Me with Emily and Andrew in front of the stone fireplace, right after we moved back home to Minnesota in 2007. A quiet moment that marked the beginning of rebuilding our life after leaving Illinois.

After years of chasing low iron and elusive answers, I’m still asking why. Healing isn’t always about fixing what’s broken — sometimes it’s about refusing to settle for “fine.”

Freedom isn’t free. This is the story of what it costs to walk away, rebuild from nothing, and find peace on the other side of loss.

Leaving isn’t failure — it’s survival. These are the boxes I packed when I left my marriage, filled not just with clothes, but with everything I refused to carry anymore.

Another round of specialists. More waiting rooms. Still, I’m searching — not just for answers, but for the strength to keep believing that healing is possible.

This was the year I hit rock bottom — the moment everything collapsed and nothing made sense. But even in the darkness, something inside me was whispering to begin again.

Some endings don’t arrive suddenly — they fade slowly, one quiet silence at a time. This is the story of how joy slipped away, and what it took to finally notice.

This isn’t a breakthrough — it’s a continuation. The answers aren’t clear yet, but the fight for understanding my body is far from over.

I became a mother before I became myself. This is the story of love, loss, and growing up too soon — and how motherhood shaped everything that came next.

Food once felt like safety — a way to fill what was missing. But comfort can become a cage, and this is the story of how I began breaking free.

Healing isn’t linear — it’s layered, frustrating, and deeply human. I’m not where I want to be yet, but I’m still here, still fighting, and still committed.

When love feels like survival, you start handing yourself away piece by piece. This is the story of how I learned that being chosen means nothing if I have to disappear to stay loved.

Not all disappearances are loud. This one happened quietly, beneath long sleeves and soft smiles, until I forgot how to take up space — and how to be seen.

Before the labs and diagnoses came the silence — the quiet disconnection from my body. This is where my story of healing really began: with truth.

Healing doesn’t always look like progress. Sometimes it looks like presence — slowing down, tuning in, and learning that listening to your body is its own form of strength.

The things we call “normal” often aren’t. This post is a reminder to stop dismissing your body’s whispers — because they’re not weakness, they’re truth asking to be heard.

For years, I was told I was “fine.” I wasn’t. This is what it looks like to reclaim your health, your story, and your voice — one truth at a time.

Before healing came survival. This is the story behind the story — of loss, resilience, and the unrelenting belief that survival is not the same as living.

I didn’t arrive here by accident. This is the moment I stopped waiting for someone else to fix me and decided to become the healer I’d been searching for all along.

This is where it begins — not with perfection, but with truth. Health isn’t just about lab results; it’s about listening inward, trusting your story, and remembering that becoming is the bravest thing you can do.