Introduction
There are certain seasons in life that change you in ways you never expected. Some arrive with warning. Others come suddenly and leave you trying to rebuild a life that no longer feels familiar. My own turning point arrived after a car accident that reshaped not only my body, but the way I viewed healing, motherhood, and what it means to fight for your future.
For a long time, I carried the belief that if I just stayed strong enough, pushed hard enough, or waited long enough, things would eventually get better. But healing does not work that way. It asks for honesty. It asks for courage. And for me, it asked for a kind of surrender that eventually opened the door to the life I have now.
This is the part of my story that changed everything.
My Story
There was a long stretch of my life where every single day hurt in ways I didn’t even know a human body could hurt. After my accident, I lived with burning nerve pain shooting down my right leg and radiating through my left arm, aching pain from broken bones, and a whole-body heaviness from trauma. My pelvis was shattered in five places. My clavicle, humerus, ribs, all broken. Sitting hurt. Standing hurt. Lying down hurt. Even breathing sometimes hurt. And the worse my pain got, the more my brain fatigue from my TBI piled on top of it. My anxiety didn’t just increase, it exploded.
I cried almost daily, not just from physical pain, but from the fear of what life had become. Nights were torture. My limbs would go numb in certain positions, and no matter how I laid, something always hurt. I dreaded bedtime because I knew I wouldn’t sleep. And mornings felt like waking up to the same nightmare on repeat.
I soaked twice a day just to survive. They weren’t relaxing baths, they were lifelines. Chores. Moments where I would slide into warm water, finally relax the muscles I held tight all day, and silently cry because it was the only relief I felt. I needed help getting in and out of the tub because I physically couldn’t do it alone. I used heat packs constantly because they numbed the pain enough to function for another hour or two.
And all the while, I was trying to take care of a baby. I couldn’t sit on the floor to play during tummy time. Carrying her car seat was agony. Even holding her when she grew heavier made me wince, and then feel guilty for wincing. I felt like a bad mom, like I was failing her because my body was failing me. And yet she was the reason I kept going. The reason I soaked. The reason I cried. The reason I tried again every single day.
When I finally stopped nursing and tried the nerve pain medication, it took the edge off, but at a cost. My liver numbers got worse every year. Doctors told me I had fatty liver disease from the medications they had given me in the hospital. And now this medication, the one thing that dulled the pain a bit, was harming my liver too. I couldn’t take pain meds because they made me violently sick. I felt trapped inside a body that kept breaking down.
I was terrified that this was my forever. That I would miss memories with my daughter. That I would be too exhausted or in too much pain to fully live. That my brain would never heal without sleep. That my liver would stop functioning. That maybe, just maybe, the doctors’ grim prognosis was right.
My breaking point wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. A moment alone where I realized: If I don’t fight for my healing, I will lose years of my life and pieces of her childhood that I can never get back.
So I started searching for answers on my own. I researched everything. I tried restorative yoga. Essential oils. Alternative tools. Nutrition. Anything that might help my body instead of harm it. I cried out to God, asking Him why He saved my life only to let it feel like this, and slowly, gently, I started to feel the truth. He had more for me than surviving.
Finding root-cause healing didn’t just change my symptoms, it changed everything. My pain softened. My anxiety quieted. My brain began to heal. My energy returned. I could finally show up for my daughter the way I had dreamed of.
And now I help other women who are drowning in exhaustion, anxiety, pain, and dismissal because I know their storm. I lived it. I survived it. And I know there is another way out.
Conclusion
Healing is never just a physical process. It is emotional. It is spiritual. It is a reclamation of the life you thought you had lost. My journey is not just a memory I carry. It is the foundation of the work I do today. It is the reason I sit with women who feel dismissed, unseen, overwhelmed, and afraid, and tell them with absolute honesty that there is hope for their healing too.
I share this story because you deserve to know that your symptoms are not the end of your story. Your body is not failing you. It is communicating. It is asking for support. It is trying to lead you back to health, strength, and peace.
If you are in a season that feels heavy, I want you to know that you are not alone. I see you. I have been where you are. And I am here to walk with you as you find your own path forward.
Your body was designed to heal.
And so were you.
