Erin Beattie is a communications strategist and founder of Nila, a research and community platform for perimenopause and menopause inspired by her own experience with endometriosis, cancer, and chemical and surgical menopause. When she's not writing or building community, you'll find her walking with her chocolate lab, Bear, and encouraging women to stay connected, keep moving, and support one another through every stage of midlife.
I didn’t get through cancer, three surgeries, and a menopause I didn’t see coming by being strong on my own. I got through it because of a handful of group chats, a dragon boat, a race I now help run, and a few hiking buddies who ask hard questions when I try to disappear. If there’s one thing I actually know for sure, it’s this: nobody does this alone, and nobody should have to.
The friends I didn’t know I needed
Not long after my diagnosis, a mutual friend did what good friends do. She connected me with two other women who were also living with breast cancer. We didn’t know each other. We hadn’t asked to be introduced. But within days we were texting relentlessly, at all hours, about all of it: the terrifying parts, the boring logistical parts, the parts that were somehow funny in the middle of something so unfunny. That group chat became a place I could say the true, unpolished thing and know it would land softly. I don’t think I would have gotten through those early months without it.
Paying it forward, one race at a time
That experience is a big part of why I now serve as the communications lead for the Victoria CIBC Run for the Cure. It’s my way of standing in the gap for the next woman who’s about to get a call she isn’t ready for. Every year, that race is full of people who’ve lived it, people who love someone who’s living it, and people who want to help, all moving in the same direction, together, on purpose.
A boat full of badasses
I’m also part of Island Breaststrokers, a dragon boat team made up entirely of breast cancer survivors. There’s something almost absurdly perfect about it. Twenty women, each with a different diagnosis and treatment plan, but all in the same boat, literally and figuratively. We paddle in sync, powered by the very muscles that scar tissue’s supposed to make harder to use. It’s hard to explain what it does for you to sit in a boat surrounded by women who don’t need the backstory. They already know. We just paddle.
The smaller, quieter kind
And then there’s the smaller stuff. A handful of hiking buddies who are really accountability peeps in disguise. We’re not chasing summits or personal bests. We’re showing up, checking in, and noticing when one of us goes quiet for too long. That kind of low-key, unglamorous consistency has carried me through more hard weeks than almost anything else.
The community I couldn’t find
All of that got me through breast cancer. But before that, there were 18 years of quiet confusion. I knew something was wrong- classic endometriosis, but I didn't have the words, the diagnosis, or anyone to name it with me. My ADHD grew heavier as my hormones faded, and I felt more lost with every year. The loneliness of not having language or community made it all so much harder. When menopause came, first from treatment and then a full hysterectomy on top of stage 3 endometriosis, I went searching for that same kind of community. I couldn't find it. There was no group chat. No boat. No race. Just a notes app full of half-finished questions, a pile of screenshots I never organized, and one very patient friend. I asked her the same things again and again, because brain fog kept stealing the answers. I felt like I was disappearing.
Eventually, I started reaching out. It was awkward at first. I worried about being a burden, and sometimes I was so tired I almost gave up. But I kept trying, and little by little, I found others who understood. We shared stories and advice, but also our fears and uncertainty. None of us had all the answers. We just knew we didn't want to be alone in it anymore. That was the first hint of real community coming back into my life.
I’ve learned that community is not always easy to find, especially when your story feels invisible. But when you do find it, or help build it even in a small way, it changes everything. There is healing in being witnessed, in not having to explain every detail, in sharing the messy parts as well as the little victories. Sometimes it looks like a group chat. Sometimes it’s a walking buddy who notices when you get quiet. Sometimes it’s a forum or a friend who just listens. What matters is the understanding, the honesty, and the relief of not being alone. We need more places, online and in person, where we can show up as we are, ask the hard questions, and hold space for each other, no matter how imperfectly.
But the truth is, what I needed most was a space where I could just be honest about what I was going through and find out I wasn’t the only one thinking or feeling these things. I needed reminders, simple tools to help me speak up at the doctor’s office when brain fog made it hard, and places to write down the stuff I was scared to say out loud. I needed to know there were rooms—real or virtual—where I could show up messy and still belong. Mostly, I needed reassurance that someone out there would understand and that help was given without strings or sales pitches. That’s what I want for every woman walking this path.
If Island Breaststrokers is what it feels like to be surrounded by women who already know your story, Nila is my attempt to build that same feeling for the transition nobody prepared me for. A place where you don’t have to explain yourself from scratch, where someone’s already done the homework, and where you’re never doing it at 2 a.m. with only a search engine for company.
Community is the through line of my whole recovery, in every direction it’s come from. A group chat, a boat, a race, a hiking trail, and now a platform I built by hand because I needed it to exist. If you’re in the thick of something right now- cancer or menopause or anything else that’s rearranged your sense of normal, I hope you find your version of all of this. And if you haven’t yet, I hope one of these- a Circle, a boat, a group chat, a ramble- becomes it.
To find out more, head to the website: hellonila.com
READ MORE: Her Story, Ramblers Cafe.
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