Debbie Morris: More Than a Survivor
- Carolina Breast Friends
- Oct 8
- 5 min read
Told in her words, not ours.
One Woman, Many Chapters
At 65 years old, Debbie Morris has lived many lives in one. She’s a military veteran, a
middle school math teacher, an information systems and math education grad, a solo
world traveler, a steadfast Christian, and a breast cancer survivor—twice. With a sharp
wit, no patience for sugar-coating, and an unshakable inner strength, Debbie’s story is
layered with trauma, healing, and transformation.
But if you ask her to sum it all up?
“Slow and steady,” she says. “That’s how I’d describe this journey.”
From Uniform to Classroom
Debbie’s early adulthood was shaped by service and structure. As a Lieutenant
Commander in the U.S. Navy, she broke barriers in a male-dominated field, earning her
wings and flying in a role few women held at the time.
After retiring from the military, she transitioned to teaching middle school math, finding
purpose in helping young women navigate equations, emotions, and adolescence.
“I have around 80 kids come through my class each year,” she said. “You bond with 10 or 15 of them—you become their parent figure. I always told them, if I could get through Calculus and fly in the Navy, they could survive Pre-Algebra.”
Diagnosis, Twice
Debbie first heard the word “cancer” in 2011. It came as a surprise, discovered during
what was meant to be a routine breast reduction surgery. The doctors found lobular
carcinoma—a sneaky, slow-growing cancer that doesn’t calcify. “It was cancer in a bag,”
she joked. “Just hanging out, hiding.”
She underwent radiation, took Tamoxifen for five years, and pushed forward. “They told
me it was low-grade,” she said. “So I followed the plan—and then I got back to living.”
She spent the next nine years overseas, teaching, traveling, and staying vigilant with
regular mammograms—until COVID disrupted everything. When she returned to the U.S.
In 2023, she scheduled her first mammogram in three years.
She noticed something immediately.
“I looked at the scan and said—that shouldn’t be there.”
A second diagnosis followed—this time, triple-negative breast cancer, grade 3. It was
aggressive, and it was spreading.
Debbie didn’t wait.
“I told them I wanted both breasts gone. I wasn’t going to play the ‘watch and wait’ game.”
She had her double mastectomy on December 2, 2024, and reconstruction expanders
were placed shortly after. At the time of our interview, she was just about to complete
her final round of chemotherapy.
Faith, Family, and Grit
Debbie is fiercely independent—she’s lived as a single woman for over 40 years, but she’s
never walked her journey alone. Her support system runs deep, from her siblings to
lifelong friends, to a tight-knit group of cycling women she met decades ago.
But one of the most tender parts of her recovery was being cared for by someone
unexpected: her brother John.
“He had to clean and dress my mastectomy site. Three times a day. It was probably uncomfortable for him, but he never complained. We bonded again in a way I’ll never forget.”
Her family stepped in whenever they could—taking shifts, helping with appointments,
handling yard work, or just showing up. “We’re all pretty different,” she said, “but when it
matters, we show up for each other.”
At the center of everything was her mother, who passed away in February of this year at
93. Debbie described Joyce as the core of the family whom everyone cherished and
respected.
“My mom was the center of it all. We were just orbiting her.”
In addition to family, Debbie drew strength from her Christian faith. Though chemo has
kept her tired, homebound, and cautious around crowds, her beliefs have kept her
grounded.
“Joshua 1:9 is my verse. ‘Be strong and courageous.’ That’s who I am. That’s what I’ve had to be my whole life.”
A New Kind of Strength
At this stage in her recovery, Debbie is looking ahead with a new perspective. Her body
has changed, her limits have shifted, and her day-to-day life looks different, but her
sense of purpose remains intact.
“I’ve always been physically active. Now, I get winded just walking upstairs. But I’m
trying to accept this slower pace and let myself heal.”
Healing, for Debbie, isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. It’s spiritual. And it’s ongoing.
She’s learned to rest when she needs to. To say no when she has to. To embrace help
without shame. These aren’t signs of weakness, she says—they’re signs of growth.
“When I first went through cancer, I felt 100% in control. But this time, I’ve let people
show up for me. That’s what’s different.”
She’s also marked her journey physically, with an infinity dragonfly tattoo wrapped in a
breast cancer ribbon. It’s one of four tattoos she now has, each a quiet symbol of survival,
strength, and transformation.
Looking Forward
Debbie still has hurdles ahead—reconstruction surgery, healing from fatigue, and the
emotional weight of a second cancer diagnosis. But she’s approaching this next phase the
same way she’s tackled everything else: slowly, steadily, and with a sharp sense of humor.
“People keep telling me I’m strong, but what else am I going to do? This is just what’s happening.”
She plans to continue traveling when she’s able, with dream destinations like South
America and Antarctica still calling her name. For now, she’s letting herself rest,
reconnect, and reflect.
“I think I’m still figuring out who I am after all this,” she said. “But I know I want to
keep moving forward.”
No Platitudes, Just Presence
Debbie Morris isn’t interested in being called an inspiration. She doesn’t need a spotlight
or a silver lining. What she wants, more than anything, is for people to stop looking away
from the hard parts.
“Don’t tell someone going through difficult situations to be strong. Be real. Be present.
Ask what they need. Bring groceries. Cry with them. But don’t give them platitudes.”
She knows not everyone survives. She knows healing looks different for everyone. But
she believes deeply in honesty, in community, and in the power of showing up—even
when it’s uncomfortable.
The journey hasn’t been easy, but Debbie stands grounded in who she is and everything
she’s overcome.
She embodies what she’s named “quiet resilience”—the ability to move forward gracefully in a world filled with hardships and chaos.
At peace in her new life and body. Twice stronger!
Author Credits
Written by: Marina Maxwell, Enya Kemp, and John Steel.
As part of the QLC 320 Community Storytelling Project at Queens University of Charlotte
In partnership with Carolina’s Breast Friends.