There's a photo of me standing on a beach in the Maldives wearing a cheap Temu swimsuit. Pale, bald under my wide-brimmed hat, my stomach pushing out, I couldn't have looked or felt more different from my old self.
Before, I would never have shared any photo that didn't show me in the best possible light. And yet I recently posted this image with the caption: 'This is by far my most vulnerable post I've ever shared on Instagram.'
I also included a photo of the 'old me' wearing a figure-hugging pink dress, my hair bouncy from a blow dry, skin gleaming. That version of me would get compliments wherever I went.
As a Cosmopolitan magazine beauty editor, I was immersed in a world where beauty meant perfection. I watched what I ate and worked out religiously to stay a slim size six, never left the house without make-up and meticulously used scores of skincare products.
So what changed - both physically and mentally?
In December 2023, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After enduring four surgeries, 16 rounds of aggressive chemotherapy and 25 sessions of radiation, I lost all my dark, glossy hair and gained over 3st in weight in just five months thanks to steroids.
My own beauty, as I had known it, melted away before my eyes.
Over the past year and a half, I have been to hell and back - but it's made me brave. Brave enough to post the picture the old me would have never.
'I couldn't have looked or felt more different from my old self,' writes Lauren O'Connell
After watching what she ate, exercising and using scores of skincare products, Lauren says: 'That version of me would get compliments wherever I went'
Because cancer forced me to redefine all sorts of things. And in hospital rooms and chemo suites, I slowly began to discover a new kind of beauty, one that wasn't rooted in appearance. Now, I understand that resilience, vulnerability and strength are worth more than any made-up aesthetic.
And that's quite a revelation for a beauty devotee working at the epicentre of an industry that's all about gloss, glamour and having the 'right' look.
By the time I went on that Maldives holiday last year with my husband Aaron and our children Veronica, 15, and Jack, 13, to celebrate the end of my treatment, I'd never felt further away from today's beauty standards - but I also felt free. Free from my old perceptions of what beauty was.
I was alive and I was with the three people I loved most in the world. I couldn't ruin the trip by being hung up on how I looked.
Even as a little girl watching my mum apply her make-up, I'd always been obsessed with beauty products and fashionable clothes and shoes.
As a child I was teased at school for my pale complexion. Throughout my adolescence, I felt awkward and not pretty enough.
However, I blossomed overnight aged 19. By then, exercising had given me an incredible, toned figure. My dark hair could be worn straight or curly, much to the envy of my friends. I revelled in comments from strangers saying they thought I was gorgeous.
I met Aaron, now 43, at university; in 2009 we moved to Dubai for his work as a fire engineer. Here, beauty is on a whole new level; women wear fully contoured faces & false eyelashes with blow dried hair just to go to supermarkets.
It was when my children were both in school that one of my friends suggested I create my own beauty Instagram account & YouTube channel.
To my surprise, I had instant success. Big beauty brands such as Nars & Charlotte Tilbury started sending me products to review.
I spent the next few years building my name in Dubai. With my background in sciences (I have a degree in mechanical engineering with a concentration in biomechanics & a master's in nursing) I carved out a niche sharing science behind skincare & make-up products.
By April 2021, I'd been appointed beauty editor of Cosmo Middle East - a role I enjoyed for two years before cancer struck.
I'd first felt the tiny lump while on holiday with my mum and daughter. Back at my desk after coming back, I felt it again. This time it was the size of a walnut.
Two biopsies and a PET scan revealed two tumours in my right breast, and during surgery it was discovered the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes, meaning I needed chemotherapy to send me into remission. I was utterly devastated.
Like so many women facing cancer treatment, the thought of losing my hair was particularly crushing.
I tried cold capping, which helps some women keep their hair during chemo, but it didn't work for me. Three weeks after my first infusion, I lost 80 per cent of my hair in just two days, as well as my eyelashes and eyebrows.
It was devastating. Emotionally, I was completely drained.
Though I didn't realise it at the time, this prompted the first step in redefining beauty when I asked Aaron and the kids to shave off my remaining hair in order to feel like I still had some control over my situation. My daughter, Veronica, said the loveliest thing: 'Mum, hair holds memories and this is paving the way for you to make new ones to hold on to.' Her words made me feel loved and hopeful.
After my eighth infusion, I was sitting in my home office and casually looked up at my mirror. I didn’t recognise the woman staring back.
There was no definition to my arms, no hair on my head, and my dress looked like a tent. As well as the huge weight gain, steroids had caused my glowing complexion to erupt with acne.
I looked at my reflection and asked myself: ‘Can I still see the beauty in me?’
It turns out I could. It was a deeply spiritual moment. I realised that my definition of beauty could no longer be about what was on the outside.
Slowly, with the support of a therapist, I began to see beauty in my strength, tenacity and resilience. It felt empowering.
Every night, I'd put cuticle oil on my nails. It was one of the few easy beauty treatments I could still do while the rest of me fell apart, and it made me feel connected to the old me.
Without the comfort of work - I'd taken time off for my treatment - and with so many other changes, it would have been easy to fall into a deep depression. Yet my own resolve to live, combined with the support of my family, gave me strength.
I began to appreciate myself more too. Pre-cancer, I'd beat myself up for everything I didn't manage to tick off my to-do list. Now, I shifted my focus to all the things I did achieve in a day. If I'd been able to do gentle exercise or felt well enough to make a meal (and my kids had actually liked it!) I felt so positive.
Reflection is inherent with cancer. Now 42, I'm in remission, having got the all-clear last November, and I have a new perspective. Beauty is so much more than just an aesthetic.
It's changed my work in the beauty industry too. I have no shame in showing exactly how I look in the moment instead of waiting until I'm 'perfect' - and I want to amplify the voices of other women struggling with how they look for whatever reason.
I'm still on medication to keep my body in forced menopause as my cancer fed off oestrogen. One of the downsides is elastin in my skin has depleted which means it can be trickier to maintain plump glowing complexion I once took for granted. I'd been busy building my science-backed beauty brand 3 of Cups (3ofcups.com) when cancer stopped me in my tracks but now I've returned to good health I'll be launching it this autumn after years of research.
But the most important thing is that I'm alive.
Previously before a holiday like so many women I'd feel creeping dread about being seen in swimwear exercising more & eating less to 'prepare'. But by the time of our Maldives holiday I had shelved all my old 'beach-ready' ideals. Yes I looked nothing like the version of me I'd once known. But did it really matter?
Cancer has made me realise that 'ugly' photo does show me in my best light after all. It's more real honest & vulnerable.
Yes that slim women in the pink dress is beautiful - but so is the post-chemotherapy version of me. In fact I’m now more resilient unapologetic and grounded when it comes to how I look and my own sense of worth.