Growth Beyond Obstacles

In just 19 days, I’ll be crossing the starting line of my very first official 5K—the Bubble Run. The name alone brings a smile to my face. A fun, light-hearted event filled with color, bubbles, and laughter, but for me, this run carries weight, heart, and so much meaning. It’s not just a run. It’s a symbol of the transformation I’ve undergone, the strength I’ve built, the love I’ve experienced, and the healing I’ve embraced.

But I’ll be honest: I’m nervous. Not just excited-nervous, but the kind of nervous that creeps in during quiet moments and makes you second-guess your readiness. Nervous because I’ve been learning a lot about my body—and not all of it has been easy.

Listening to My Body: The Hard-Earned Lesson of This Season

If this training season has taught me anything, it’s this: you have to listen to your body. Not in a surface-level kind of way, but in a deep, intentional, nurturing way that requires patience and humility.

Just a few weeks ago, I started experiencing symptoms that I couldn’t ignore—low heart rate episodes, dizziness, fatigue that felt different than the normal exhaustion from working two jobs and going to school full time. I brushed it off at first, thinking maybe I was just tired from training. But something in me—maybe the version of me that has learned not to ignore red flags—pushed me to seek answers.

I ended up in the emergency room, where they ran several tests and ultimately placed me on a heart monitor. This week, I’m scheduled for an echocardiogram to take a deeper look. The doctors mentioned something I already knew deep down: I’ve had a thickened left ventricle since 2020, and with losing over 170 pounds, my body is adjusting to a completely new baseline. My cardiovascular system doesn’t recognize this version of me yet. I don’t fully recognize it either.

The ER doctor said my symptoms could stem from the existing condition or simply be a shock to my system from such a rapid transformation. And that hit me. A shock to the system. That’s what this entire season has been—shocking, overwhelming, beautiful, and stretching.

Losing weight isn’t just about shedding pounds; it’s about learning how to exist in a body that feels unfamiliar. It’s about realizing that what used to be “normal” might not be normal anymore—and that’s okay. The new normal is still being built.

Pushing While Balancing: Life Doesn’t Pause for Training

Training for a 5K is hard work on its own, but doing it while juggling two jobs, a master’s program, and the emotional weight of recovery? That’s a different level of commitment.

There are mornings I wake up exhausted from a long shift, and I have to choose between rest or running. Sometimes I make the right choice. Sometimes I don’t. There are nights I stay up late doing assignments, feeling my body ache from the treadmill, wondering if this is sustainable. But then I remind myself—it’s not about perfection. It’s about perseverance.

The lesson of balance is one I’m learning daily. I’m learning to give myself grace. Some days that means running outside. Some days it means stretching in my living room and calling that a win. Some days it’s skipping training to nap or just breathe.

And in all of this, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come. I’m no longer forcing myself into extremes. I’m learning to trust myself. To pause. To care.

Three Years of Love: Robbie, My Constant

As I prepare for this milestone race, I’m also counting down to another beautiful moment: celebrating three years with my fiancé, Robbie, on May 29, 2025.

Three years. Three years of growth, change, learning, and love. Our relationship hasn’t been perfect, but it has been honest, enduring, and filled with grace. We’ve weathered storms—health issues, family changes, long work hours, emotional ups and downs—and we’ve come out stronger on the other side.

Robbie has loved me through every version of myself: when I was at my heaviest and most insecure, when I was scared of change, when I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror, when I had good days, and when I didn’t. He has cheered me on, picked me up, and never once asked me to be anyone but myself.

He’s the one who holds me when I cry because I can’t explain the emotions that come with transformation. He’s the one who encourages me to keep going when I feel like I’m falling behind. He’s the one who says, “I’m proud of you,” and means it—even on the days when I’m not proud of myself.

We laugh together. We train together. We plan a future together. And in just a few years, I’ll be walking down the aisle to him—stronger, healthier, more whole than I’ve ever been. I know we’ll continue to build something beautiful, one step at a time.

Healing in Therapy: The Gift I Didn’t Know I Needed

Another essential piece of this journey has been therapy. I say this without hesitation—therapy saved me. It gave me space to breathe. It gave me language for my pain. It gave me tools to navigate the waves of change I’ve been experiencing.

Weight loss, health challenges, trauma, burnout, identity shifts—all of these things carry emotional weight. And I didn’t always have the space or the permission to feel those things deeply. In therapy, I found that space.

I learned how to process grief—grief over who I used to be, over past hurts, over broken relationships. I learned how to forgive—others and myself. I learned how to regulate my emotions, to sit with discomfort, to name my fears without judgment.

Most of all, I learned that I’m worthy. Not because I lost weight. Not because I’m achieving goals. But simply because I am.

Therapy didn’t “fix” me. It helped rebuild me. And in that rebuilding, I’ve discovered the beauty of resilience, the power of vulnerability, and the gift of presence.

What the Bubble Run Represents

This 5K isn’t just a race. It’s a marker of transformation.

It represents every early morning walk.

Every day I fought through body dysmorphia.

Every tear shed in therapy.

Every shift at work where I still chose to train.

Every time I listened to my body and chose rest.

Every time I pushed myself and said, “I can do hard things.”

It represents the version of me that never gave up, even when everything felt heavy.

It represents the girl who never thought she could finish a race, now confidently preparing to run one.

It represents healing. Not perfection, but progress.

Looking Ahead: A Future Full of Hope

I don’t know what the next 19 days will bring. I may have more tests. I may need more rest. But I know this much: I will show up. Not just on race day—but every day leading up to it.

I’ll keep loving myself.

I’ll keep loving Robbie.

I’ll keep doing the work in therapy.

I’ll keep walking. Running. Stretching. Healing.

I’ll keep showing up for the girl I used to be and the woman I’m becoming.

And when I cross that finish line, I’ll remember every moment that brought me there.

To anyone else training, healing, growing, or just trying to make it through the day—I see you. Your journey matters. Your pace is perfect. Keep going.