Meet Harjeet Kaur: A global citizen, a woman of deep faith, and a fierce cancer warrior. Born and raised in India, Harjeet's journey has taken her across continents — from the United Kingdom to Dubai to Canada — shaping a life steeped in resilience, service, and purpose. At just 32, she was diagnosed with one of the rarest blood cancers in the world, and her story since then has been one of surviving, transforming, and thriving. As part of our “Survivor Stories,,” in this deeply personal conversation, Harjeet opens up about the cultural layers of her cancer experience, the sacred meaning of hair in her Sikh faith, and how she turned pain into advocacy — redefining beauty, dignity, and strength on her own terms.
Sonya: Harjeet, tell us about you.
Harjeet: My name is Harjeet Kaur. I was born and raised in India, and over the years, life has taken me across the world — I studied, lived, and worked in the United Kingdom for seven years, spent two years in Dubai, and eventually moved to Canada with my husband in 2018 to begin a new chapter of life.
Culturally, I come from a South Asian Sikh family where faith, resilience, and community have always been central values. These roots have deeply influenced the way I view the world and respond to life’s challenges.
Spiritually, Sikhism has taught me to see every challenge as an opportunity to grow closer to Waheguru (God), and to live with unwavering faith, Seva (service), and Simran (remembrance) even during life’s most uncertain times.
Personally, my journey has been profoundly shaped by my battle with cancer, which tested not only my physical strength but also my emotional and spiritual foundation.
My identity today is woven through these experiences: I am a woman of faith, a cancer survivor, a patient advocate, and a passionate believer in the healing power of storytelling and community.
Sonya: What was your cancer diagnosis journey like?
Harjeet: I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Subcutaneous Panniculitis-like T-cell Lymphoma (SPTCL) — a very rare form of blood cancer complicated by Hemophagocytic Lymphohistiocytosis (HLH) — at the age of 32.
Only about 150 cases have been reported globally, and to this day, I have not met anyone in Canada with the same diagnosis. I only know of two other people battling this cancer — one in the United States and one in Malaysia.
My symptoms began in May 2019, shortly after moving to Canada. For three months, I struggled with persistent high fevers, chills, and mouth ulcers. I underwent countless tests, scans, surgeries, and biopsies. Despite all efforts, there was still so much uncertainty — the doctors were unsure of what was happening, as I showed no other major symptoms beyond the fever.
Finally receiving the correct diagnosis was an overwhelming, life-altering moment.
Emotionally and mentally, I was devastated by the news. It felt like the ground beneath me had been ripped away. I had just started a new chapter in a new country, full of dreams — building a family, a career, a home — and suddenly, everything became about survival.
Spiritually, the diagnosis shook me to my core. Yet, it also called me closer to my faith. I found myself leaning into prayer, seeking strength and guidance from Waheguru even when the future felt completely uncertain.
I underwent intensive and aggressive chemotherapy (including the “red devil” drug), immunotherapy, and eventually a life-saving stem cell transplant. Each stage of treatment brought its own set of battles — physically, mentally, and emotionally.
"Sharing my truth became an act of survival, healing, and empowerment — not just for me, but for others who needed to know they weren’t alone."
When it came to speaking about my diagnosis, it was complicated. In many parts of the South Asian community, cancer remains a taboo subject, often surrounded by stigma, silence, and fear. Initially, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. I stayed silent, stuck in a numb zone — trying to protect my family from questions, assumptions, and judgment.
But eventually, I made the choice to speak openly, realizing that silence only deepens isolation. Sharing my truth became an act of survival, healing, and empowerment — not just for me, but for others who needed to know they weren’t alone.
Sonya: Tell us about your hair journey.
Harjeet: Hair has always been considered sacred in Sikhism. It represents identity, strength, spirituality, and respect for the natural form gifted by God. In my culture, keeping hair uncut is a symbol of devotion and faith, making hair loss not just a physical change, but a deeply emotional and spiritual experience.
During chemotherapy, I started losing my hair. I had long hair, and when I lost it all — my crown, my pride, my sense of normalcy — it was heartbreaking. Watching it fall out in clumps felt like losing a piece of myself with every strand. It wasn’t just about vanity; it was another reminder that cancer was stripping away parts of who I was.
I faced a lot of internal conflict. In my community, hair holds such sacred meaning that losing it often carries stigma or silent judgment. There was an unspoken expectation to hide, to cover up, to protect dignity through my appearance.
"True beauty isn’t fragile. It’s fierce. It’s resilient. It’s rooted in how deeply you choose to keep showing up for yourself — even when everything visible feels lost."
I never wanted to let go of my hair. But one day, my husband shaved his own head — and then mine — to stand beside me in solidarity and love. That act, though painful, felt like taking back control over something cancer had tried to steal from me. For the first time in months, I felt a sense of agency over my body again.
In the beginning, I tried to hold on — I wore scarves, I tried to cover my scalp. But over time, I realized that true dignity doesn’t come from how you look, but from the strength you carry within.
Styling myself with lipstick, hair scarves, hats, and wigs became my armor. They allowed me to reclaim beauty on my own terms — not despite the hair loss, but by choosing to honor the woman underneath it all.
Losing my hair was one of the most painful parts of my journey. But it also taught me that true beauty isn’t fragile. It’s fierce. It’s resilient. It’s rooted in how deeply you choose to keep showing up for yourself — even when everything visible feels lost.
Sonya: How did cancer and hair loss impact your mental health—and how did you cope?
Harjeet: Cancer and hair loss had a profound impact on my mental health.
Losing my hair wasn’t just a physical change — it became a visible marker of everything I was going through internally: the uncertainty, the fear, the loss of control. Every time I looked in the mirror, I was forced to confront a version of myself I barely recognized.
Losing my hair, along with my eyebrows and eyelashes, made me feel completely exposed — almost naked. As women, hair is often seen as an accessory we take pride in, a symbol of our femininity. Its loss felt like losing a part of myself. There were many days filled with anxiety, grief, and self-doubt. I felt like I had lost not just my hair, but parts of my identity, my dreams, and my sense of normalcy.
My Sikh faith played a huge role in helping me process this pain. Sikhism teaches resilience — that while we cannot always control what happens to us, we can choose how we respond. I turned to Simran (prayer), finding comfort in remembering Waheguru’s presence even when I felt completely lost.
Initially, I struggled with the reactions of the community. In South Asian culture, illness is often met with silence, stigma, or pity. Sometimes I felt judged. Sometimes I felt invisible. And often, I felt the pressure to put on a brave face to protect others from the truth.
Even though I had a huge support system — my husband, my parents, my family, my friends — we rarely spoke about cancer openly. It was as if speaking the word itself would make it heavier. But within my closest circle, I found deep support. Their unwavering love became my anchor. I especially remember a conversation with my husband, who reminded me, “Your spirit is untouched by any illness — cancer can take your hair, but it cannot touch your light.”
Internally, the dialogue was a constant battle between grief and grace. Some days, I mourned everything I had lost — my hair, my physical strength, my sudden transition into perimenopause. Other days, I reminded myself that my scars, my bald head, and my journey were all proof of surviving the most challenging season of my life, where giving up was never an option.
I coped by allowing myself to feel everything — the sadness, the anger, the fear — but also by celebrating the small wins: a day without pain, a genuine smile, a tiny step toward healing. Over time, I realized that healing isn’t just about physical recovery. Healing is about making peace with the person you are becoming through it all.
Sonya: How did you express your personal style or beauty during hair loss and regrowth?
Harjeet: Cancer may have taken my hair, but it could never take away my spirit — and over time, I realized that beauty was something I could still claim on my own terms.
During treatment and hair loss, I started using lipstick or gloss as my daily ritual. Even on the hardest days, swiping on a little makeup became my way of telling myself, “You are still here. You are still you.” I also found power in styling myself with turbans, colorful scarves, hats, and experimenting with wigs when I wanted a different look. Each piece felt like armor — not to hide what I had lost, but to express the layers of strength I had discovered within myself.
Fashion and beauty became a creative outlet — a way of infusing color and confidence back into a body that often felt foreign to me. I embraced bright clothes, statement earrings, and textures that made me feel vibrant and alive again.
Expressing my personal style helped me reclaim ownership of my body and my narrative. It reminded me daily that beauty isn’t something fragile that illness can destroy. True beauty is found in resilience, in authenticity, and in the fierce choice to still see yourself as whole — even in the face of loss.
I also loved creating Instagram reels and posts, styling myself post-cancer, and showing that life is still beautiful — it’s all about how you choose to see and live it.
My mantra during this time became simple: “I am not my hair. I am the fire that still burns inside.”
Sonya: How has the regrowth process been for you?
Harjeet: The regrowth process was its own emotional rollercoaster — a different chapter of healing that I wasn’t fully prepared for.
Seeing my hair start to come back was emotional. In the beginning, it felt strange to look at myself in the mirror and not recognize the new person staring back. My hair grew in soft, thin, and with a completely different texture than before — and for a while, I mourned the long, thick hair I once had.
Every stage — from baby fuzz to short curls to bald patches on my head — reminded me that just like my hair, I was slowly rebuilding parts of myself from the inside out.
Because of my stem cell transplant, I lost my new baby hair twice, and even now, my hair hasn’t fully grown back the way it once was.
Mentally and emotionally, regrowth was bittersweet. There was joy in seeing progress, but also grief for the parts of myself that would never return. I wasn’t just grieving my hair — I was grieving the loss of my fertility at 32, the changes to my vision in my right eye, the hearing loss, and the old self I once knew. I had to learn to embrace this new self — to honor the strength it took just to reach this point.
Spiritually, my Sikh faith reminded me that everything on the outside is temporary — true identity comes from within. This belief helped me accept and even celebrate each messy, beautiful stage of regrowth.
The hardest part was being patient. Healing is slow. Growth is slow. Some days, I desperately wished I could fast-forward time — to wake up with my old hair, my old energy, my old life. But I realized that the most meaningful part was witnessing the rebirth — not just of my hair, but of my soul.
Today, my hair looks different than before — and so do I. But now, when I see myself, I don’t just see what I lost. I see everything I fought through to be here. And that version of me feels even more beautiful.
Sonya: What did hair loss teach you about your own inner and outer beauty?
Harjeet: Hair loss stripped away the layers I had once associated with beauty — the thick hair, the framed face, the outward signs of normalcy that the world often praises. But in losing all of that, I discovered something far deeper: that true beauty is not something you wear. It’s something you live.
Being left without hair, eyebrows, or eyelashes forced me to meet myself without any of society’s standards layered on top. It was uncomfortable. It was painful. But it was also profoundly freeing. I learned that beauty isn’t fragile. It’s not tied to how polished or perfect you appear. True beauty is fierce, raw, and resilient. It’s the quiet strength to get up after the hardest nights. It’s the grace you show yourself when everything feels broken.
My cultural and spiritual values, especially my Sikh faith, helped shape this shift in perspective. Sikhism teaches that what matters most is not the outer form, but the spirit within — the light of the Atma (soul) that remains untouched by pain, illness, or loss.
Today, I don’t define myself by my hair, my scars, or even by my struggles. I define myself by the fire that kept burning inside me — the part of me that no diagnosis, no treatment, and no loss could ever take away.
Sonya: What advice would you give to someone facing chemotherapy and hair loss—especially in a community where cancer is a taboo subject?
Harjeet: If you are facing chemotherapy and hair loss, I want you to know:
You are not less beautiful. You are not less worthy. You are not less you.
Hair loss may feel like it’s stripping away your identity, but it can never take away your light, your spirit, or your strength.
In many communities, including mine, cancer is still wrapped in stigma, silence, and fear. You may feel the pressure to hide your pain, to protect your family, or to act as if nothing has changed. But your experience is valid. Your emotions are valid. You don’t have to carry the weight of silence to honor your culture or your loved ones.
What I wish someone had told me at the beginning is this: You are allowed to grieve. You are allowed to be vulnerable. You are allowed to express your fear, cry, and release your emotions. And you are allowed to be proud of your most challenging, life-altering journey — even when it’s messy and hard.
Find ways that feel true to you — whether it’s through a turban, a wig, a hat, a swipe of lipstick, or simply showing up as you are with your beautiful "egghead."
"Hair loss may feel like it’s stripping away your identity, but it can never take away your light, your spirit, or your strength."
Honor your cultural identity, but also honor your healing. You are not breaking traditions by choosing your well-being. You are embodying the true spirit of resilience that our ancestors lived by.
Remember: you are more than your diagnosis, more than your hair, and more than society’s expectations. You are a true warrior. And true warriors are beautiful — with or without hair.
Sonya: If StyleEsteem impacted you in any way, we’d love to hear about it.
Harjeet: StyleEsteem gave me a sense of belonging and empowerment post my cancer treatment when I came across their page on Instagram
Their beautiful turbans and commitment to celebrating resilience made me feel seen, understood, and stylish even during the hardest phases of my journey. It wasn’t just about covering my head — it was about reclaiming my confidence and embracing my evolving self.
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I deeply admire how they have made turbans stylish and empowering for those days when you don’t have hair — and when you may not feel ready to step out bald. Their work gives dignity and beauty back to so many warriors on their healing journeys.
Sonya: Are there any projects you are currently working on that we can share with the community?
Harjeet: Absolutely! I’m currently involved in several projects and milestones that I’m passionate about sharing with our community. For starters, I pour a lot of my heart into my personal platform @hk_thriver. On that platform, I share glimpses of my life both before and after cancer.
A big part of this platform is raising awareness about the importance of early diagnosis and doing everything I can to empower others who may be going through something similar.
I also use it as an outlet to celebrate my love of fashion and personal style. I’ve been having fun experimenting with different hair looks after cancer, and I love sharing those styling adventures. It’s all about showing that life after cancer can still be vibrant, joyful, and uniquely you.
I’m also very proud to be the co-founder of Chai and Hope, a South Asian cancer support community. In many South Asian families, cancer can be a bit of a hush-hush topic. We started Chai and Hope to break that silence and provide a safe space where people can talk openly about their experiences and feelings. We offer support that’s culturally sensitive and make it a point to advocate for better representation of South Asians in the cancer community.
It’s been incredibly meaningful to watch people come together through Chai and Hope, supporting one another and realizing they are not alone.
Beyond my own platforms, I’m involved with several organizations here in Canada as a patient advocate and partner. In these roles, I focus on raising awareness around the stigma that can surround cancer and other health challenges. I’m particularly passionate about championing equity, diversity, and inclusion in healthcare and support services. I believe everyone, regardless of their background, deserves to feel seen, heard, and supported, and I’m working with these organizations to help make that a reality.
On a personal note, I recently celebrated a major milestone. In April 2025, I reached five years cancer-free. Hitting that five-year mark is incredibly special to me. It fills me with gratitude and reminds me why I’m so dedicated to this advocacy work. I hope that by sharing this milestone, I can inspire others in the thick of their cancer journey to hold onto hope and know that brighter days can be ahead.
Outside of my advocacy work, I’m also excited to support my husband in his dream project. After spending a lifetime working as a head chef around the world, he’s opened his own small business — a place called Bizarre Gastro Pub in Calgary. I’m so proud of him for taking this leap, and I’m doing everything I can to help him make it a success. I’m thrilled to be part of this journey. It’s a different kind of project, but it’s very close to my heart and it’s wonderful to see his passion come to life.
So yes, there’s a lot on my plate at the moment, but each of these projects means the world to me. They’re all rooted in hope, resilience, and community, and I’m grateful every day that I get to work on them and share them with others.
Sonya: What does the word “StyleEsteem” mean to you?
Harjeet: To me, StyleEsteem means honoring the warrior within — celebrating resilience, self-expression, and beauty in every stage of the journey, with or without hair.
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