The last time I had my website rebuilt by the brilliant Lacey Jayne of HighlyAnticipated.net was in 2018. I was a different person then; one with fewer scars, fewer stories, and fewer reasons to pause and rethink EVERYTHING. I didn’t know what was coming. I didn’t know how loss can rearrange a life, how fear can sharpen a person, or how softness can be a kind of strength you grow into only after the world brings you to your knees.
And bring me to my knees, it did.
But here we are.
A new site, a new season, a new iteration of me.
A coming-out letter of sorts.
Since 2018, I closed my brick and mortar gym “ModBody Fitness”, transitioned most everything online, and at the end of 2022 we moved from Seattle to Olympia. In the process, I changed almost everything about my day-to-day life. Before we could even get all of the boxes unpacked or routines established, great tragedy hit our family and we said final goodbyes to both of my parents in 2023. It was fast and brutal and heartbreaking.
I’ve journeyed through two cancer scares in the last year and a mystery illness that knocked me down hard. My nervous system has weathered traumas old and new. My body continues navigating PCOS, Hashimoto’s, chronic anxiety, and C-PTSD, all of which have taught me far more about compassion than any textbook ever could. They’ve also taught me about advocacy, autonomy, and trusting my intuition.
These experiences cracked my perfectionist exterior in ways I never asked for, but I’ve learned to let the light in through the fault lines. I’ve learned that vulnerability isn’t a liability; it’s a lifeline and a connector. I believe transparency and vulnerability build connection and help normalize the simple and not-so-simple act of being human.
And in that vulnerability, I found you – my people.
The fellow weirdos. (In the BEST possible way)
The neurodivergent baddies.
The chronically-ill warriors trying their best to move, rest, and keep going.
The ones who’ve never quite fit into traditional gym culture and honestly don’t want to.
You’re all the reason I show up. You’re the reason I keep learning, softening, adjusting, trying again.
Everything changes. So have I.
Grief has reshaped me and changed my priorities. Age has slowed me down enough to listen. Illness has made me more intentional. Community has made me braver. And the last several years have made me kinder; to myself, to my work, to the humans who trust me with the safety of both their stories and their bodies.
I don’t believe in grinding ourselves into dust, pretending we’re fine, or forcing our bodies to “perform” for someone else’s approval. I believe in the collection of seemingly tiny, daily choices that pull us toward deeper connection; to ourselves and to one another.
What do I believe in now?
•I believe in movement as a collaboration with the body, not a punishment.
•I believe in making space for people who’ve never been given any.
•I believe in showing up as a whole human, not an expert who has everything figured out.
•I believe in offering hospitality so warm it feels unreasonable in a world that often feels cold.
If you’re reading this I want you to know:
There is no version of you that needs fixing before you’re welcome.
You won’t be judged here.
You won’t be shamed.
You won’t have to shrink, mask, or perform.
My work has always been about helping people move in ways that honor who they are. But now, more than ever, it’s about creating a safe container for people who’ve been told their bodies or their lives are “too much,” “not enough,” or “a problem to solve.”
Here, you will be deeply known, deeply seen, and deeply heard.
In the words of the infamous Ted Lasso,
“I knew right there and then that I was never going to let anybody get by me without understanding they might be hurting inside. Cause life, it’s hard…it’s real hard”
Falling forward
I don’t do everything perfectly. I’m not supposed to. But I still wake up each day committed to being better than I was yesterday. Each day a little softer, a little more patient, a little more curious about the humans in front of me.
This blog, and this new website, mark the start of a new chapter:
A re-introduction. A promise. A doorway into the kind of community I truly believe the world desperately needs.
If you’re reading this, thank you for being here. I see you in all your complexity, tenderness, resilience, brilliance, and chaos. Hi, brilliant human with the beautiful smile and tender heart. Yeah, you. I’m so glad you’re here.
Here’s to the next chapter. Here’s to falling forward. Here’s to becoming more human, together. Here’s to finding the strength to finally be ourselves – the truest, most beautifully flawed versions.
