Ericka Hart's mom died of breast cancer at age 38. Hart was only 28 when she found a lump in her own breast. Through two years of treatment, which included chemotherapy and a double mastectomy, she says she only cried "maybe once."

"As a black queer girl, I figured out a long time ago that falling apart is a privilege," Hart explains in the latest video from Style Like U and Allure's Dispelling Beauty Myths series. "And if I fall apart then I wont be able to manage. I won't be able to survive."

After finding the lump during a self exam in the shower, Hart met with her doctor for further tests.

"A week or so later," she says, "he called me. I was standing on Wall Street, about to walk into a Sephora—naturally— and I took the call. In front of the Sephora. and I had to, like, carry myself to a bench to sit down because I was so terrified."

The doctor told her she had breast cancer—in both breasts. She quickly made an appointment to discuss next steps.

When Hart's doctor told her she'd need to have a double mastectomy, she asked whether she'd need to go through chemo. "I was more concerned about my hair when I was diagnosed than having a double mastectomy," she explains.

Before her surgery, she threw what she dubbed a "boob party" on the beach to celebrate her breasts and bid parts of them farewell. She also cut off her hair and dyed it pink. "When I walked into surgery," she says, "my breast cancer surgeon was like, 'So, you're ready.'"

Because reconstructive surgery following a mastectomy often involves painful procedures, Hart opted to forego the process — a decision that's being made by an increasing number of women. But Hart says that choice took a toll on her relationship.

"I believe that my partner mourned my breasts more than I did," she says. "Our intimacy stopped. I was more focused on, 'How can Ericka stay here and be alive and flourish?' Not so much the aesthetic."

Hart says the plastic surgeon continues to ask if she wants nipples.

"Don't want them—not even tattooed," she says. "I don't want any of that. Because my scars run across the breasts, I just reclaimed these scars as my nipples. I love when my scars are showing. When I’m topless is when I feel the most beautiful.”

"And I have phantom nipple sensation," she adds, "so that's exciting."

Hart decided to go topless this fall at the Afropunk Festival, as a form of liberation but also as public education, to encourage others to check their own breasts regularly. She says she was stunned by how many people had no idea what mastectomy scars looked like.

"And then I remembered," she recalls, "Like, there it is: We don't talk about it. There's no images of it."

Ultimately, learning to love her breasts just the way they are has been life-affirming for her.

"I spent a lot of my life trying to fit into boxes and trying to be some way for other people," says Hart. "But that moment was a staple moment for me. To just be, like, I don't need to be anything for anybody but me."