Rebirth At The Bathroom Sink

I held a toothbrush in one hand and gripped the counter with the other. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I knew for certain something wasn’t right.

Now listen, I’ve spent a lifetime going in and out of my “health is my top priority” eras. I’ve always known what I should eat, how I should move, and how both of those things are tied to my mental health. I didn’t always do the right things, but I sure knew what they were… and exactly what happened when I didn’t.

In my twenties, my priority was raising babies. In my thirties, I declared it my “take back” era. Then forty came along and I declared it again, because apparently I didn’t quite take back enough the first time. I tried every diet, every cleanse, every workout that left me seeing stars and questioning my life choices. And sure, I looked forward to my “cheat meal” like it was a national holiday.

I took classes, obtained my nutrition certification and became a fitness coach. If you can’t be consistent for yourself, teach others how to be consistent, right? (Kidding… sort of.) I loved coaching though. Being that mix of therapist, drill sergeant, and best friend was my jam. It was rewarding in a way few jobs ever are. I still couldn’t make ME my top priority. Until one day, I didn’t have a choice.

That morning at the bathroom sink, toothbrush in hand, I yelled for my husband. I didn’t even know what was happening, just that my body felt like it was giving out. By the time Brian came running, I was numb…literally numb. Turns out, genetics had decided to cash in their chips. I had suffered a series of strokes. So, yeah. Thanks, genetics. Appreciate you.

I spent a week at Atrium Hospital in Charlotte, NC. No friends or family nearby. Just me, Brian, and my laptop…because yes, I was still answering work calls, sending invoices, and pretending I hadn’t just had strokes. When Brian caught me doing that, he didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. If you know him, you know he’s a man of few words but when he speaks, you listen.

And that silence? It was loud. It was also life-changing.

In that stillness, something in me reignited. A fire, a rebirth, a clarity I hadn’t felt in years. I realized I’d been living like a passenger in my own life, and it was time to slide into the driver’s seat. No GPS, just gut and grace.

Working with my doctor and a functional health specialist, I found balance. I discovered I had Hashimoto’s, an autoimmune disease I’d probably had for most of my adult life. That diagnosis didn’t scare me; it set me free. Because knowledge is power, peace gives you time, and clarity? Clarity is everything.

I changed everything about how I lived. No alcohol, no caffeine, no sugar, no gluten, no dairy, no red meat… and yes, no stress. (That last one’s a work in progress, but we’ll call it “aspirational.”)

And before you say it… yes, I still eat ice cream. Dairy-free, gluten-free, and with the same enthusiasm as ever. If there’s an “Eaters Anonymous,” sign me up, because that’s one addiction I’m not quite ready to let go of.

Here’s the thing, food used to be comfort, distraction, therapy. Now it’s fuel. Nothing more, nothing less. The real challenge was learning to manage my stress. And honestly? Once I realized most of my stress came from other people, work, and my own doing, I knew what I had to do.

I stopped letting people’s opinions or actions take up space in my heart. I learned to say no without apologizing. I leaned on my team at work instead of trying to carry the entire world on my shoulders. Funny thing, when you stop trying to be everyone’s superhero, you actually make room for them to be heroes too. The power in seeing others grow and succeed is undeniably one of my favorite things about being in leadership at my company.

I also stopped putting myself in situations that didn’t fit who I was. If something doesn’t serve me, a person, a commitment, a habit…I let it go. I try new things, say yes to adventure, and genuinely live. Because if genetics want a rematch, they’ll have to catch me mid-laugh doing something I love.

To my kids: I’m sorry for the years I wasn’t the clearest, calmest version of me. Thank you for loving every version anyway.

To Brian: thank you for being steady when I wasn’t, for loving me through all my seasons, and for catching me, literally and figuratively, when I fell.

To those of you reading this: let me be your sign that it’s never too late to start your own journey. You don’t have to do it my way, just take the first step toward your version of better. Read the book. Take the walk. Do the scary thing.

When someone’s chapter in your life ends, don’t slam the book shut. Just place a bookmark, set it on the nightstand, and know you can always revisit it later, if and when it makes sense. Don’t hold grudges. Say thank you. Say I love you. Especially to yourself.

If no one’s told you lately, you are worth it. I’m over here high-fiving the absolute hell out of you. Because watching someone else find their power, That’s my purpose and it feels pretty damn good.