I loved them so much, I "might" have overindulged more than once.

Second, it’s my birthday month. As a kid, I especially loved when Presidents' Day would fall on my birthday. It made me feel like the whole country was taking a day off just to celebrate me.

To be completely honest, February wasn’t about romance back then. It was about the pure joy of love.

But it’s interesting how, as we grow older, that narrative shifts. The holiday stops being about self-love and becomes a scorecard: Did you receive love from someone else? If not, the world looks at you with pity.

Hell, you look at you with pity.

As time passed, the love I had for Valentine’s went from innocent joy to irritation. "It’s a holiday invented by Hallmark to sell cards," I would say with a roll of my eyes. And while I still think there is truth to that, Little Rebekah still remembers Little Debbie and the joy she felt reveling in this yearly tradition.

But the universe has a funny way of bringing you back to the beginning.

In 2023, February delivered another defining moment. I was one month into my six-month chemotherapy regimen. My hair had started to fall out in clumps. Not knowing exactly the right time to shave it all off, trust me every day leading up to that inevitable day is torture, 3 weeks in, I set a date.

Gulp.

After some deliberation on how I would commemorate this inevitable moment, on February 4th, 2023, I held a "Head Shaving Party."

I didn't realize until the morning of that it was, coincidentally, World Cancer Day. Learning this felt more than coincidental—it felt like an assignment. It was as if I had the opportunity to defy the narrative; to show people that cancer doesn’t define you when you let your spirit guide you instead of your mind. I needed that reminder, because I had a few well-meaning people who thought I was crazy to share such a vulnerable moment.

If you’ve ever had to lose your hair involuntarily, you know that this is the moment your self-love is truly put to the test. As I grew older, that innocent childhood self-love had been replaced by shame, criticism, and self-judgment—those quiet thieves that creep in and strip away our joy. But facing the mirror that day, stripped of my hair, I was forced to confront myself.

I didn’t realize it then, but back in 2016, when I started creating Sanara in my kitchen, I was already stepping onto the road toward my own salvation. I named the company Sanara, which literally means "you will heal" in Spanish.

I thought I was building a brand for others. I didn't know I was building a life raft for myself.

February 4th became my test. It was the day I had to decide if "Sanara" was just a word on a bottle, or if it was a truth I was willing to embody. It was the day I learned that self-love isn't about Little Debbie cakes or red paper hearts. Sometimes, self-love is looking at your bare self in the mirror, while the world feels like it's falling apart, and saying: I am here. I am blessed. And I will heal.

In fact, I’m healing because of this very act.