Since it's October, Let's Talk PURPLE!

I decided to write this now, before I chicken out.

I am deeply grateful for all the attention that breast cancer receives during the month of October.  Three friends are either currently battling the disease or are in remission.  Two other dear friends have mothers who have battled the disease, and my ex-husband's grandmother is a survivor. The money raised to fight breast cancer, fund support groups and outreach programs, help fund treatment centers and provide early intervention is literally life-saving to those who benefit from those programs.

I am not here to detract from or belittle that cause in any way.

I am here, however, to talk about a cause that deserves some attention.

Silence is the great perpetuator of domestic violence.  That being stated, I am and have always been a fairly private person. As I've gotten older, I've become more private.  My life is just that - mine. My choices, and their resulting consequences, are mine to bear.

However, this is an issue on which I cannot remain silent.

Domestic violence took the life of a former co-worker this year. I have seen, first hand, how it destroys marriages, children, and innocent bystanders.  October is Domestic Violence Prevention Month. For some reason, it doesn't receive the tweets, Facebook posts, or Instagram pictures that flood our feeds like a vibrant pink parade all month long. Teams don't don purple gear, there are no parades, no walks, no telethons to raise the millions that could fund the non-profits who spend countless hours trying to save the one who has the courage to pick up the phone, leave in the middle of the night, or tell a confidant what is REALLY happening.  This begs the question: Why not?  Is this not an equally worthy cause? Domestic violence deaths occur daily. There are thousands, probably millions more survivors who stay silent, their wounds either covered with sunglasses, turtlenecks and coverup or a Crest White Strip smile.

The key to the perpetuation of the domestic violence epidemic is simple - it lies in silence. If a perpetrator can keep the survivor (the reader might insert the word "victim" here) SILENT, he or she will maintain absolute control over the survivor. The formula is that simple.

Violence is not always physical. Once the violence becomes physical, the survivor is actually in grave danger and has likely been suffering for an extended period of time. Most domestic violence starts with manipulation or a sense of control. The perpetrator tells the survivor that they are stupid, no good, fat, ugly, that his or her family aren't good enough, etc. The perpetrator questions the survivor's judgment, motivation, strength (either physical, spiritual, mental, or emotional), and slowly whittles away his or her sense of self. The emotional and/or verbal abuse then escalates.

After a while, sometimes weeks, sometimes months, sometimes years (this depends on the survivor's personality - it took me about two years to really start breaking down), the survivor will lose his or her sense of self, acquiese to the perpetrator's requests, agree during arguments just to keep the peace at home.

The problem is that it doesn't stop. Like breast cancer, without treatment, it gets worse.  It matasticizes, seeping into every part of the survivor's life. My relationship with my nuclear family suffered. My sister told me at one time, "Every time I talked to you on the phone, it was like you were interviewing for a job.  You put on your best self, you hid what was really going on." 

My health rapidly deteriorated. Always prone to migraine headaches, they began to worsen, becoming almost chronic. My myofascial pain developed into full-blown fibromyalgia. I was diagnosed with four autoimmune diseases, which were all exacerbated by stress. Consequentially, my job performance suffered. For more than a year, I did not work a full five-day work week. I had great insurance, but the medical bills overwhelmed me, controlling my life.

But my marriage was "a private matter." One girl at work knew that my marriage was fiery, but hers was no better, so we merely swapped war stories, swearing that things would change, it would get better, that we could FIX them, CHANGE them. Sworn to silence, I trudged on.

After a particularly scary incident after work one evening, and a subsequent incident on the car ride home, I woke up sick (again), and trudged to work on Friday morning. My husband drove me as I was unable to do so, crippled by pain. We were living in Hanford, and I worked in Fresno. Exhausted from work and sore from my commute, we planned to stay at my parents' home for the evening. I convinced my husband to stay overnight due to plans in Fresno that weekend.

Saturday morning came, and alone with my Mom in Target, everything that was going wrong in my marriage came out like verbal vomit - the horrible arguments, scary car rides that nearly resulted in accidents, screaming, everything. (As I said, I'm a very private person, so no, dear readers, you don't get all the details.) Sobbing in the middle of the toy aisle (it was my niece's 1st birthday), I was shocked when, rather than being met with shame, ridicule, embarrassment, judgment, and every other negative emotion I thought I would receive in return, my mother hugged me, cried with me, and told me, "Aimee, I will help you in whatever way I can. I love you."  No judgment, no shame, no blame. Nothing but love and acceptance.

NOTE: For those of you who suspect you may have a survivor in your close circle - PLEASE follow my mom's example. In addition, she respected my privacy and kept my confidence. She did not tell a soul, not even my Dad. She let me tell him when I was ready. She acted totally normal when she returned to her home, where my husband was still sleeping.  I cannot imagine the restraint and love that took.

I stayed at my parents' home that night and went home and taught a Mother's Day lesson at church on Sunday. I decided to give it one last-ditch effort. I talked to my bishop (he's like a pastor), and told him that my husband and I had been arguing. He encouraged us to make amends, make the marriage work. Frustrated, I decided to ask him to do three things on Monday - look for a job, schedule a meeting with a counselor, and build a resume.

None of those happened.

That same Monday, my husband had scheduled to go camping with his dad and his best friend.  After work that night, scared to death and with my mom at my side, I went to my apartment, took my most prized possessions, and didn't look back.

I left.

I thought that would be the hardest part.

The hardest part was dealing with the subsequent trauma.

The hardest part was grieving, not blaming myself, not feeling like a total failure, and not going back.

For those of you who are in this type of situation.  I cannot tell you what to do. I could barely tell me what to do.  I knew for at least a year before I left that I deserved better, that God wanted better for me, and that what was happening was NOT okay.  Had anyone told me that, I would have defended my husband to the death.  I still say that he was a good man who made bad choices and didn't know how to turn things around.  

That being said, there came a time, after much prayer and soul searching, that I knew that if I stayed things would NOT get better.  So I left.

So to those who are in this situation, know that life will most likely suck for a long time after you leave.  Know that you will want to go back.  Know that you will think you don't deserve better. PLEASE ALSO KNOW that you DO. It will get better. You will look back and it will feel like it was a dream (or a nightmare).  The nightmares will get better. They'll be less frequent, less intense.  Get a good therapist, someone you can trust implicitly. Have a good support system. Change your surroundings.  I had 4 jobs and lived in 2 different states in one year. (That was just what worked for me.) Don't be afraid to ask for help. My parents let me sleep in the spare room, my job gave me time off to cope, my siblings still have an open door policy when I need to get away. Once you feel like you're moving along, once the flashbacks don't happen every day or every week or every month, reach out!  Help others!  Share your story!  Remember, silence perpetuates violence! Don't be afraid to tell others. You don't have to share all the gorey details, but let someone know that you made it, you survived, and they can too. It somehow makes the suffering worthwhile.

I'm a huge advocate of getting a counselor. But in addition, find a support group. Many non-profits have FREE groups, and they're all confidential. There are listings on both websites listed below, and you can find a list of 12-step programs for friends and family members of addicts on addictionrecovery.lds.org. I found that stopping co-dependent behaviors and learning to use Jesus Christ's atonement will help in the healing process tremendously. This is the program I used, but you can find one that works for you! 

To the family and friends, be patient, understanding, and loving. Be patient.  Did I say be patient? I didn't listen very well for about six months. It's a grieving process. Let survivors feel their emotions. Encourage them to cry, scream, yell, talk. They haven't been able to do that for months, maybe even years. The survivor doesn't see himself or herself the way you do. So just be patient. Celebrate every success. Remind them that they're worth it, that they're special, and that they can succeed. One of the best things my mom ever said to me was, "You need to have a success experience."  And my brother, bless his heart, said to me, "You can either let this define you for the rest of your life or you can let it make you a better, stronger person." Best.Advice.Ever. Encourage survivors to be strong.

If you read this, thanks.  Share it.  Please raise awareness!

Visit www.rainn.org for information about how you can get involved in raising awareness and preventing sexual assault. It's a great organization.Visit www.nrcdv.org for information on the domestic violence awareness project. They've been doing great work since 1981 to help end domestic violence.

If you need someone to talk to, please call 1­-800-799-7233 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Someone is there to help, and it's confidential.

Someone asked, so here's a quick, sweetened condensed version of my weight loss journey - the G Free way!

For those who have been asking, "Aimee, how did you lose 50 pounds, what's your secret, what program do you follow?" here is my story.  I've hesitated, hummed, and hawwed about this.  Believe it or not, I've even prayed about how to explain what brought about this major change in my life. I am a private person, and my new blog has no readers.  It's just for me. I am, however, at the request of a fellow chunky girl, writing this down. Perhaps someone will benefit from my candor.

In that spirit, I must confess that as I listen to Regina Spektor on iTunes and write, I have M&M's on my headboard and a Diet Coke opened next to that Valentine's bag with my rotund boyfriend's face smiling at me. Blue M&M has always been a favorite.  ;) Now, let's get serious.

I married in December, 2006. I was 23.5 years old. I weighed 218 pounds at my last Weight Watchers weigh-in before I got married, and I was in a size 18 (not women's, misses) on my wedding day. I don't have a picture to post of that. Trust me, though, I looked good.

I was married for 6 years, including the 6-month waiting period before my divorce. (SURPRISE to those of you reading this who didn't know!!!  Yes, I got divorced.) Partially due to the toxic nature of my relationship and LARGELY due to my inability to cope with the immense stress under which I lived on a daily basis, my weight soared to 280 pounds at my heaviest.  I've always carried my weight well, but I was heavy....obese.  A couple pictures to illustrate my point.

Thanksgiving, 2011. Left to right: Me; my little sister, Emily; my cousin Lindsay; My cousin Keri (5 months pregnant); my cousin Spencer)

I was at about 277-280 in that picture, wearing size 22 pants.

I am third from left in the back row here. Again, about the same size. This is at my Central California Children's Choir reunion on July 31, 2011. 

Now, I do have health problems. I was suffering emotionally and physically in my marriage, but I used those as excuses to hide behind my weight, to suffer in silence.

When I left what was a toxic situation on Mother's Day, 2012, I weighed 260 - 265 pounds. I could not walk through Target or Walmart without extreme exhaustion and fatigue from my weight and my fibromyalgia. I followed a gluten free diet but still experienced exhaustion, frequent headaches, digestive issues, depression, mood swings, and other issues that can be attributed to Celiac Disease.

This picture was taken about a month after I separated from my husband. I was living with my mother. I had started exercising as part of my therapy, and I was walking on a daily basis for approximately 30 minutes. I began eating real meals - breakfast, a small snack, lunch, and dinner. I started drinking water. I started eating fruits and veggies. The stress was intense, and I didn't want to continue with destructive behaviors, so I walked. I walked on my breaks, my lunches, in the morning, in the evening. I would walk and talk to my confidants.

At the beach with my nephew, June 2012. Approximately 10 pounds lost.

After returning to work in June 2012.  I've lost about 12 pounds in this pic.

This is something that many people may find difficult.  I started attending a 12-step program for family and friends of addicts.  This is called the Addiction Recovery Program, and it is similar to Al-Anon, but it is sponsored by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There I learned to let go and let God, that I was powerless without Him in my life, that I had to admit that I had problems that needed to be fixed.  I needed to rely on Him to overcome my own struggles. It was only through the Atonement of Jesus Christ that I could gain control over what was an addiction to control and an addiction to food.

I started working those steps and setting boundaries for myself. I would say, you can have 1 dessert at a party or one dessert on the weekend. You need to eat a fruit or a vegetable with every meal. You must eat breakfast, even if it's yogurt at your desk. You need to buy groceries, but after you've had dinner.

Those boundaries helped me start to develop a healthy relationship with food, helped me realize that I didn't get gratification, trust, comfort, love, or any other emotion from food. Food wouldn't fix my problems. Heavenly Father would help ME FIX MY OWN PROBLEMS if I would be HUMBLE AND GO TO HIM for support and strength. It takes work, hard work, blood, sweat, and tears. Yes, I had to tell myself no. Yes, I had to say I'm only going to eat half of my food because I know I serve myself too much.  Yes I had to cook every day. No, it wasn't what I wanted to do after 8 hours of work and dealing with PTSD from a bad marriage, but I did it because I knew I had to take care of me or no one else would.

When things got too overwhelming and I wanted to eat a half gallon of ice cream or a bag of M&M's in one sitting, I put on my tennis shoes, grabbed my iPod, and walked until I could sort out my feelings.  I remember the first day one of the guys at work whistled at me when I walked by. I looked over my shoulder to see what pretty girl was walking behind me.  There wasn't anyone else around.  I just about cried. He was whistling at me. He thoguth I was pretty. I just about jumped in the air! Those good feelings I got from exercising kept me going. Pretty soon, about 2 months later, I was walking 2-4 hours a day. This was how I looked in September.

I didn't even look like that as a missionary, so needless to say my family was shocked when I posted these pictures on facebook!

I felt good about myself, so I kept following the formula, meeting with my doctor and therapist, writing in my journal to discover what roadblocks I would find, how I would overcome them, and in October, this is how I looked:

I modeled for a local retail store, showing their fall line. This was always a dream I'd had!  I was thrilled when I bought my first size 1x and size 18 at that show!! I was down 30 pounds here.

My brother came to visit me in November, and he didn't recognize me when I came to get him at the airport.

 I was down 35 pounds here. Notice that the double chin is almost gone!  :)

By Christmas time I'd lost 40 pounds, and I felt great, so I bought a belt.  I hadn't bought a belt since high school. I wore my shirt tucked in to church for a piano solo I had to do.

The shirt I'm wearing I bought right after high school, and the skirt I bought just after my mission. I continue to walk 4-6 miles a day, eat healthy, and love myself. Most importantly, I work the 12 steps, putting God first in my life. It is beacuase of Him that I am here, breathing, healthy, and happy. I now (as of Friday) weigh 217 pounds and wear a size 16 pants and xl shirt. I cannot fit into my "favorite store" Lane Bryant anymore, except for pants and some T-shirts. My new favorite store is The Gap.

I bought my first shirt at Anthropologie last week, a promise I had made to myself 8 years ago.

It was so exciting to go into that store and buy clothes instead of nick knacks! The ability to have my life back far supersedes what any person might say about how I look.

I will continue to work hard on maintaining a healthy lifestyle.  I'm looking into barre method classes as well as cardio boxing, and I'm hoping to start eliminating some of my maintenance medications in the near future. This has been the biggest challenge of my lifetime, but the rewards have been the greatest.

Best of luck in your pursuits as well!

Aimee

I think I'm the worst blogger ever...

I may be the worst blogger in the history of the universe...

That being said, here is a quick update.

The fibro is finally under control, for the most part. My cocktail is working, and I haven't felt this human in years! It's amazing what happens when the doctors find out what's really wrong with you. :)

I do, however, have a virus in my lymph nodes in my neck that has made me REALLY sick. I am actually blogging in my jammies! (And I just spilled my Diet Pepsi all over my shirt.)

I've moved out my management position at work and back to a regular technical position. The best thing about that is that it's less stressful. Less stress=less sickness (how ironic that I'm sick), so I should enjoy more healthy days.

Now that I'm healthier, I'm going to concentrate on getting my weight under control. GASP! I know, I just commented on my weight on my PUBLIC blog. Here's the thing, though. I don't think people talk about weight loss in a healthy way. We see people who get to be 200+ pounds overweight, they have surgery, they lose the 200+ pounds, they look great, they don't tell you about all the vomiting, diarrhea, nausea, etc., that they experience, and then they gain everything back. We see the EASY side of it. We don't see the risk that people take when they let a surgeon remove most of their stomachs, put a band around their stomach, etc., all in the name of either looking good or saving their lives.

That being said, the idea behind the surgery originally was to save lives. It was not to help people lose weight. The idea was that if someone was super morbidly obese, he or she would need to lose weight in order to continue living. Thus, this surgery would force said person to drastically cut the amount of calories consumed. This would thereby lower the weight dramatically and allow the person to begin exercising and lose weight normally in order to lower his/her risk factors for heart disease, stroke, diabetes, etc. It was not a permanent weight loss solution.

Anyway, I digress. I have never been a fan of this surgery. I have never wanted this surgery for myself. It has tempted me because it would be the easier road. But I, like Robert Frost, like to take the road less traveled.

This is where the g-free aspect comes into context. Gluten Free carbohydrates (the breads, etc.) are higher in Weight Watchers Points (my preferred method of weight loss) than are gluten containing carbs. One piece of g-free bread is 4 points and one piece of whole wheat bread is 2 points. The g-free store bought bread is TINY and the whole wheat bread is scrumptious, soft, HUGE, and obviously more delicious than the rice bread. :( This makes following a reduced-calorie, high fiber diet (yes, that's what WW is) harder when you are gluten free. You also have to ensure that you are getting enough grains, etc., and that you are getting all your vitamins.

When I first found out that I couldn't eat gluten, I ate plain chicken breasts for weeks on end. I can't do that anymore. As a matter of fact, I LOVE flavor, and I love tri-tip. So, I'm trying to find my happy medium, and I'm trying to fit chocolate into my diet. :)

The best thing is that since I've become gluten free I have not gained any more weight. Now, I just have to tweak it a bit more.

On other fronts, I made g-free flour tortillas on Sunday. I used Bob's Red Mill baking mix (the kind recommended for biscuits). I put in about 2 cups of the mix, about 2 TBSP of lime juice, 2 crushed red chiles for spice, a dash of salt, 4 TBSP of butter, and enough water to make the dough stick together. Then I used a tortilla press to make the tortillas. It was much more effective than the rolling pin. Put them in a hot pan for about 1 minute on each side, and TA DA! Tortillas! They were YUMMY! That's my g-free recipe for this time.

Happy Cooking.

Star Wars in Concert and Fibro

I know it might sound like a weird combination, but today is the biggest day of my husband's LIFE! We have floor seats to Star Wars in concert. I talked him down to only wearing t-shirts (they're even matching... I must be a glutton for punishment) instead of dressing up like Luke and Princess Leah (I don't even know if that is how to spell her name.) ANYWAY... We even have passes to get in to see the memorabilia an hour before everyone else becasue I"m the best wife in the entire world and paid an arm and a leg for it! They gave us these nifty wrist bands a la Lance Armstrong that we get to wear all night long. He is so excited it's not even funny. When I told him that I was wearing my shirt (which by the way cost $24.95) to work today so I would be ready by 4 pm, he text me and said, do you like it? Does it fit great? Mind you, this is a men's t-shirt with Star Wars all over the front of it. How much better can it get? I text back, yes and yes.

The second half of the weird combination is that I got diagnosed with fibromyalgia last week. I am writing this during the day while I should be at work writing mid year assessments for my employees. I can't feel my feet from my medicine and I can't drive. So, you ask, G Free Gal, how are you supposed to be walking around for three hours looking at Star Junk and then sit through a concert when you can't go to work? My answer is very carefully. Hopefully my meds will kick in and the rest I'm getting now will pay off. I may not get my work done, my boss may be mad, but I will make my husband the happiest man on the face of all the Star Wars planets.

I'm learning that just because my neurons don't work right doesn't mean that I can't go and do things. I can't stop enjoying life and limit myself because of my disease. I can't my disease dictate my future. I can lead a normal life. It might be harder than it is for most people, but I can do it.

May the force be with me! Happy Star Wars to all!

Moving Onward and Upward

Happy Thursday to all! (I think right now it's just me.)

I've made it public knowledge now that I'm blogging, so maybe someone will read. If not, that's okay too. This is more for me than anyone else.

I made great progress toward recovery this week.

I asked for help - I asked to see a dietitian.

I always thought that I could do this on my own. Everyone I've talked to who was overweight before going gfree said that they lost weight after they cut out gluten. I haven't lost any significant amount of weight. I've lost maybe two pounds, which is frustrating. As sick as I have been, I still am overweight.

It seems so backwards in so many ways.

We'll see what happens when I'm getting the right amounts of everything.

My brother and his wife announced that they're expecting a baby this weekend. (they're not having the baby this weekend. They just made the announcement this weekend.) It was a terrible blow to me. I suffer from the unexplained infertility that comes from long-term undiagnosed Celiac. All the doctors say I'm fine, but nothing happens. Anyway, it was a fun announcement.

I really am happy for them, it's just difficult to swallow. She's 21. I'll be 27 next month. It just doesn't seem fair on so many levels.

On a happier note, my career is starting to take off and my husband's doing well in school, so those are things I can take joy in.

Here's a fun fact for you - the spell check on my posting feature does not recognize the word "Celiac". It's behind the times!

The Beginning

I never thought I would blog.

I thought to myself, blogging is for stay-at-home moms who have too much time on their hands. I am a WRITER.

Then I read Gluten Free Girl and the Chef. I realized that Shauna used her blog to help others understand our way of life. I don't like calling Celiac a disease. It's a lifestyle. Sure, it may be a forced lifestyle, but I'm not dying, at least not anymore.

I have been sick since high school. I was plagued by constant fatigue, migraines, gastrointestinal difficulties, and nausea. My mother once said, "If I didn't know any better, I would swear you were pregnant."

Then there was the depression. I started taking Wellbutrin at the age of 14. It worked through high school. Then my dopamine levels stabilized and I had a breakdown after taking my daily dose. I was medication free until I the age of 23. Feeling crazy, I went back to the doctor. I was placed on Prozac. It's a great drug, really. It stabilized the mood swings, made me feel semi-normal.

I missed so much school that I almost didn't graduate. My teachers were sure that I was faking my symptoms. I went to the doctor time after time. "It's stress." "It's a virus." "You're healthy." This continued through college.

I went on a church mission to Dallas, Texas. I served the Hispanic people. Strangely, my condition stabilized. (I wasn't eating much bread for a long time, either.) I was strong, healthy, I lost weight, and I felt great!

Then I went to middle class America again. I was still a missionary, but I was back with the White people. I started a "healthy" diet of whole wheat toast, yogurt, and oranges for breakfast each day. I got violently ill.

I called our mission nurse. She was sure that I wasn't getting enough good fats in my diet. She prescribed salads filled with avocados. I ate the salads each day. I didn't improve.

When I reported back, I let her know that I was not improving. She said, "It must be gastritis. Go on the BRAT diet. Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, and Toast." I did this faithfully for a week. I was okay until I ate the toast. I never made the connection. I'm an educated woman, so I"m going to blame the nurse and say it's her fault. I'd never heard of gluten or Celiac at this time!

The months passed and I toughed it out. 15 months into my missionary service the severe abdominal pain I'd been experiencing off and on became more on and less off. I finally went to a doctor. He said, "Congratulations! Your gallbladder is shot." I got sent home.

I was devastated.

I had my gallbladder removed. I didn't have stones; my gallbladder was just functioning at 25 percent.

This same song and dance continued and my condition worsened. By the time I was 23 and married I had had enough. I was missing at least one day of work per week. I had to go to the nurse's office at work to nap and was putting customers on hold (I worked on the phones) to use the bathroom.

Then my parents saw Elisabeth Hasselbeck on The View. As those of use g-free gals know, she has Celiac and speaks out for the "lifestyle." My mom called.

"I know what's wrong with you!" She was so excited.

"You're intolerant to gluten. You need to ask the doctor next time you go."

I told her that it was crazy! Whole wheat is the grain of the gods, after all. I had an appointment that day, but I didn't say anything.

A week later, my dad called me. My dad is not one to call and talk. He said, "I think I know what's wrong with you!" He too was so excited!

"You're intolerant to gluten. You need to ask the doctor next time you go."

I was home again with a migraine, so I thought, there might be something to this. I'll ask.

I went to the doctor, internet information in hand, and I asked the doctor. I explained my symptoms, tried to pronounce "gluten" the best I could, and asked to be tested.

She said, "We can't test you for that. You're sick."

I was infuriated! I got my morphine shot and went to Trader Joe's. I bought gluten free pasta, bread, brownie mix, and chicken breasts. I thought, this is what I will eat. I started purging my body. I bought gluten-free vitamins. Most importantly, I started to read. I've always been a voracious reader, and I knew that I had to knew what was killing me in order to heal me. The first thing I read was Elisabeth's book. Here is a link to it on Amazon.com. I started to understand what gluten was doing to my body. I learned what to avoid. I learned that gluten was killing me.

The only way to save my life was to give up the grain of the gods.

So I did.

I felt AMAZING! I could think clearly. I could sleep. I had energy. I started to understand my body's chemistry and its inner workings. I knew how my innards worked!

Now, I don't want the one person reading this to think that I have never slipped since that day. That is not true. I have slipped, and I have paid dearly.

I also don't want you to think that I don't eat well. I love food. I love to cook. Most of my memories revolve around food in some way. Cooking with my grandma, grilling with my dad, learning to can with my mom...even smells remind me of the best (and worst) times of my life.

Within two weeks I felt amazing. I went back to the doctor for a check-up and reported that I had Celiac. She was shocked! She said, "Just keep that up." From then on, I knew that I was in charge of my life, of my body, and that I would make my body better.

This was my beginning.