Sometimes life doesn’t just rain – it pours. And sometimes that downpour feels like it might sweep you away entirely. That’s where I found myself several years ago, standing in the midst of what felt like a perfect storm of loss and change and grief.
Within what seemed like the blink of an eye, my entire identity was stripped away. My daughter, my only child, had left for college out of state. My marriage of 29 years was ending. My best friend, business partner, and business were lost to the grip of mental illness. I was no longer just a mother, wife, or business owner – I was someone I didn’t recognize in the mirror anymore.
Then, as if the emotional turbulence wasn’t enough, life threw another curveball. During a meeting with my attorney (who, in one of life’s unexpected gifts, would become a dear friend), I was attacked by a 150-pound French Mastiff. Physical wounds required antibiotics, which triggered a cascade of health issues. The medication wiped out my body’s natural flora, leading to infections that affected my continence (the ability to control my bowel and bladder). There I was – emotionally raw, physically wounded, and now dealing with the most basic aspects of bodily function. I felt like I couldn’t get any lower.
The anxiety and despair became so intense that eating became a challenge. I lost 20 pounds, enough weight that simple movements at the gym left pressure sores on my sacrum. There were days where just getting out of bed felt like an obstacle.
But here’s the thing about storms – they reveal the strength of your foundation and the people who will hold you up when you can’t stand alone.
Three pillars emerged that helped me weather this storm:
First, were the family and friends who proved to be my true north. They didn’t just offer words of support – they showed up. They took my hand, sometimes literally, and walked beside me through the darkness. They reminded me that while some relationships were ending, others were growing stronger.
Second, was the combination of therapy and gratitude journaling. My therapist helped me navigate the intense anxiety and grief, while daily gratitude journaling shifted my focus from what I’d lost to what remained. It was simple but powerful practice that helped rewire my brain from despair to hope.
The third pillar was DSC and our incredible coaches (this was before I would become the owner – I was simply a member trying to hold my shit together). What they didn’t know was that there were many days when I sat in the parking lot doing box breathing exercises just to gather the courage to walk through the door. But once inside, something magical happened. For that hour, the movement became a meditation, a brief respite from the chaos in my mind. The physical activity didn’t fix everything, but it gave me moments of feeling alive again when everything else felt numb.
I’ll never forget the day when Coach Delaine noticed I wasn’t using my usual weights and checked in on me. In a gym full of hundreds of members, she knew me well enough to notice when something was off. Jake and Sarah were so kind to me and made me feel like they were genuinely happy to see me. Those moments of genuine care and attention meant more than any workout could. Community at its best.
It has taken years to navigate that stormy time of loss and grief in my life. But I’ve gotten there, and you can too. This is why I’m sharing my story. If you’re going through your own storm right now, please know this: Movement is medicine. It might not cure everything, but it can be the anchor that helps you hold on through the roughest seas. When life feels like it’s falling apart, sometimes the simple act of showing up and moving your body can be the first step toward putting it back together.
This is why I fell in love with DSC long before I became its owner. This gym isn’t just about fitness – it’s about finding strength you didn’t know you had, both physical and mental. It’s about having a community that notices when you’re not quite yourself, and coaches who care enough to ask if you’re okay.
Keep moving, keep breathing, and keep showing up. Some days, that’s more than enough.
*This post is dedicated to everyone who’s ever sat in their car doing breathing exercises before walking through our doors. You’re stronger than you know, and we’re here to help you find that strength.*