In 2021, I took the picture on the left. Yeah, I’ve got a big ol’ smile plastered on my face, but let me tell you, inside I was a mess. I was depressed, overwhelmed, and hurting—physically, emotionally, all of it. I hated how I felt, and I hated how I looked.

It’s not like I wasn’t trying, either. I was eating right, working out, checking all the boxes, and doing everything I was “supposed” to do. But nothing was changing. I was still heavy, still in pain, and it felt like my body had hit the brakes on me. One day, I just couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I broke down. I told my husband everything—how I felt, how I’d been researching options, and how I’d found this non-invasive procedure that I thought might be the solution.

Here’s the thing: even after the procedures (and yep, there were five of them), the scale didn’t really move. Not because I wasn’t putting in the work but because—surprise!—I was peri-menopausal. Once my doctor and I figured that out, it was like a lightbulb moment. We adjusted my plan, I made some lifestyle changes, and I started juicing three times a week. Slowly but surely, the weight began coming off.

It took me four years to drop 35 pounds. Four. Years. I know that might not sound like much to some people, but let me tell you, for me, it’s huge. It’s not just about the number on the scale—it’s about how I feel. 

Here’s the funny part—I still see the girl on the left when I look in the mirror sometimes. But when I get out of bed without my back or hips screaming at me, when I can tie my shoes without struggling, or when I cross my legs comfortably, I feel like the woman on the right. For the first time in a long time, I felt confident enough to take a picture that wasn’t just from the chest up. I did it, on my 53rd birthday no less.

This journey’s been hard, no question, but it’s taught me so much about myself and what I’m capable of. 

I’m still on this journey, still working toward my goals, and I will get there. With God’s help, I will get there.