Becoming the Healer I Needed

I didn’t arrive here by accident.

Today marks the beginning of a new chapter —
one I’m writing with intention,
fueled by truth,
and rooted in something deeper than numbers on a lab report.

These biomarkers — these lines, these numbers —
aren’t just data.

They’re a mirror.
A wake-up call.
A roadmap home.

For years, I lived in survival mode —
emotionally depleted,
physically inflamed,
mentally foggy.

I carried the weight of a rare skin condition
that left me feeling exposed and never quite enough.
And layered over all of it?
That good old classic imposter syndrome
so many women wrestle with quietly.

My body whispered long before it screamed.

Chronic stress.
Depression.
Disconnection.
Loss.
Trauma.
I carried it all in silence — for years.

I’ve done the emotional heavy lifting.
I’ve mothered through madness.
I’ve rebuilt from nothing more times than I can count.

But this part of the journey?
This one’s for me.

A few weeks ago, I got the most comprehensive lab work I’ve ever had.
And I couldn’t look away.

• Inflammation? High.

• Omega-3s? Low.

• Cardiovascular risk? Elevated.

And somehow... I felt seen.

This wasn’t news.
It was confirmation of what I’ve known in my bones for years:
I’ve been running on empty.

And here's the thing — I’m adopted.
I have no idea what my genetic health history is.
So if I don’t take charge of this, who will?

I’m 46 years old, and I know this with crystal clarity:

I have too much life left to live.
Too many women to reach.
Too many future grandchildren to spoil.
Too many wild places left to explore...
to check out early.

So here I am — reclaiming my health the same way I’ve reclaimed my life:
One bold, imperfect, determined choice at a time.

This time, I’m not waiting to feel better.
Not waiting for someone to hand me answers.
Not waiting to be rescued.

I’m choosing to become the healer I needed.

And this?
This is only the beginning.

With heart,
Rebecca