Choosing Your Hard, Asking Better Questions, and Learning to Live Differently
Lately, I’ve found myself having some really interesting conversations about health.
Not just physical health, but mental, emotional, and spiritual health, too.
And the more conversations I have, the more I find myself asking a question:
When did we become so focused on treating symptoms that we stopped asking why those symptoms were happening in the first place?
Now, before anyone takes that the wrong way, let me be clear. I believe there is absolutely a time and place for medication. I believe in modern medicine. I’ve witnessed firsthand what incredible medical advancements can do.
But I also believe we need to be willing to ask more questions.
What are we eating? How are we sleeping? Are we moving our bodies? What does our stress look like? What are we putting into our bodies and onto our bodies? Are we addressing the things that contribute to how we feel, or are we simply looking for the quickest way to feel better?
Sometimes medication is necessary. Sometimes lifestyle changes can make an enormous difference. And sometimes we need both.
I don’t think those things have to be mutually exclusive.
Looking Beyond the Symptoms
I’ve been thinking a lot about hormones, gut health, nutrition, and how interconnected our bodies really are.
Especially as women.
Our bodies change throughout our lives. Pregnancy, postpartum recovery, aging, stress, perimenopause, and menopause can all bring changes that deserve attention.
And yet, how often do women walk into an appointment, describe what they’re experiencing, and leave feeling like they still don’t understand what’s happening?
I don’t believe every symptom can be explained by a hormonal imbalance or an issue with gut health. And I certainly don’t believe every health problem can be solved with a supplement, a diet, or an exercise routine.
But I do believe there’s value in understanding the whole picture.
Sometimes that means bloodwork. Sometimes it means taking a closer look at nutrition, sleep, stress, and activity. Sometimes it means asking for another opinion.
And sometimes it means accepting that there isn’t one simple answer.
I think we owe it to ourselves to be curious about our health rather than simply accepting that feeling poorly is part of getting older.
Normal doesn’t always mean optimal. But different doesn’t automatically mean something is wrong, either.
There’s a balance there, and I think that balance gets lost when everyone is trying to sell us a solution.
The Things We Put Into Our Bodies
We live in a world where convenience is everywhere.
Convenient food. Convenient entertainment. Convenient solutions to uncomfortable feelings.
And I’m not sitting here pretending that I eat perfectly, that my children eat perfectly, or that I never choose convenience.
I have six children. I understand convenience!
But I also understand that the choices we make repeatedly matter.
What we eat affects our bodies. Movement affects our bodies. Sleep matters. Stress matters.
And none of those things exists in isolation.
We can become so focused on finding the perfect supplement, the perfect hormone protocol, or the perfect nutrition plan that we overlook some of the most basic habits that support our health.
I’m not saying those other things don’t have a place.
I’m saying that we can’t ignore the foundation.
And I’m also not interested in living in fear of every ingredient, every product, or every medical recommendation.
I want to be informed, not consumed.
There’s a difference.
When Health Becomes a Sales Pitch
And while I’m questioning the healthcare industry, I think it’s only fair that I question my own industry, too.
I’ve been involved in the fitness industry since 2008, and I’ve watched it evolve in ways that have been both incredible and disappointing.
I started in a business where so much of the focus was on selling.
Sell, sell, sell, sell, sell.
Sell the membership. Sell the training package. Sell the next program. Sell someone on the idea that whatever you’re offering is the solution they’ve been looking for.
And quite honestly?
That never brought me joy.
Because what I loved about fitness was never the sale.
It was watching someone discover what their body was capable of.
It was seeing a woman become stronger, not just physically, but mentally.
It was helping someone realize that they didn’t need to completely overhaul their life overnight to make meaningful changes.
They needed somewhere to start.
And then they needed to keep showing up.
For a long time, I was told to exercise in one particular way. I followed the advice I was given, but strength training came later, when Travis and I started going to the YMCA together.
And over the years, my relationship with fitness continued to evolve.
I started running. I started challenging myself in ways I never imagined. I learned to appreciate strength, endurance, recovery, and what my body could accomplish rather than simply what it looked like.
And something changed.
Fitness became less about appearance and more about living.
It became something I genuinely loved.
Not because I was trying to sell it to somebody.
Because I experienced what it could do for me.
When Faith Becomes Part of the Sales Pitch
Something else has been weighing on my mind lately.
I’ve watched people promote wellness products while simultaneously speaking about God, prayer, faith, and spirituality.
And I want to be careful here, because my faith is incredibly important to me.
I believe in prayer. I believe God works through people. I believe we are called to share our gifts and help one another.
But I also believe we need to examine our intentions.
At what point does sharing our faith become using our faith to sell something?
There’s nothing inherently wrong with someone having a business, earning an income, and being open about their relationship with God.
But when a message about faith and helping others repeatedly leads back to a product, a purchase, or a financial opportunity, I start asking questions.
Are we genuinely trying to serve people?
Or are we using something as deeply personal as faith to build trust that ultimately leads to a sale?
Because those are two very different things.
And this is where I think the wellness industry, the fitness industry, and even the broader world of personal development can become complicated.
We take things that people genuinely need—hope, healing, belonging, encouragement, connection—and sometimes turn them into something to market.
I’ve seen it in fitness.
I’ve seen it in wellness.
And now I find myself noticing it when spirituality becomes part of the conversation.
I don’t believe God needs a marketing strategy.
I don’t believe prayer should come with a sales pitch.
And I certainly don’t believe someone should feel that buying a product is necessary to experience healing, growth, or spiritual connection.
My recovery has taught me a great deal about service.
Some of the people who have had the greatest impact on my life have never asked me for a dollar.
They’ve given me their time.
They’ve listened.
They’ve prayed with me.
They’ve shared their experiences.
They’ve shown up when life was difficult.
And they’ve helped me understand that some of the most meaningful things we can offer another human being cannot be purchased.
That doesn’t mean people shouldn’t be compensated for their work.
It means I think we need to be honest about the difference between serving someone and selling to someone.
Faith without works is dead. But faith isn’t a sales funnel, either.
And perhaps that’s the question we should all be willing to ask ourselves, regardless of the industry we’re in:
Am I sharing this because I genuinely believe it can help someone?
Or am I sharing it because I stand to gain something financially?
Maybe both can be true.
But I think we owe it to ourselves, and to the people who trust us, to recognize the difference.
Because when everything becomes a business opportunity, we risk losing sight of the very things that make us human.
Compassion. Connection. Integrity. Service.
And sometimes the most powerful thing we can give someone is something that doesn’t cost them anything at all.
You Cannot Purchase Consistency
This might be one of the biggest things I’ve learned over the years.
You cannot purchase consistency.
You can purchase a gym membership.
You can purchase a workout program.
You can purchase supplements, equipment, meal plans, and all the things someone tells you that you need.
But you cannot purchase the willingness to show up for yourself.
And that’s the part that matters.
Consistency isn’t glamorous.
It’s not always exciting.
Sometimes it’s going for a walk when you don’t feel like it.
Sometimes it’s choosing to go to bed instead of scrolling on your phone.
Sometimes it’s preparing a meal at home.
Sometimes it’s lifting weights.
Sometimes it’s resting because your body genuinely needs rest.
And sometimes it’s doing the same seemingly insignificant thing over and over until you realize those little choices have completely changed your life.
Consistency is something we practice, not something we purchase.
And that applies to so much more than fitness.
Choosing Your Hard
I’ve talked about this before, but life is hard.
It just is.
Marriage is hard. Parenting is hard. Recovery is hard. Taking care of yourself is hard. Facing uncomfortable emotions is hard.
But so is living with the consequences of avoiding those things.
For years, I chose alcohol as a way to escape what I didn’t want to feel.
I didn’t want to sit with discomfort.
I didn’t want to face certain emotions.
And for a while, drinking seemed like an easier answer.
Until it wasn’t.
Because eventually the things I was trying to avoid were still there.
And now I had even more to face.
Recovery required me to start doing things differently.
I had to become honest with myself.
I had to ask for help.
I had to go to meetings, work a program, go to therapy, examine my behaviors, and learn how to establish boundaries.
I had to accept that I couldn’t control other people.
And I had to learn that feelings weren’t something I needed to run away from.
I could feel them without allowing them to dictate every decision I made.
Was any of that easy?
Absolutely not.
But neither was the way I had been living.
I was going to experience hard things either way. I just had to decide which hard was going to help me grow.
The Body That Carried Me Through It All
Motherhood has given me an entirely different appreciation for the human body.
I’ve carried children, experienced loss, navigated complicated pregnancies, and watched my babies fight battles that no parent ever wants to witness.
When Tripp and Tanner were born at 29 weeks, our world changed.
There were medical decisions, uncertainty, appointments, and moments when the only thing I could do was trust the people caring for them and take life one day at a time.
I’ve seen modern medicine do extraordinary things.
I’ve also learned that our bodies and minds carry stress in ways we don’t always recognize while we’re living through it.
Sometimes you’re so busy surviving that you don’t realize how much you’ve been carrying until much later.
And when I look back on those seasons of my life, I can see how much of my energy went into taking care of everyone and everything around me.
Somewhere along the way, I had to learn that taking care of myself wasn’t selfish.
It was necessary.
Not because I needed to look a certain way.
Not because I needed to prove anything.
But because I wanted to be present for the life I had been given.
I wanted to feel strong.
I wanted to be healthy.
I wanted to live, not simply get through each day.
And I wanted my children to see what it looks like to keep growing, even when life doesn’t unfold the way you imagined.
Running Toward Something, Not Away From It
Running has become one of the greatest gifts in my life.
And I think what’s most beautiful about it is how much my relationship with it has changed.
There was a time when I wanted to escape my feelings.
Now I can go for a run and actually be present with them.
Some runs are incredible.
Some are uncomfortable.
Some are slow.
Some remind me that I am capable of far more than I ever gave myself credit for.
And some remind me that I’m human.
I can’t control the weather. I can’t control every ache or pain. I can’t control whether every training day goes according to plan.
But I can control how I respond.
I can listen to my body.
I can practice patience.
I can show up again tomorrow.
And in so many ways, running has become a reflection of recovery.
You don’t get stronger by doing everything perfectly.
You get stronger by continuing to show up, learning from what doesn’t work, and being willing to make adjustments.
There is no finish line where suddenly everything in life becomes easy.
There is simply the opportunity to keep growing.
Recovery Is About So Much More Than Not Drinking
One of the greatest misconceptions about recovery is that it’s simply about removing alcohol.
For me, not drinking was only the beginning.
Recovery has been about learning how to live.
How to communicate.
How to be honest.
How to accept people for who they are.
How to recognize resentment before it consumes me.
How to pause before reacting.
How to make amends when I’m wrong.
How to love people without trying to control them.
And how to understand that I can have boundaries and still have compassion.
I still have feelings.
My feelings still get hurt.
I still experience fear, frustration, sadness, and disappointment.
Recovery didn’t remove my humanity.
It taught me that I don’t have to respond to every emotion immediately.
Sometimes the pause is a few minutes.
Sometimes it’s a few hours.
Sometimes it’s a few days.
And that’s okay.
Because the goal isn’t to never experience discomfort.
The goal is to stop allowing discomfort to control my life.
And that has changed everything.
Faith Without Works
My faith has become a foundation in my life.
But faith doesn’t mean sitting around waiting for everything to magically change.
There’s a reason the words faith without works is dead resonate so deeply with me.
I can pray for peace, but I also have to practice the behaviors that allow peace into my life.
I can pray for better health, but I also have to take responsibility for the things within my control.
I can pray for stronger relationships, but I have to be willing to communicate honestly, forgive, and examine my own actions.
I can pray for growth, but I have to be willing to do the work.
And I have to accept that doing the work doesn’t guarantee a particular outcome.
Sometimes the answer looks different from what I expected.
Sometimes the growth happens in the waiting.
Sometimes the lesson is learning to let go.
And sometimes the greatest change happens when I stop trying to control everything around me and start paying attention to what’s happening within me.
Prevention Isn’t Perfection
I think this is where so much of the conversation about health gets complicated.
We hear about prevention, and suddenly it becomes another thing we’re supposed to do perfectly.
Eat perfectly.
Exercise perfectly.
Sleep perfectly.
Manage stress perfectly.
Have perfect hormones.
Have perfect gut health.
Never get sick.
Never struggle.
Never age.
And that’s simply not realistic.
You can make healthy choices and still develop a medical condition.
You can exercise regularly and still experience illness.
You can eat nutritious foods and still need medication.
You can do everything you know how to do and still face circumstances completely outside your control.
I’ve lived enough life to understand that.
Prevention isn’t a guarantee.
And health should never become another way to shame people for circumstances they didn’t choose.
But that doesn’t mean our daily habits are meaningless.
Quite the opposite.
I believe the things we do consistently can have an enormous impact on our quality of life, even when they can’t prevent every problem.
We deserve healthcare that takes our concerns seriously.
We deserve access to reliable information.
And we deserve to make informed decisions without feeling pressured by fear, shame, or someone’s sales pitch.
What Are We Really Selling?
Maybe that’s the question I’ve been coming back to the most.
Whether it’s healthcare, fitness, supplements, wellness programs, or the latest trend promising to change your life.
What are we really selling?
Are we helping people become healthier and more informed?
Or are we convincing them that something is wrong with them so we can sell them the next solution?
Because I don’t want to be part of an industry that profits from making people feel inadequate.
I want to be part of something that helps people recognize their own potential.
I want women to understand that strength training isn’t just about appearance.
I want people to know that movement doesn’t have to be punishment.
I want mothers to know that taking care of themselves matters, too.
I want people in recovery to understand that their lives can become so much bigger than the substance they once depended on.
And I want people to realize that meaningful change doesn’t always come from something we purchase.
Sometimes it comes from a decision.
A decision to be honest.
A decision to ask questions.
A decision to make an appointment.
A decision to go for a walk.
A decision to ask for help.
A decision to stop running away from something that needs our attention.
A decision to show up again tomorrow.
A Different Kind of Healthy
At 37 years old, I’ve learned that health looks very different to me than it once did.
It’s not just a number on a scale.
It’s not a clothing size.
It’s not how fast I run or how much weight I can lift.
It’s being able to get up in the morning and be present for my children.
It’s having the energy to live my life.
It’s being able to sit with uncomfortable feelings without needing to escape them.
It’s knowing when to push myself and when to rest.
It’s having boundaries that protect my peace.
It’s maintaining relationships that encourage growth.
It’s accepting that I will continue to make mistakes and that I can learn from them.
It’s being willing to ask questions without believing I have all the answers.
And it’s understanding that physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health all deserve attention.
I don’t want to spend my life chasing perfection.
I want to spend it actually living.
And maybe that’s what all of these conversations have been leading me back to.
We don’t need another person telling us we’re not enough.
We don’t need another product promising to fix everything.
We don’t need to be afraid of every symptom or convinced that every struggle requires a purchase.
We need curiosity.
We need compassion.
We need good information.
We need accountability.
We need support.
And we need to recognize that the small choices we make every day really do add up.
Not because they guarantee us a perfect life.
But because they give us an opportunity to participate in the life we’ve been given.
I’ve spent enough time looking for ways to escape discomfort.
Today, I’d rather grow through it.
I’d rather ask the hard questions.
I’d rather take responsibility for what I can change and surrender what I cannot.
I’d rather keep showing up, imperfectly, consistently, and with gratitude.
Because the greatest transformation in my life didn’t come from something someone sold me.
It came from finally becoming willing to live differently.
And that is something no one can sell you.
God is good. 🙏🏻
