We were lucky to catch up with Desiree Burgos recently and have shared our conversation below.

Alright, Desiree thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. We’d love to hear the backstory behind a risk you’ve taken – whether big or small, walk us through what it was like and how it ultimately turned out.

One of the biggest risks I’ve ever taken didn’t look brave on the outside. It looked like vulnerability. It looked like stepping into a room and telling the truth.

After my cancer diagnosis, my world split in two.

Before my diagnosis, I was the dependable one — productive, driven, always operating at full capacity. I led teams, managed complex logistics, and made sure every moving part landed exactly where it needed to. Years earlier, I had coordinated a statewide youth conference in Puerto Rico, overseeing speakers, transportation, and entire teams. At work, I did the same — aligning people, strategy, and execution. I understood systems. I understood leadership. I knew how to move pieces on a chessboard and make the outcome look effortless.

But cancer doesn’t care how organized you are.

When I was diagnosed with a gynecologic cancer, everything became medical language, sterile rooms, appointment schedules, and decisions no one ever wants to make. Surgery. Treatment. Loss. Survival. I went from leading rooms to lying in hospital beds. From being the strong one to needing help to stand.

After my surgery — the removal of my uterus and ovaries — I remember staring at the ceiling one night and thinking: If I survive this, I HAVE to do something

That’s when the idea started.

I didn’t want cancer to be just something that happened to me. I wanted it to become something that served others. But speaking publicly about it? That felt terrifying. Not because I was ashamed — but because I am wired to be strong. To be composed. To be capable.

The risk wasn’t even medical.
It was emotional.

The risk was creating Centro Evoluciona — a space for education, meditation, and support for people affected by cancer — before I felt fully healed. Before I felt “ready.”

What I didn’t know then was that the most meaningful thing I would ever build wouldn’t be an event I executed flawlessly, but a space rooted in something far more personal. Today, as I prepare to launch this new vision, I’m stepping into a different kind of leadership — one shaped not only by strategy, but by lived experience. This time, I’m not just organizing the room. I’m inviting others to gather in it with me.

I remember the moment I decided.
I was sitting in my living room with my laptop open. My body still healing from chemotherapy. My energy inconsistent. I had every logical reason to wait. “Heal first.” “Rest more.” “Build later.”
But I also knew something: healing doesn’t only happen in isolation. It happens in purpose. And in companionship.

So I posted about it.

I said out loud that I was building a space for community, education, and empowerment around cancer.
And that felt like stepping off a cliff.
Because when you say something publicly, it becomes real.
People expect it.
People see you.
People judge it.
And they judge you.

The first event is the real leap. Booking a space. Inviting speakers. Promoting it. Asking doctors, caregivers to show up. What if no one comes? What if I I’m breaking down emotionally? What if people don’t take it seriously?

My goal with this event, besides education and prevention is to watch survivors exchange numbers. To watch caregivers feel seen. To watch medical professionals sit beside patients, not above them.

And in this moment, I realized something profound:
The risk ins’t about whether I would fail.
It’s about whether I am willing to be seen.

It turns out that the very thing I thought might weaken me — my vulnerability — has become my strength. My experience has given me context. My leadership has given me structure. My pain has given me purpose.

Centro Evoluciona isn’t just an idea anymore. It’s a growing community.
Taking that risk hasn’t eliminated the fear. I still feel it. Every new step.
But now I understand something I didn’t before cancer:
Safety is not the absence of risk.
Safety is alignment.
And building something that transforms pain into power — that is the most aligned risk I’ve ever taken

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

I am the founder of **Centro Evoluciona**, a community-centered platform dedicated to cancer education, emotional wellness, and support. My background is rooted in leadership and large-scale coordination — from organizing a statewide youth conference in Puerto Rico to leading teams and managing complex operations professionally. I’ve always built systems that bring people together with clarity and purpose. After my cancer diagnosis and surgery, that leadership took on a deeper meaning. I experienced firsthand how overwhelming the journey can feel beyond the clinical appointments — and I knew there had to be a more human way to navigate it.

Centro Evoluciona exists to bridge that gap. Through education, mindfulness, and open dialogue, we create spaces where medical insight meets lived experience, and where survivors and caregivers feel seen, informed, and supported. What sets my work apart is that I lead from both strategy and story. I understand the systems — and I understand the heart. My purpose is to transform adversity into connection, empowerment, and collective healing.

What do you think helped you build your reputation within your market?

My reputation was built by living the experience myself. I don’t speak about cancer, survivorship, or community from theory — I speak from lived reality. Walking through diagnosis, surgery, and recovery gave me credibility that can’t be manufactured. People trust authenticity, and they recognize when someone truly understands the journey. That lived experience, combined with my leadership background, is what built the foundation of my reputation.

Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?

One lesson I had to unlearn was that strength means handling everything on your own. For most of my life, I was the capable one — the organizer, the leader, the person others relied on. I built my identity around being productive, composed, and in control. I was also the one working long shifts in excruciating pain, thinking it was normal. Asking for help felt like weakness.

Cancer dismantled that belief. After my diagnosis and surgery, I physically couldn’t do everything myself — and emotionally, I shouldn’t have had to. I had to relearn strength as something more collaborative and more honest. True strength, I discovered, isn’t independence at all costs. It’s allowing yourself to be supported while still leading with courage.

Contact Info:

• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/centroevoluciona_/

Image Credits

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