Yoga with Melissa LaSorte, RYT 500

06/18/2026

🔥Mat Pilates ~ Tuesday 6:15pm

Reserve your spot 🔥
https://serenityfitness.gymmasteronline.com/portal/book/class/125363

06/17/2026

Chapter 6 — The Comeback✨

The pages are still being written. Healing didn’t end; it evolved. It became a way of living — a rhythm of gratitude, movement, and connection.

I look around now and see the community that helped me rise. At the center of it stands Shelley, owner of Serenity Fitness — a woman whose vision created a space where women could move, heal, and belong. Her dream wasn’t just fitness; it was sanctuary. A place where women support women, where strength and softness coexist.

Shelley is a leader wise beyond her years — passionate, grounded, and brave enough to dream big. Her encouragement has pushed me in ways I didn’t know I needed. With her gentle prodding and unwavering support, I became a student again: attending classes, earning certifications, and stepping into new roles.

Over the last year, I’ve completed Yin Yoga training, Kids Yoga training, and Mat Pilates instructor certification. Each milestone felt like a homecoming — a return to purpose. I’m deeply grateful for Shelley’s trust, her honesty, and her backbone. She’s someone you want on your side.

Together, we’ve worked to build programming that fits our community’s needs — to grow Serenity Fitness, to nurture connection with our wonderful clients, and to keep expanding the circle of women who lift each other up.

Beyond the studio, I’ve found new friendships in other new communities — each one a reminder that strength multiplies when shared.

And at home, I’m learning to accept my evolving role in motherhood with grace. My boys are growing, becoming men, and I’m learning to stand beside them instead of in front of them.

Corey, my oldest, carries an incredible work ethic — a legacy passed down through generations. He now works in the same place as his stepdad, grandpa, great‑grandfather, and great‑great‑grandfather — a combined 143‑year family (work) legacy. Watching him learn a trade, navigate relationships, and balance work and life fills me with pride. He’s steady, loyal, and dedicated — a reflection of the lineage he comes from.

Mason, my youngest, just finished his junior year of high school. He’s faced his own health challenges, but his resilience shines. He’s tapped into faith, friendship, and community, and his commitment to fitness and nutrition inspires me daily. His grit and focus will take him far. This fall, he begins his senior year — a season of excitement and discovery. He’s diving into his passions, not just weightlifting but also car audio sound system installation, teaching himself, learning, improving every day.

And through it all, there’s Matt — my husband, my partner, my constant. He’s building his career with determination and heart. Some days, the stress of life makes us butt heads — two strong‑willed souls navigating the push and pull of growth. But beneath it all, our love remains steady. It’s strong, dependable, and continually evolving. We challenge each other, we support each other, and we keep choosing each other. Our love is the quiet backbone of this story — the steady hum beneath every chapter.

And then there are my parents — the ones who have loved and supported us through every season. They are always there, cheering in the background, steady as bedrock. Their prayers have covered us, protected us, lifted us when we didn’t even know we needed lifting. Their love is unconditional, unwavering, and deeply felt. I am so grateful for them — for their presence, their faith, their quiet strength that has shaped me more than they know.

I am equally grateful for Matt’s parents — kind, loving, and endlessly accepting. From the beginning, they welcomed me and my boys with open arms. Their guidance has been gentle but steady, their support unwavering. They show up with love, with wisdom, with a sense of family that feels both grounding and expansive.I feel deeply blessed to be part of their family, and grateful for the way they have embraced us as their own.

Watching my sons grow, working beside Shelley, standing beside Matt, and feeling the constant support of both sets of parents — I see the full picture now. Healing isn’t just mine; it’s ours.It’s generational.It’s communal. It’s ongoing.

A God Wink at 10:43 🙏🏻

And then, as if the universe wanted to underline it all, I found myself writing these words at 10:43 in the morning. At that exact moment, my dad messaged me to say he remembered that, at the beginning of his career, he worked in Building 143.

Another God wink. Another gentle reminder that we are guided, held, and nudged along the right path.That love threads itself through our lives in ways we don’t always see until the timing is too perfect to ignore.

It felt like a whisper from something bigger than us —All you need is love.You are exactly where you’re meant to be.

And in that moment, 143 became more than a number. It became a blessing.

Dedication — 143

As this chapter closes, I hold close the quiet poetry of a number. One hundred forty‑three years of combined work, dedication, and legacy — carried by my son, my husband, my father, my grandfather, and my great‑grandfather.

And now I see the beauty in what that number has always meant:
1 – I
4 – love
3 – you

A simple code. A lighthouse signal. A message that has traveled through generations.

It feels fitting — almost divinely timed — that our family (work legacy) currently stands at 143 years. As if the universe itself is whispering: This is love. This is legacy. This is what endures.

So I dedicate this chapter — this comeback, this present-day unfolding —
To the people who have loved me and my boys through every rise and fall.
To community
To family
To faith
To the ones who came before us and the ones who will come after.

This chapter is for them.This chapter is for us.This chapter is love. ❤️

06/16/2026

Watch to the end 😄

06/16/2026

Chapter 5. — The Body Returns

Healing didn’t arrive as a single triumphant moment.
It came quietly, almost shyly — through meals that nourished, through movement that reconnected, through rest that rebuilt. My body, once fragile and foreign, began to respond in small, almost imperceptible ways. A little more energy. A steadier breath. A flicker of strength where there had been only depletion.

I became a student of my own physiology.
I learned what inflammation meant, what recovery required, what nourishment truly felt like. Quinoa, sweet potatoes, greens, lean proteins — foods that once felt restrictive became sources of power. Fueling wasn’t about perfection; it was about partnership. Every meal was a quiet declaration: I am still here.
Movement returned slowly, then all at once.
Yoga remained my anchor, but my world expanded.
Mat Pilates brought precision — the kind that wakes up deep stabilizers and reminds you that strength begins at the center. CrossFit reintroduced grit, community, and the kind of effort that leaves you breathless in the best way. Lifting weights brought strength and stability to the areas that had been overstretched and weary.
My body, once a battlefield, was becoming a home again.
There were long stretches of good health — weeks where I felt strong, capable, alive in my skin. And then there were the flares. Lyme has a way of reminding you it’s still in the background, waiting for an opening. Sometimes the flares felt like setbacks, like the ground shifting beneath me again. But I’m learning to walk through them with grace. 🙏🏻

I learned to listen.
I learned to respond.
I learned to trust that a flare was not a failure — it was information.

Knowledge became empowerment.
Faith became steadiness.
And I began to understand what my body needed: more rest, more water, more nourishment, more breath, more compassion. I stopped fearing the bad days because I knew there would be many good ones.

There was a moment — standing in front of the mirror after a workout, sweat on my skin, breath steady — when I realized I wasn’t afraid of my reflection anymore. I saw resilience, not fragility. I saw a woman who rebuilt herself cell by cell, breath by breath, rep by rep.

The body that had once betrayed me was now partnering with me.
The body that had once felt like a stranger was now a source of strength.
The body that had once been silenced was now speaking clearly again.

Healing wasn’t linear.
It wasn’t perfect.

But it was happening — in the muscles that returned, in the appetite that stayed, in the faith that deepened, in the strength that grew from the inside out.

This chapter wasn’t about going back to who I was.
It was about becoming someone stronger.

Stay tuned for one last story! -and the rest is still unwritten🙏🏻💜

06/15/2026

🌞✨ June Movement at Serenity Fitness ✨🌞

Summer’s here — and the studio is alive with strength, breath, and balance.

🔥 Mat Pilates (Heated)
Tuesdays • June 23 & 30 • 6:15 PM
Strengthen, lengthen, and align in the warmth — a full‑body reset that leaves you glowing.

Pop up mat Pilates
Thursday June 25 •6:15 PM

Reserve your mat today and keep your movement momentum strong. 💫

Mat Pilates
https://serenityfitness.gymmasteronline.com/portal/book/class/125363

Mat Pilates 4 Class Pack
https://serenityfitness.gymmasteronline.com/portal/membership/c5d2941c22cc62ea3864f8c91fcbc106

Mat Pilates 8 Class Pack
https://serenityfitness.gymmasteronline.com/portal/membership/581437fc7645e584a76c680bf64faa8b

06/15/2026

Chapter 4B — The Moment Everything Changed

Lyme disease didn’t enter my life quietly. It arrived like a storm I didn’t see coming — fever, chills, joint pain that felt intolerable, headaches that pulsed behind my eyes, exhaustion so deep it shook my world. My body became a stranger overnight.

The diagnosis came with both relief and terror.
Relief that the suffering had a name.Terror because the name was Lyme.

I kept waiting to feel like myself again, but instead, the symptoms multiplied.
The fatigue hollowed me out.
The pain rearranged my days.
The brain fog stole my clarity, my confidence, my voice.
And slowly, without noticing when it began, I felt myself slipping away.

Losing the Self I Had Fought to Become 🔎

Six months into the illness, the erosion wasn’t just physical — it was existential.
I felt like the woman I had worked so hard to become had vanished.
I wasn’t Melissa anymore.
I was “Lyme disease.”
Acceptance can be powerful, but what I was drifting toward wasn’t acceptance.
It was defeat.
A quiet surrender to the idea that this relentless illness was now my identity.
My husband saw it happening before I did. He watched me shrink — in appetite, in energy, in spirit — and he refused to let me disappear.

The Weekend I Didn’t Want, But Needed
He dragged my tired, undernourished, weak body to Vermont for a long weekend.
I didn’t want to go.
I didn’t have the energy to pretend I was okay.
But he knew I needed something I couldn’t yet name.
The first stop was a spa.
A massage.
A moment to breathe — even though breathing felt like work.

The Divine Interruption-
The therapist spoke gently, guiding me through slow, intentional breaths.
And then, in the middle of the session, she paused.
Her hands stilled.
The air shifted.
She said, “I don’t know why I’m saying this, but I think you need to hear it.
You are not Lyme disease.
You are on a Lyme journey —
but you are not Lyme.”
I broke.
Not polite tears — the deep, guttural kind that comes from the place inside you that still remembers who you are.
I believe God uses people.
And that day, He used her. 🙏🏻
Her words cracked something open. They reminded me that I was still in there — buried under symptoms and fear and confusion, but not gone.

The Immediate Shift
I walked out of that room changed.
Not healed — but awakened.
Hope returned like a spark catching dry tinder.
And then something wild happened:
I was hungry.
Hungry to live again.
Hungry in the literal sense too — for the first time in months.
My husband and I found a restaurant with gluten‑free, anti‑inflammatory options.
I ordered two meals.
My eyes were bigger than my stomach, but my body knew what it needed.
I ate every bite.
To this day, Matt calls it the night he saw me come back.

Relearning How to Nourish Myself
It wasn’t disordered eating.
It was illness stealing my appetite.
It was fear shrinking my world.
It was not knowing what I could eat in those early anti‑inflammatory days.
I had to research everything.
I made lists.
I learned.
I experimented.
I rebuilt trust with food.
Two years later, my body has completely recomposed itself — not because of restriction, but because of fueling.
Because I learned how to nourish myself again.
Because I chose strength over shrinking. 💪🏻

The Chapter’s Core Truth❣️

Showing up — even in the fog — was its own kind of strength.

And if you’re at the beginning of your struggle, hear this:
Talk about it.
Reach out.
Ask every question.
Research until something makes sense.

Advocate for your own health even when you’re exhausted.
The confusion isn’t failure — it’s the first step toward clarity.

And woven through all of this — the symptoms, the fear, the unraveling, the tiny sparks of hope — was yoga. Not the yoga I taught, not the strong, confident sequencing I once led with ease, but the yoga I returned to as a student.

In the early days of Lyme, when the fevers and chills rattled me and the pain felt relentless, the only place my body felt remotely okay was in the heat of a hot yoga room. I didn’t go to be strong. I didn’t go to perform. I went because, for ninety minutes, the warmth softened the ache and the fog lifted just enough for me to breathe.
It took every ounce of energy I had to get there. But it restored me, too.The heat held me when nothing else could.

And on the days when heat was too much, I found refuge in yin and restorative practices — stillness, breath‑led, meditative. These practices didn’t ask me to be powerful. They asked me to be present. They taught me how to stay with myself when everything felt like it was slipping away.

Yoga became the bridge back to my own body. A sanctuary. A reminder that even in the darkest season, there was still a place where I could meet myself with honesty, humility, and hope.

06/14/2026

Chapter 4A — The Fog Before the Fight

Before Lyme disease had a name, there was fog.
At first, I blamed it on long‑COVID & hormones — the exhaustion, the forgetfulness, the strange disconnect between my mouth and my mind.
Words slipped away mid‑sentence.
Pose names vanished.
Teaching yoga — something that once flowed like breath — became a struggle.
I felt like I’d lost my voice.

Standing in front of a room of yogis, fumbling through cues, I felt humbled and exposed.
The thoughts crept in: Am I good enough? Should I quit? Am I disappointing everyone?
Imposter syndrome became its own kind of illness.

Around that same time, the business of yoga changed.
Post‑pandemic, our small‑town studios felt emptier.
People had discovered free online classes, new fitness trends, and faster workouts.
The rhythm of yoga — the slow, intentional practice — seemed to fade from the collective pulse.
I shifted too, enjoying more HIIT‑style classes. Movement has been my constant, my expression even when words failed me.

Trying to adapt while still holding onto the heart of yoga.

It was a season of doubt — in my body, my voice, and my calling.
But it was also the beginning of grace.
I learned to move my body daily with joy, even when the rhythm faltered.
I learned that showing up — even in the fog — was its own kind of strength. And if you’re at the beginning of your struggle, talk about it. Reach out. Ask every question. Research until something makes sense. Advocate for your own health even when you’re exhausted. The confusion isn’t a failure — it’s the first step toward clarity. Stay connected to what grounds you.

Chapter 4b drops next.📖

06/13/2026

06/13/2026

Chapter 3. — The Bridge to You

After the dust of divorce settled and I began rebuilding my life from the inside out, something unexpected and beautiful arrived — not all at once, but slowly, steadily, like breath returning to the body.

I met Matt during yoga teacher training.
Two people, both strong‑willed, both carrying pasts that had shaped us, both standing at a crossroads we didn’t yet recognize.
Yoga had already been a lifeline for me — a sanctuary, a place where I remembered who I was.
I didn’t know then that it would also become the bridge that carried me to the man who would become my partner in every sense of the word.

Matt is my rock.
My best friend.
The one who challenges me in the ways I need, who pushes me toward my own strength, who loves me with a steadiness that feels like home.

From the very beginning, our hearts were set on building something real — not just a relationship, but a family bond.

Together, we’ve created a life, a home, a sanctuary that reflects everything we’ve walked through and everything we’ve risen from.

This was also a time of spiritual awakening — a season filled with God winks, miracles, forgiveness, and new life.
Yoga wasn’t only the bridge to Matt; it was the bridge to my higher power, to a deeper sense of faith and divine connection.
Every breath, every pose, every moment of stillness became a conversation with God — a reminder that grace had been guiding me all along.

This July marks eight years of choosing each other through every season.
The hard times.
The deep valleys.
The pasts we both had to heal.
The comebacks that are truly miracles.

Looking back, I can see the thread so clearly now:
God had a plan.
Yoga was the bridge.
And love — real, grounded, resilient love — was waiting on the other side.

I am so deeply grateful for the life we’ve built, for the man who stands beside me, and for the path that led us to each other. ❤️