Hello

Everything is harder when you don't feel well.

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I know this because, well, I was sick.

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Not many people knew it—and I'm not even sure I was willing to admit it to myself. I still got up every day. I still went to work. From the outside, I probably looked like I was doing just fine.

 

But some days, I could barely get it together.

 

I was a Type-A, go-getter kind of person, and suddenly I felt like I was aging—fast. And I was only 40.

 

Eventually, I worked with a doctor who told me something I'll never forget: I needed to accept that I was sick. She acknowledged that people could look at me and never know anything was wrong, but I needed to recognize what my body was going through and start treating myself accordingly.

 

Wow.

 

The truth is, I knew something was wrong months—maybe even a year—before I understood what was happening.

 

I went to countless doctor's appointments, but no one could quite explain why I felt the way I did. It started with chronic dizziness and being more tired than usual. Then I began gaining weight uncontrollably—even though I was eating "better" than ever and sometimes working out twice a day. There were days I could barely stay awake. A workout left me drained. Yoga left me emptied instead of restored. I was drop-down tired even after a full night's sleep—if I could sleep at all. My entire body hurt, especially my joints. My knees made a grinding noise. My hips ached. I didn't even look like myself anymore.

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And none of it made sense.

 

I had spent so much time "taking care of myself." How could I possibly feel this bad? It was frustrating.

 

Some friends told me it was just part of getting "older." I refused to accept that explanation. Before getting sick, I had been in what I thought was the best shape of my life—although looking back, I was probably pushing my body much harder than I realized and was very likely too thin.

 

I continued being shuffled from appointment to appointment, but no one could quite connect the dots.

 

Before all of this, I had always considered myself "balanced healthy." I exercised—a lot, probably too much. I ate what I wanted in moderation, mostly healthy foods with room for an occasional treat. I genuinely believed I was taking great care of myself.

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Looking back, I see things differently.

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I was so busy "taking care of myself" that I was always busy. I was running myself ragged. Working two jobs. Constantly on the go. My relationships weren't great. I had a two-hour door-to-door commute (each way) and long, stressful days in a demanding, deadline-driven corporate career.

 

At some point, I stopped really living my days and started simply getting through them. I was going through the motions—merely, and sometimes barely, surviving. Despite what I thought was a healthy diet, I knew something wasn't right with my digestion. I felt horrible after I ate, and my body simply wasn't functioning the way it once had.

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And I haven't mentioned this yet, but I think we know each other well enough now... I went six weeks without pooping.  Yup. I said it.  Six weeks without a bowel movement. Most of us feel terrible when we haven't gone for a day or two. Six weeks? I knew something was seriously wrong and that my body needed help.

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Over time, I was told I was dealing with a combination of significant digestive dysfunction, hypothyroidism, hormonal imbalance, and what was described to me at the time as "adrenal fatigue." Whatever terminology was used, one thing was undeniable:

 

I did not feel well, and I needed a different approach. That realization changed everything.

 

Today, I feel like a different person. So, what changed? I started learning.

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I learned about inflammation. I learned about digestion and the gut and the many ways gut health can influence how we feel. I learned about hormones, nutrition, stress, rest and recovery. I began looking at the body as a whole rather than treating every symptom as though it existed in isolation.

 

Most importantly, I began to understand something that would eventually become foundational to Renew:

 

EVERYTHING is connected.

 

I also began looking at my own health history differently.

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I'd had my tonsils removed at age six. At 27, I underwent a LEEP procedure. Later, I had a hysterectomy for what ultimately proved to be a non-cancerous condition—a surgery that permanently changed my ability to have children.

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I can't go back and know exactly how every event in my health history was connected, or whether a different approach would have changed those outcomes. But I can say that my experience taught me to pay much closer attention to the patterns, symptoms, and signals our bodies give us—and to ask more questions before assuming that each problem exists independently of everything else.

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