It’s been a while since I’ve written an update about my own wellness journey.
Part of the reason is probably because I kept waiting until I had an update worth sharing.
You know the kind.
I’ve been consistent for 30 days.
I’ve lost ___ pounds.
I’m finally back on track.
Here’s what’s working.
But that isn’t really where I am.
If I’m being completely transparent, sometimes I feel like I am perpetually living in a restart-reset-restart cycle.
I make a plan. Life gets busy. I lose some momentum. I regroup. I start again.
And somewhere along the way, I start wondering:
How many times can I call this a comeback before I have to admit I keep starting over?
And lately, I’ve had to confront the fact that there really is a pattern here.
I recently had a call with my own coach, and he said something that was hard to hear:
Every call, we’re having the same conversation.
Ouch.
My first instinct could probably produce an impressive list of reasons.
Work has been crazy. I plan to leave at a certain time, something isn’t finished, and I stay later than I intended.
I could bring a lunch to work, but instead I grab whatever school lunch is being served.
I say I want to work out consistently, but somehow there’s always a reason why today isn’t the day.
And then another week passes.
The frustrating part?
He’s not wrong.
There will always be something.
Work.
Kids.
Activities.
Appointments.
Exhaustion.
Someone needing something from me.
A schedule that didn’t go according to plan.
Some of those things are completely outside my control.
But what I do next isn’t always.
And that’s uncomfortable for me to admit.
Because there’s a difference between giving myself grace when life genuinely gets hard and using grace to avoid taking responsibility for the choices I can make.
I’m still learning where that line is.
My weight has been hovering around 206, and I can tell myself I’m stuck — but if I’m being truthful, my habits have been pretty stuck too.
That’s not shame.
It’s information.
And maybe before I can change the pattern, I have to be willing to acknowledge it.
But acknowledging the pattern doesn’t mean declaring everything I’ve done a failure.
Because back in February, I wrote something about my Quiet Comeback that I didn’t realize I would need to hear again months later:
Faithful looks like returning again. And again. And again.
Apparently, I meant it. 😂
Because this season hasn’t been one long streak of perfect consistency.
Far from it.
But I am still here.
Still paying attention.
Still learning.
Still having hard conversations.
Still trying to nourish my body better.
Still moving it.
Still coming back.
And maybe the next part of my Quiet Comeback is learning that returning doesn’t just mean making another plan.
Sometimes returning means actually doing something differently.
My Health Has Given Me a Little More to Think About
Recently, my doctor and I had a conversation about my cholesterol.
My numbers aren’t where we want them to be, and she recommended starting cholesterol-lowering medication.
I wasn’t quite ready to do that.
So we talked about it, and she agreed to give me some time to intentionally work on lifestyle changes before we check things again.
That doesn’t mean medication is off the table forever. Lifestyle changes aren’t a guarantee that I won’t need it. If my numbers don’t improve enough, that may be a conversation we have again.
But right now, I have an opportunity to see what I can change.
And that makes the conversation with my coach hit a little differently, too.
Because I asked for time to work on lifestyle changes.
Now I actually have to work on them.
For so many years, the loudest measurement has been my weight.
Did the scale go down?
How much did I lose?
Am I making progress?
Am I finally doing it right?
But cholesterol doesn’t really care what the scale said this morning.
My heart doesn’t care whether I fit into a smaller pair of jeans.
This is about my health.
So I’m focusing on the things I already know matter.
More movement.
More fiber and nutrient-dense foods.
Enough protein.
Strength training.
Walking, running and other intentional movement.
Sleep.
Stress.
Meals that support my health while still working in my actual, sometimes-chaotic life.
And maybe packing the lunch instead of continually saying I should pack the lunch.
Maybe doing the workout instead of waiting for a week when my calendar magically cooperates.
Nothing revolutionary.
Just actually practicing the things I already know.
There is something different about looking at these choices through the lens of I want to take care of my health instead of I need to lose weight.
And Somehow… I’m Doing 5Ks Again
If you’ve been around awhile, you know that 5Ks have come and gone through different seasons of my life.
And now I’m finding my way back to them.
These days, that mostly means walking — with some running mixed in when I can.
And I’m okay with that.
Or at least, I’m learning to be.
Because if there is one thing that can steal the joy out of crossing a finish line for me, it’s comparison.
Comparison is probably one of my biggest toxic traits.
I know I shouldn’t do it. I tell other women not to do it. I know that someone else’s progress says absolutely nothing about mine.
And yet…
How come she’s losing weight faster than me?
Why can’t I commit to working out like she does?
She’s bigger than me — how can she run farther than I can?
She’s bigger than me — how is she faster than me?
Those thoughts aren’t particularly pretty written out like that.
But they’re real.
And they reveal how quickly I can take something good — like another woman getting stronger, losing weight, running farther or reaching a goal — and turn it into evidence that I’m somehow falling behind.
A few weeks ago, of all things, God decided to call me out through a cross-country devotional I was writing for a bunch of kids. 😂
The Scripture for the devotion was Galatians 6:4–5:
“Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else, for each one should carry their own load.” — Galatians 6:4–5, NIV
Without comparing themselves to someone else.
Oof.
Apparently, Coach needed the devotional too.
And the more I thought about it, the more I realized this wasn’t the first time that had happened.
Throughout this cross-country season, I’ve written devotionals for my runners about persevering when things are hard. About forgetting what is behind and pressing toward what is ahead. About running the race set before us with our eyes fixed on Jesus.
Every time, I thought I was preparing something they needed to hear.
Now I’m wondering if God has been using those devotionals to speak to me, too.
I’ve said more times than I can count that I don’t know how to tell when God is speaking to me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m simply not listening when He does. I think I’ve expected it to feel unmistakable somehow — like I’ll suddenly know exactly what God is trying to tell me.
But maybe I’ve been looking for something loud while God has been patiently meeting me in His Word.
Persevere.
Stop living in what is behind you.
Keep your eyes on Jesus.
Run the race in front of you.
And now:
Stop comparing your race to someone else’s.
I don’t want to claim that I always know exactly what God is saying or why a particular Scripture meets me when it does.
But when I look back at the verses that have repeatedly stood out while I’ve been writing these devotionals, it’s hard for me not to notice the thread running through them.
Maybe I haven’t been as unable to hear Him as I’ve thought.
Maybe I need to get better at listening.
Because maybe my problem isn’t that I’m moving too slowly.
Maybe sometimes my problem is that I keep looking sideways.
At someone else’s body.
Someone else’s weight loss.
Someone else’s workouts.
Someone else’s pace.
Someone else’s finish time.
And while I’m busy measuring myself against her journey, I miss what is happening in mine.
I’m doing 5Ks again.
Maybe I walk most of them.
Maybe I run some.
Maybe someone else who looks like she “should” be slower than me passes me.
That last sentence makes me cringe a little when I write it — because another woman’s body size tells me absolutely nothing about what her body can do.
And maybe recognizing that thought when it happens is part of my wellness journey, too.
Her race is hers.
Mine is mine.
Her progress doesn’t diminish mine.
Her finish time doesn’t change the fact that I crossed the finish line.
Her weight loss doesn’t make mine less meaningful.
Her consistency doesn’t make me a failure.
I don’t have to be the fastest.
I don’t have to beat anyone else.
I don’t even have to become the version of myself I think I should be by now.
I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
My eyes belong on my own race.
Come to think of it, maybe that’s not so different from the rest of this journey.
My Body Is Changing in Other Ways, Too
There’s another part of my wellness journey that I’ve debated sharing because it feels a little more personal.
For the first time in roughly 30 years — outside of trying to conceive and pregnancy — I’m no longer using hormonal birth control.
And part of the reason is simply that I want to better understand what my body is doing.
For years, even with an IUD, my cycles were pretty predictable. The big exception was breastfeeding. After I stopped nursing my youngest for the final time in January 2022, my cycle returned and was regular… until suddenly it wasn’t.
That May, things started changing.
Sometimes I would go months without a cycle — once, nearly nine months. Other times, I would have one multiple times in the same month.
My doctor initially mentioned perimenopause as a possibility.
Later came a secondary PCOS diagnosis.
Eventually, my endocrinologist prescribed metformin as part of managing my PCOS, and my cycles became regular again for a while.
Until this year.
Then I started skipping cycles again, having them arrive late, and occasionally having two in one month.
And since removing my IUD?
Well, apparently my body decided to make things even more interesting.
I’ve now had three cycles within roughly four to six weeks.
So… what’s actually going on?
Perimenopause?
PCOS?
My body adjusting after the IUD?
Some combination of all three?
Something else entirely?
I have absolutely no idea. 😂
I have theories, but theories aren’t answers.
And this is exactly why I wanted to take hormonal birth control out of the equation.
For the first time in most of my adult life, I get to see what my body does without it in the picture.
Apparently, right now, the answer is: a lot. 😂
But this is information too.
Maybe patterns will eventually emerge.
Maybe we’ll get some answers.
Maybe we won’t.
At 44, I also know that my body isn’t supposed to function exactly as it did at 24 or 34. I’m entering a season when hormonal changes can happen naturally, while also navigating PCOS and everything else that comes with being a woman in midlife.
So instead of assuming every change means something is wrong — or trying to diagnose myself based on what I read online — I’m paying attention.
I’m working with my doctors.
I’m learning my body’s patterns.
And I’m giving it time.
There is something strangely fitting about this happening during my Quiet Comeback.
Because even here, I’m not trying to force my body into doing what I think it should do.
I’m trying to understand it.
And maybe caring for my body starts there.
Maybe Returning Isn’t the Same as Restarting
This is the part I’m trying to learn.
When I miss workouts, eat differently than I intended, stop tracking, get overwhelmed, or let healthy habits slide, my brain loves to tell me:
Here we go again.
Another restart.
Another failed attempt.
Another Monday.
And after my coach pointed out that we’re having the same conversation every time we talk, I can’t pretend there aren’t patterns I need to change.
But I’m also beginning to think there’s a difference between starting over and returning.
Starting over assumes everything that came before was lost.
Returning means I bring what I’ve learned with me.
And maybe returning also requires something of me.
Not punishment.
Not an extreme reset.
Not promising that this time I’ll do everything perfectly.
But action.
I know more about my body than I did five years ago.
I understand nutrition differently.
I recognize some of my emotional eating patterns sooner.
I know what choices I keep saying I want to make — and which ones I keep avoiding.
I’m learning what kind of accountability actually helps me.
I’m paying attention to health markers beyond my weight.
I’m learning that movement can be about what my body can do, not simply what I want it to weigh.
I’m learning to catch myself when I start measuring my journey against someone else’s.
I’m learning that my body is going to change as I get older — and caring for it may need to change, too.
And I’m slowly learning that grace and accountability aren’t opposites.
I can give myself grace for the things I genuinely cannot control while taking responsibility for the things I can.
None of what I’ve learned disappears because I had a rough week.
Or a rough month.
Or because the scale has been sitting around the same number longer than I’d like.
I’m not back at square one.
I’m returning with experience.
And perhaps that is what my Quiet Comeback was always supposed to be.
Not one giant comeback where I finally get everything right.
A thousand tiny returns.
Returning to the foods that nourish me.
Returning to movement.
Returning to strength.
Returning my eyes to my own race when they start wandering toward someone else’s.
Returning to my Bible when it’s been sitting unopened longer than I’d like to admit.
Returning to routines after life disrupts them.
Returning to prayer.
Returning to taking care of the body God gave me.
Returning to grace.
And sometimes returning to the hard truth that knowing what to do and actually doing it are two different things.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Maybe This Is What a Wellness Journey Actually Looks Like
I think I spent a lot of years believing there would eventually be an after.
After I lost the weight.
After I figured out consistency.
After I found the right routine.
After I finally became someone who just naturally did all the healthy things without having to think so hard about them.
Maybe there isn’t an after.
Maybe there are simply different seasons.
Bodies change.
Hormones change.
Health needs change.
Schedules change.
Families change.
Life changes.
And maybe wellness isn’t about finally creating a routine that life can never interrupt.
Maybe it’s about learning how to care for ourselves through all of those changes.
So no, I don’t have a dramatic before-and-after to share today.
I don’t have a shiny “here’s how I finally figured it all out” story.
I’m still figuring it out.
My weight is hovering around 206.
My cholesterol isn’t where I want it to be.
My consistency isn’t where I want it to be.
My coach and I apparently keep having the same conversation.
And at the moment, my hormones seem to have chosen chaos. 😂
But I’m paying attention.
I’m asking questions.
I’m working with my doctors.
I’m moving my body.
I’m signing up for finish lines.
I’m trying to keep my eyes on my own race.
I’m learning to take responsibility for the choices that actually belong to me.
I’m opening my Bible — and maybe learning to listen a little more closely when I do.
And when I drift, I’m learning to return without turning it into evidence that I’ve failed.
Maybe that’s exactly why I need to keep sharing this part.
Because I know I’m not the only woman who has wondered why she can’t just stay on track.
Or who knows exactly what she “should” be doing and still isn’t doing it.
Or who has looked at another woman and wondered why this seems to come so much easier for her.
Maybe we were never supposed to live on a track.
Maybe we’re supposed to learn how to return when we wander — and stop checking the lane next to us to see whether we’re falling behind.
Months ago, I wrote:
God doesn’t ask me to be flawless — He asks me to be faithful.
And Galatians reminded me that faithfulness also means tending to my race instead of measuring it against someone else’s.
Maybe God has been reminding me of that all along.
I just needed to listen.
And maybe part of listening now means doing something with what I’ve heard.
Faithfulness doesn’t always look like perfect consistency.
Sometimes it simply looks like coming back.
Eyes forward.
Eyes on Jesus.
One foot in front of the other.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The Quiet Comeback continues.