As a child, I never thought about my weight. I was happy, carefree, and lived life without a second thought about food or exercise. But as a teenager, everything started to change. My first serious relationship brought with it late-night takeaways, endless snacks, and overindulgence. Food became a way to bond, to have fun, to celebrate—but it also became my downfall.

Even as I started noticing my weight creeping up, I didn’t know how to stop. I felt trapped in my own body, ashamed, and too self-conscious to ask for help. The idea of stepping into a gym filled me with anxiety, so I avoided it. Instead, I hid away, comfort-eating and pretending everything was fine—until I reached a breaking point. I became morbidly obese, and I hated what I saw in the mirror.

After finishing school, I finally found the courage to join a gym called “Curves.” I’ll never forget that moment because it felt like a tiny spark of hope in a sea of darkness. Slowly, I started losing weight, and for the first time in a long time, I felt good about myself.

But that spark turned into an obsession. The more weight I lost, the more addicted I became to controlling my body. Compliments poured in, and I thrived on them. I pushed myself harder and harder, ignoring every warning sign my body gave me. My periods stopped, my energy plummeted, and yet, I convinced myself this was “health.”

It wasn’t until my husband and I began trying to start a family that reality hit me. After months of heartbreak, a doctor finally told me the truth—I was too underweight to conceive. Hearing those words shattered me. I had spent years breaking my body in the name of “health,” and now, it was failing me.

I felt lost, broken, and ashamed. But somewhere deep inside, I knew this couldn’t be the end of my story. I started therapy, which became a lifeline during one of the hardest times of my life. Therapy taught me something I’ll never forget: my worth isn’t tied to the number on a scale or how lean I am.

From that moment, I began to rebuild my relationship with food, exercise, and, most importantly, myself. It wasn’t easy. There were setbacks, tears, and days when I wanted to give up. But slowly, I started to see my body not as a project to perfect but as something to nurture and respect.

And then, after years of learning, healing, and growing, I was blessed with my beautiful IVF baby, Jesse. Jesse is more than my son—he’s my why. He’s the reason I stay healthy, the reason I strive to be strong, and the reason I want to help other women find their own strength.

Through my journey, I’ve learned that true transformation isn’t just about the physical—it’s mental, emotional, and spiritual too. It’s about unlearning years of bad habits, quieting that critical voice in your head, and creating a life you’re proud of.

I’ve walked the hard road so you don’t have to. That’s why I do what I do—why I’ve dedicated my life to helping women who feel stuck, lost, or defeated.

Pictured is me and a few of my girls taken in November 2024.

Whether you’re struggling with weight, confidence, or simply not feeling “enough,” I want you to know this: you are not alone.