When we ask too much of our bodies

Have you ever stopped and truly questioned why you push your body the way you do?

Recently, I’ve had more time than ever to sit with that question. Not by choice, but because my body finally demanded it.

After four C-sections, years of showing up, pushing through exhaustion, and returning to work just two weeks postpartum after having my youngest, Jasper, I never imagined I would find myself unable to do my job because of debilitating neck pain shooting down my arm. Yet here I am.

The truth is simple: my body had been giving me signs for a long time. I just didn’t listen.

If you know me well, you know slowing down does not come naturally to me. Rest feels uncomfortable. Productivity feels safe. Working hard has always been tied to confidence and identity, something deeply ingrained from a lifetime of watching hard work modeled as priority number one.

But pain has a way of changing perspective.

Over these past weeks, I’ve learned that resting isn't a weakness. Receiving help isn’t failure. Taking care of underlying issues isn’t stepping away from life. It’s investing in being able to live it fully for the long haul.

This has honestly been one of the hardest lessons for me as a coach. Because what do I tell all of you, over and over again?

It’s okay to slow down.
It’s okay to take care of yourself.
The rest will fall into place.

Turns out, those words apply to me too.

When Kari sat me down and reminded me, “It’s okay to take care of yourself,” it hit differently. If I want to continue coaching, supporting and showing up for this community for years to come. To do that I have to respect my own limits.

That meant relying on my husband and daughter to take over school drop-offs. Letting someone else handle groceries and daily routines. Not working out. Not even walking around the block.

For someone who is used to constant movement, that loss of independence took a real toll on my mental health. The early days were hard — managing pain, navigating medications, and sitting still when every instinct told me to push through.

I learned quickly that healing requires stillness.

And during that stillness, I was reminded of something incredibly important: this community is family. Your kindness, patience, and support allowed me the space to actually heal instead of rushing back too soon.

Because of that support, I now have a clear plan moving forward. One that addresses my spine, my nervous system, and the root causes of the pain rather than simply ignoring them.

Today feels different.
Today feels like progress.

This chapter isn’t about stopping; it’s about rebuilding. Learning to be kinder to my body and my mind. Learning that strength sometimes looks like rest, boundaries, and asking for help.

So consider this your reminder too:

Listen when your body whispers, so it doesn’t have to scream.

I am healing.
I have a plan.
And I am deeply grateful — more than you probably realize — to walk this path supported by all of you.

With so much love and appreciation, from the bottom of my big ol’ heart.