Surviving and coping with fibromyalgia

Adley H.

Living with fibromyalgia means waking up every day in a body that doesn’t always feel like it’s on your side. It’s pain that moves and lingers, exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix, and a constant fight to be believed in a world that doesn’t understand invisible illness. Some days, even the smallest tasks feel monumental. Other days, I grieve the life I thought I’d have before chronic illness changed everything. For me, fibromyalgia is deeply intertwined with trauma, stress, and nervous system dysregulation. My body has carried years of survival, and now it speaks through widespread pain, fatigue, and sensory overwhelm. I’ve spent years learning how to listen to it instead of fight it. That hasn’t been easy. There’s been guilt, frustration, isolation, and fear—but also resilience, self-compassion, and an ongoing process of redefining what strength looks like. I know what it’s like to feel dismissed by doctors, misunderstood by friends, and judged by a culture that values productivity over rest. I know how hard it is to advocate for yourself when you’re already so tired. And I know how powerful it can be to talk to someone who gets it—not because they read about it, but because they live it too.

Living with mental and/or physical health challenges at a "young" age

Ambika M.

Everyone said certain health challenges that started in graduate school would go away once I left the stressful environment. But they were here to stay. While peers spend their vacation leave and money on trips, I spend my sick leave and funds on doctor's appointments and interventions - all while managing conditions and treatments discreetly for co-occurring conditions. If you struggle with sleep, pain, anxiety, or GI issues - as well as as "gymtimidation," or having to choose sneakers over cute heels - I'm here for you.

Using fitness to support your mental health

Doreen Z.

I didn’t always see movement as a lifeline. For years, I lived with anxiety and depression, trying to push through and keep it all together, especially as a mom. I hid a lot behind a smile, but inside I was exhausted and overwhelmed. Things got so heavy at one point that I asked my family to help figure out what to do if I wasn’t here anymore. That moment scared me and it made me realize I needed help. I started therapy and, slowly, I also began moving my body in a different way: not for weight loss or performance, but to feel something good again. That shift changed everything. Movement gave me space to breathe, to process, to heal. It reminded me that I’m still here, and still capable of growing. Today, I’m a fitness professional and health coach, and I help others use movement not as punishment, but as a way to come home to themselves. I believe every body needs to move to thrive because movement connects us back to life.

The fertility journey after ovarian cancer

Elisabeth H.

At 17, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and although I was lucky to survive, I left that chapter knowing I wouldn’t be able to have biological children. At that age, I didn’t fully grasp what that meant but as I got older and dreamed of becoming a mother, the weight of that loss became more real. During my first marriage, we tried IVF a few times, hoping for a miracle, but each round ended in heartbreak. It was a lonely, emotional road filled with questions I couldn’t always answer and grief I didn’t know how to name. Eventually, we chose adoption, and I became a mom to a beautiful son who changed my world. The joy of raising him existed right alongside the complicated emotions of infertility and the life I once imagined. Over the years, I’ve supported others walking this path, especially women who are figuring out what motherhood might look like after cancer. It’s not easy to grieve what could have been while still embracing what is. If you’re navigating a fertility journey after illness, I’d be honored to hold space for your story.

The fertility journey after ovarian cancer

Elisabeth H.

At 17, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and although I was lucky to survive, I left that chapter knowing I wouldn’t be able to have biological children. At that age, I didn’t fully grasp what that meant but as I got older and dreamed of becoming a mother, the weight of that loss became more real. During my first marriage, we tried IVF a few times, hoping for a miracle, but each round ended in heartbreak. It was a lonely, emotional road filled with questions I couldn’t always answer and grief I didn’t know how to name. Eventually, we chose adoption, and I became a mom to a beautiful son who changed my world. The joy of raising him existed right alongside the complicated emotions of infertility and the life I once imagined. Over the years, I’ve supported others walking this path, especially women who are figuring out what motherhood might look like after cancer. It’s not easy to grieve what could have been while still embracing what is. If you’re navigating a fertility journey after illness, I’d be honored to hold space for your story.

Self esteem or the lack thereof in the face of body image challenges

Jessica B.

The doctor told me I had to lose weight. I was upset and mad. I had felt overweight my whole life. I also have Scoliosis. Very little self-esteem as the overweight, hunched over, short girl. I let me self esteem issues get to me. Before I could even realize it, I was now embarrassed, angry, jealous, hopeless about how I saw myself. Parents sent me to a nutritionist at 15. That led to diet pills that didn't work that left me more emotional. In my early 30's when my knees hurt so bad, a doctor challenged my to lose weight. I told him I couldn't, he said prove me wrong. 86 lbs later, I was smaller. I was "skinny". I liked the way I looked. I was able to wear clothes I liked. I liked the new me, but nobody else did. My husband said I wasn't myself. My friends didn't want to be around me. I had become obsessed with exercise and health. I lost the weight the correct way: diet and exercise. I walked 2 times a day (no running or jogging) and ate great. And it worked since I did not have underlying health issues. However, no number was enough. I needed the scale to be less every day. I lost a lot of weight, love, friends, and myself. I had to learn how to live healthy again. I had to learn to love me for me and not a number on a scale of on my pants. I looked better than I had ever looked (to me), but was not attractive because mental health was not in a good place. Self-acceptance is beautiful and comes in all forms, sizes. Loving yourself is healthy.

Living with chronic illness and the isolation it can bring

Lindsay B.

I’ve lived with chronic illness and persistent pain since my early 20s, and one of the hardest parts hasn’t just been the physical struggle—it’s been the loneliness that came with it. Friendships became harder to maintain. I felt like people didn’t really understand what I was going through, and sometimes I pulled away because it was just easier than trying to explain. There were moments I wondered if I’d ever feel truly connected again. But over time, I found ways to ground myself and feel less alone. Art became a lifeline—something that helped me express what I couldn’t always say out loud. And being in nature reminded me that even in stillness, there’s life and beauty. I also leaned into support groups and online spaces where others were facing similar things, and for the first time in a long time, I felt seen. I wasn’t the only one.

Navigating emotional healing after a chaotic upbringing

Michelle C.

Growing up, I moved about 14 times before graduating high school, living through divorce, alcoholism, emotional abuse, and a deep feeling of instability. As a teen, I turned to self-harm to manage my overwhelming anxiety and sensory overload—things I now better understand through the lens of being a high-functioning autistic person (though I don't have a formal diagnosis yet). Hospital stays for depression gave me needed respite, and counseling offered me tools to work through my complex emotions, anger, and grief. College brought me new stability, new self-awareness, and a big shift—from studying accounting to art history—as I prioritized authenticity over what I thought I "should" be. I’ve navigated chronic pain, fibromyalgia, and even the painful but necessary decision to leave a marriage that wasn't the right lifestyle match. Throughout it all, I've found that creating a safe space—both for myself and for others—is essential to healing. I'm here to offer that space for you too.

Navigating emotional healing after a chaotic upbringing

Michelle C.

Growing up, I moved about 14 times before graduating high school, living through divorce, alcoholism, emotional abuse, and a deep feeling of instability. As a teen, I turned to self-harm to manage my overwhelming anxiety and sensory overload—things I now better understand through the lens of being a high-functioning autistic person (though I don't have a formal diagnosis yet). Hospital stays for depression gave me needed respite, and counseling offered me tools to work through my complex emotions, anger, and grief. College brought me new stability, new self-awareness, and a big shift—from studying accounting to art history—as I prioritized authenticity over what I thought I "should" be. I’ve navigated chronic pain, fibromyalgia, and even the painful but necessary decision to leave a marriage that wasn't the right lifestyle match. Throughout it all, I've found that creating a safe space—both for myself and for others—is essential to healing. I'm here to offer that space for you too.

Using functional medicine to stay strong for your child with autism

Nick H.

As a father of two daughters, one of whom has autism, I’ve learned that supporting my daughter requires more than just advocacy—it requires a healthy, balanced approach to my own well-being. When I first began navigating my daughter’s autism diagnosis, the stress was overwhelming. My work as a corporate lawyer, combined with parenting responsibilities, left me exhausted and burnt out. Functional medicine became a game-changer for me, helping me improve my energy, mental clarity, and overall health. I found that by focusing on my own health, I could show up as a stronger, more focused advocate for my daughter. I’d love to share how functional medicine can help other parents manage their health so they can be the best possible support for their children.

Living your fullest life with breast cancer and beyond

Nikki M.

It hit my like a ton of bricks. When my doctor said the words "you have breast cancer", it was like someone hit the mute button. I heard nothing after. As a healthy woman, under 40, with no family history of breast cancer I never imagined this would be my reality. I was diagnosed just before Christmas 2023. The next few months were a whirlwind of navigating doctors, scans, surgeries, health insurance, but the heaviest to hold was other people's emotions. As a recovering people pleaser and perfectionist, I would lay awake at night thinking about the "right way to do this" instead of the best way for me. This was all while I was navigating being a new business owner, having just launched my consulting practice exactly one year before. Luckily, I had the support of my partner, my family, my close friends and a growing community of extended friends who were quick to send a meal, a loving card, and messages checking in. I am now cancer-free and ready to be a part of your support community.

Staying sober from marijuana while living with chronic pain

Rame I.

I used marijuana almost daily for over a decade, mostly to cope with chronic pain from my disability. It started when I was 20, and for a while, it felt like the only thing that helped me function—but it slowly became something I couldn’t imagine living without. The turning point came when my lungs started bleeding, and I needed surgery to address the source of the pain. That experience forced me to face the bigger picture: the weed wasn’t helping anymore—it was hurting me. Getting sober wasn’t just about quitting; it was about learning how to live without the thing I thought was saving me. The first few months were brutal. My body hurt, my mind was foggy, and emotionally, I was raw. But I leaned on my support system, therapy, and my sheer stubbornness. Now, over a year into sobriety, I’ve learned how to manage pain and emotions without turning to weed. Recovery has helped me reconnect with joy, presence, and self-respect. I know how overwhelming it can feel to even imagine a sober life, especially with physical limitations, but I’ve been there—and I’d love to be here for you as you take your next steps.

Life with a chronic illness and/or disability - the good, the bad, the complicated

Setrida N.

I have had chronic pain my entire life, though no doctors had been able to pinpoint it. Eventually I got some help managing it, but then suddenly it got much, much worse. I was diagnosed with Lyme disease and treated aggressively with antibiotics, but unfortunately much of the damage to my body was already done. After years of worsening symptoms and muddling through the healthcare system I have gained an equilibrium - a care team that is mostly steady and consistent, treatments that keep my illnesses generally under control. It took several years to diagnose me with POTS, hEDS, and focal dystonia, and that experience is hard to understand when you haven't lived it. But I am here to talk to you and support you through the grief and anger and all the other complicated feelings that come with this immense trauma.

Managing diabetes and weight

Sunny H.

In college, I gained the freshman 15 and never really stopped. For years it was skipping meals, grabbing on the go unhealthy options, and late night snacking. I was building my career and then had 2 small children to raise. My health was suffering in many ways including poor eating and sleeping habits. When I decided I needed to feel better and stop living on coffee, fast food, and 11pm bowls of cereal, I threw my self into learning everything and I tried it all. Low Fat, Low Carb, Intermittent Fasting, Cardio, Weight Lifting, Meal Prep, Supplements, even Lap Band Surgery. All of it was temporary and felt like a battle of wills. Then came the diagnosis ... diabetes. Then my dad's diabetes got out of control and he was on dialysis. Then he died from complications of the disease. I promised my kids I would never let them sit next to me and keep me company for 4 hours while I was hooked up to a machine cleaning my blood because my kidneys couldn't anymore. Today I only focus on one number and it isn't the scale ... it's my blood sugar.

Caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s while balancing everything else

Virginia F.

When my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I became her primary caregiver for eight years. At the same time, I was raising my son, managing chronic pain from a car accident, and trying to hold onto pieces of my own life. I quickly learned that caregiving isn’t just a role: it’s a transformation. You become the memory-keeper, the nurse, the advocate, and often, the emotional sponge. Every day brought new challenges: the guilt of feeling overwhelmed, the heartbreak of watching her slip away, and the stress of coordinating everything from medication to safety-proofing her home. I once spent hours trying to calm her after she forgot who I was. Those moments haunted me, but also fueled my determination to show up with love. After she passed, I shifted into caring for my dad, who faced physical disabilities and psychiatric struggles. By then, I had developed a rhythm, one that protected my own mental health while still being there fully for him. I don’t sugarcoat caregiving, but I do know how to help you feel more steady, less alone, and better prepared for each step on this unpredictable path.