08/31/2026
Mackenzie’s post about her journey ❤️
Thank you Mackenzie, you shared with strength and courage and I am very proud of you!
-Last month, I asked all of you to share your progress or let me know what you wanted to learn more about. To those who shared, thank you! Our motto is progress that sticks, and I wanted to check in on that process and get insight on how to try and continue to help you on this journey.
Well, I thought it was only fair that I give you the same thing I asked from you.
As some (or most) of you know, when I was 8, I was diagnosed with a rare neurological pain disorder called Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (I’ll let you look it up if you’re curious about it). Simply put, my pain signals are a mess. They have their own memory, and they can actually make my pain worse.
It’s something I’ve lived with for so long that it’s honestly all I remember.
I’ve hated it. Loved it. Wished it away. Been grateful for it. Hated or blamed others for it. Eventually understood that it was nobody’s fault. Grieved everything I’ve lost because of it and everything I may never have because of it. And somehow, through all of that, I’ve also become thankful for what it has taught me and given me.
Sports were how I beat it.
They were how I reminded myself—and everyone else—that I was “normal.”
When I graduated high school, that turned into exercise. When I graduated college, it turned into becoming (in my mind 😂) a top-level collegiate strength coach.
I wasn’t going to let my body hold me back. I was going to keep fighting, keep pushing, and keep going—just like I had watched my momma do.
What I never really stopped to consider was my mental health through all of it.
It wasn’t until grad school, when I started learning about mental health because, well… that was literally my degree, that I began to understand just how much I had shoved into closets for years.
Then my grad degree, combined with a massive flare of my disorder, forced me to open those closets.
And there were a LOT of demons in there. They were, of course, a combination of many things from different areas and stages of my life.
These were the demons that eventually contributed to me leaving the field. The ones that sent me into depression and anxiety—two things I’m still fighting today.
Somewhere along the way, exercise went from being my escape to being my cage.
A cage that locked me in with all of my demons.
I ran from them while simultaneously hearing that little girl inside me saying, “Don’t give up. Don’t let it beat you.”
But in a lot of ways, I felt like I had.
I gained more weight than I’m comfortable sharing. I hate being in pictures. I constantly feel like a fraud—even though I’m not in the field anymore.
When my mom asked me to do these posts, fraud was honestly the only thing I felt.
My mom has always told me I’m a fighter.
And maybe that’s because I’ve had to be. Maybe it’s also because I’ve watched her fight, too.
Either way, that’s why I’m here today.
That’s why I’m doing these posts.
That’s why I’ve chased other dreams.
That’s why I started leading group workout classes with my coworkers.
And that’s why our motto is progress that sticks.
Because my progress this year hasn’t necessarily looked like weight loss, even though that’s what I originally hoped for.
My progress has looked like learning to love myself for me—all of me. (Yep, all the pounds too.)
It’s looked like learning to respect and listen to my body instead of constantly fighting it.
It’s looked like accepting where I am today instead of punishing myself for not being where I thought I should be.
And it’s looked like finally accepting that my progress is not linear.
Not even close.
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.
I don’t share this because I want pity.
I share it because I want to be transparent.
I want to share what my progress has looked like this year.
Maybe it’ll help one of you realize that progress isn’t always the number on the scale. It isn’t always the muscle you gained, the PR you hit, or the inches you lost.
Sometimes it’s the things happening in the shadows.
Sometimes it’s getting out of bed.
Sometimes it’s choosing yourself.
Sometimes it’s learning to listen to your body.
Sometimes it’s simply recognizing and appreciating the little things we take for granted every single day.
And sometimes, progress is just refusing to quit.
2026 is the year our progress sticks.
Whatever that progress may look like for you.
And as my mom’s sign says (paraphrasing because I haven’t seen it in a while hehe):
Failure only happens when you decide to quit.
So… we keep going. ❤️
