I was born a normal-sized baby, but I quickly began gaining weight far above the standard growth chart. I was born with anosmia (the inability to smell), suffered many childhood illnesses, and endured frequent antibiotic use. This contributed to leaky gut and gut dysbiosis at a very young age.

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I experienced childhood abuse—not from my parents—which, combined with obesity, deeply affected my self-esteem. I grew up always yearning to be accepted, which led me to tolerate abuse in adult relationships. I accepted the unacceptable out of duty and because it gave me a sense of control.

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By middle school, I weighed 300 pounds, and by high school, I had reached 350. Despite my weight and the challenges that came with it, I earned my cosmetology license during my senior year—attending school six days a week from 6 a.m. to 5 p.m. The demanding schedule left little time for friendships or social life. During that period, I lost 75 pounds through The Diet Center, which gave me my first introduction to the basics of nutrition.

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​At 20, afraid I might never marry, I did. Just one month after my wedding, my father suffered a massive stroke. He never regained consciousness and passed away three months later. Losing him meant losing the one person who had always given me a sense of stability. He had struggled with obesity and metabolic syndrome for most of his life, living a lifestyle and diet all too common among Americans. Despite his health challenges, he lived an extraordinary life—one that many only dream of. He was deeply committed to serving others, always offering kindness and encouragement to those who needed it most. He didn’t have to die so young. If only I had known then what I know now, I truly believe things could have been different.

The following year, at 21, I became pregnant and developed toxemia. I delivered my daughter via emergency C-section at 31 weeks—she weighed just three pounds. Though she faced complications early in life, today she is a vibrant, healthy woman with no lasting effects from her premature birth.

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Throughout the 1980s and beyond, I followed the “low-fat” diet craze, compounded by stress, hormone instability, and a great deal of denial. My weight eventually soared to nearly 400 pounds. I worked a lot—sometimes more than one full-time job. For seven years, I ran a home daycare, working 12-hour days, plus a part-time job on nights and weekends. I was a classroom mom, helped with my daughter’s sports, helped manage her cheer squad, and was the only first aid/CPR-certified mom in her Girl Scout troop—so I joined the camping trips. Yes, even at nearly 400 pounds, I did my best on those hikes.

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My diet consisted of cheap fast food, restaurant meals, ultra-processed convenience foods, and packaged frozen meals that I thought were healthier. I had a massive misconception of what “healthy” meant. I genuinely believed the marketing claims, not realizing they were just ploys to sell food that wasn’t actually nourishing.

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By my 30s, I had metabolic syndrome. Though officially diagnosed with prediabetes, I’m certain I had full-blown Type 2 diabetes and was prescribed Metformin. I was also severely depressed and given Paxil. I’d been on blood pressure medication since age 19, with the dose gradually increasing until it matched what EMTs use in emergencies. I had adult acne, for which I was given more medication, and I’d also been diagnosed with hypothyroidism and prescribed Levothyroxine, which didn’t help my symptoms very much.

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My body hurt constantly. Each morning, I’d wake up wondering what level of pain I’d be in that day. One particular morning, I remember lying in bed with tears in my eyes, dreading the pain of simply putting my feet on the floor because of the swelling in my legs. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. That was my breaking point. I realized I was on a slow, painful path toward death—fooling myself into thinking I had any real quality of life. My father died of a stroke at 53, and I was heading in the same direction.

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In 2002, I made yet another New Year’s resolution to lose weight. But this time, something was different. I knew it couldn't be just words. I didn’t just need motivation—I needed a plan. My whole life, I’d been told, “You’re fat, just lose weight.” But no one had ever shown me how. How do you even begin to lose over 250 pounds?

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I couldn’t even walk around the block without fearing I’d collapse. I had to call people to come pick me up. It was humiliating and painful, but I kept going—walking a little further, a little faster. I joined Weight Watchers and nearly completed the course before realizing it wasn’t working for me. A chicken breast and a chocolate chip cookie were the same number of points, and I justified the cookie every time.

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So I created my own system. I studied what calories really were, what carbohydrates, proteins, and fats meant. I learned about portion sizes and how to manage cravings. I lived on Splenda and coffee for a while and started cooking more. I still followed a “less is more” starvation model and believed it was good for me.

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When I reached 230 pounds, my best friend—who had undergone Roux-en-Y gastric bypass—encouraged me to do the same. Looking back, I don’t regret the events of my life because they made me who I am today. But if I could go back, I wouldn’t choose that surgery again. At the time, it seemed like the only way to move the mountain in front of me. I now know that mountains are moved one grain of sand at a time—and with each grain, there’s a life lesson.

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After the surgery, I had to relearn everything I thought I knew about food. I over-exercised, still ate processed foods, and relied on Splenda and coffee—but I just ate less. I didn’t manage stress and, in fact, it worsened. I got divorced, my daughter graduated high school, and I poured my energy into things that drained me. I reached my goal weight, but not in a healthy way.

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Then, everything changed. On the day my divorce was finalized, I met Ian. That encounter shifted the entire course of my life. We started a journey together, committed to living a healthier life with better quality. Two years later, we married. Ian supported me unconditionally—even helping me earn my personal training certification, though my dream was to become a life coach and help others achieve wellness.

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When I met Ian, he was pescatarian. We ate a lot of fish, tofu, and drank too much alcohol. Eventually, we became vegan in pursuit of better health. We traveled, attended plays, and explored life in ways I never had before. Yet during those years, I kept getting sick, was exhausted, and gained weight despite exercising often—3 to 5-mile walks, hot yoga, early morning workouts. I blamed myself: “I must just be out of shape.”

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While recertifying for personal training, I stumbled upon the term “Hashimoto’s.” Despite being hypothyroid for 20 years, I’d never heard of it. I dove into the research—and it was like reading a checklist of my symptoms: crushing fatigue, constipation, illness frequency, depression, anxiety, dry skin, hair loss, weight gain, and temperature sensitivity. It was a lightbulb moment.

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I found a DO (Doctor of Osteopathy) because I’d read they take a different approach. He diagnosed me with Hashimoto’s thyroiditis—an autoimmune condition. But when I followed up with a conventional doctor, he told me it didn’t matter: “We treat it the same way—just increase your meds over time until you need your thyroid removed.”

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I knew better by then. I walked out, never to return. I found a nutritionist who referred me to another DO—one who practiced functional medicine. I didn’t know what that meant yet, but I made the appointment. That was my first real introduction to functional medicine.

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He ran tests and discovered I had SIBO (Small Intestinal Bacterial Overgrowth) and severe gut dysbiosis. He gave me resources that opened my eyes to an entirely new world of wellness.

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I moved states and couldn’t find a practitioner like him again. One DO told me, “I know what you have, but I can’t help you.” That honesty, though painful, was a blessing. I was desperate—but not ready to give up.

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I had just earned my real estate license but was spending every spare moment researching my symptoms. The information was conflicting and confusing. Then I met my current functional medicine practitioner, who I’ve worked with for over a decade. That relationship changed everything.

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Around the same time, my brother died—also at 53—alone, in bed, with an enlarged heart. He too struggled with obesity, metabolic syndrome, and likely many other health issues. My father and brother—both gone at the same young age. I made a vow: I would not let this happen to me, to my husband, or to anyone I could help.

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Exercise wasn’t enough. Diet was critical, but there was so much misinformation. I needed real education. That’s when I found The Nutritional Therapy Association. Other schools existed, but this one resonated with me. I wanted to understand the body, not just for clients—but to save my own life.

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School was hard—it had been years since I’d studied. Ian became my rock. He did most of the chores and brought me meals while I studied late into the night. I missed social events but knew this path would change my life—and it did.

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Every lesson I learned, I applied. One of the most shocking revelations? It was actually healthy to eat bacon, the right kind, and real butter not margarine. I stared at that stick of butter for the longest time, overwhelmed with shame and years of misinformation. The same went for avocados. But once I understood the science, I was awakened. I wanted more knowledge.

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After graduation, I became certified in the Autoimmune Protocol. When I went all-in, I finally lost the last stubborn 20 pounds. Turns out, it was inflammation. Nightshades and gluten were major culprits—triggering acne and flares I never connected before.

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There’s still so much to learn, and I remain endlessly curious. It’s been eight years since I graduated, and I’ve lost count of how many layers I’ve peeled back on my own health journey. This path has been the most rewarding and transformative career I could have ever chosen.

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Continuing education is a cornerstone of my work. Every two years, I submit the courses I’ve completed—each one carefully chosen to deepen my knowledge in areas that support both my healing and that of the clients who find their way to me. It’s true that people are drawn to those they resonate with—often someone who’s walked a similar path. It’s through my own experiences, struggles, and hard-won insights that I’ve become a more empathetic and effective practitioner. I’ve gone down unexpected rabbit holes, chasing the tiniest clues—and sometimes it’s those very details that shift everything.

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Watching clients reclaim their lives, witnessing their "aha" moments, and helping them do what once felt impossible is a gift. Seeing them believe in themselves again is why I do what I do. The outcome is up to us—our choices, our commitment, our willingness to do hard things.

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This is your life. You get to decide its quality. I did.

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I made it my life’s work to heal, to grow, and to help others do the same. I believe in quality of life. I believe there’s a better way. I believe in our body’s incredible resiliency and ability to heal itself given the right circumstances. I believe in me—and I believe in you.

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Together, one step at a time, one grain of sand at a time, we can move our mountain.