I'm Starting Something New...

I’ll be honest—I am a bit fearful to share. I don’t know if it’s the vulnerability, the admission that I’m having to ask for help, or the fear of utter failure and embarrassment if I fall flat. But nonetheless, I’m putting on my brave britches (that’s what I tell my kiddos in situations where bravery might be required), and I’m sharing.

I’ve prayed about this, considered documenting it, and I’m still not sure where that will land—but I’ve hired a fitness and nutrition coach.

This is something I’ve pondered for years, but the financial investment in myself always made me feel guilty pursuing it. I’ve done the ChatGPT workouts, the random YouTube ones—gosh, I even did Weight Watchers at the beginning of the year after my littlest love was born. What I’ve come to realize is that accountability is a driving force for me. It’s amazing how quickly I’ll cancel on myself, but cancelling on someone else? Never.

Right now, I’m in dire need of that accountability.

I’ve learned my cycles well: doing great, getting derailed, falling off the wagon, and lacking the discipline to climb back on. I’ve been silently watching for a while—considering the pros and cons—telling myself, “I can do this on my own.” I’ve reached out to friends who have been incredibly successful making lifestyle changes solo. I’ve watched others progress because of consistency, while I stop right before giving my mind and body a chance to respond.

But recently, something shifted.

You see, I’ve been in survival mode for far too long.

I’m a chronic over-committer. I can’t say no to save my life. Add that to being a mom of three, a wife to the most incredible man, managing a home, schedules, responsibilities, and the constant mental load—and I’ve found myself paralyzed, unable to move forward.

It finally hit me: I don’t lack motivation. I don’t lack desire. I lack systems.

My current habits aren’t sustainable. The way I’m moving through my days—reactive, exhausted, barely keeping my head above water—isn’t how I want to live. What I’ve been calling “doing my best” is really just survival mode in disguise.

And survival mode? It’s not sustainable either.

I’ve failed before. More than once. I’m afraid I might fail again. That fear is real, and I’m not pretending otherwise. But I’m learning that fear doesn’t get the final say anymore. Staying stuck feels heavier than trying again.

And I should preface this by saying—this isn’t me saying my body isn’t good enough. This body has carried three babies, sustained long nights, and shown up in seasons that nearly broke me. This is not about punishment or shrinking myself. This is about stewardship.

This is about setting an example for my children—that they are worthy of care, that their health matters, that they are capable of making changes even when it means asking for help. I want them to see a mom who honors her body, who keeps promises to herself, and who chooses growth even when it feels uncomfortable (another family saying "We are Simpsons, and we can do hard things!).

More than anything, they deserve the very best version of their mom—and this is my why.

This season of my life—this part of my becoming—is about taking responsibility for the life I want to live. It’s about creating systems in my personal life and my home that support me instead of drain me. It’s about moving with intention, not urgency. Consistency over chaos. Progress over perfection.

I’m no longer willing to live in a constant state of reacting, surviving, and burning myself out. I want to thrive—not in a picture-perfect way, but in a grounded, sustainable, life-giving way.

So here I am. Trying again. Choosing support. Choosing structure. Choosing to believe that this time, with intention and accountability, something can be different.

This is me stepping out of survival mode—and into becoming her.