Let’s talk about something real for a minute—our bodies. Or more specifically, my body.

It’s been through a lot with me. Three marriages, two kids, surgeries, heartbreak, grief, love, stress, joy, moves, dancing, growing babies, growing gardens—you name it. And for most of that time, I talked to it like it was the enemy.

I’ve struggled with my weight my whole life. Up and down, back and forth like a yo-yo that never quite landed where I wanted it to. I’ve tried every plan, every hack, every “get-your-body-back” trick in the book. But no one ever taught me how to just be kind to myself.

Until now.

Starting over at 47 isn’t just about changing my circumstances—it’s about changing how I treat myself.

Oscar and I eat differently. He’s brought a new rhythm into my life—less processed, more homemade, more color, more flavor, more intention. We don’t eat to fix something. We eat to feel good.

I’ve lost a few pounds since we moved upstairs, and yes, it feels nice—but what feels even better is not obsessing over it. I move more now because we’re active together. Gardening. Cleaning. Walking around. Dancing in the kitchen (yes, that totally counts).

And I’m starting to pay attention to what actually works for me.

My DNA says I’m best suited to a Mediterranean-style diet, so I’ve been leaning into that. Fresh vegetables, fish, olives, lots of herbs, lemon, and good fats. I even bought quinoa—me! Picky me! Who knew?

But it’s not just about food or weight. It’s about reclaiming my body as mine.

No more punishing workouts. No more skipping meals. No more trying to shrink myself to fit anyone else’s expectations.

This body carried me through burying my mom. Through being a single mom. Through divorce. Through betrayal. Through love. Through loss.

It deserves my respect.

It deserves soft clothes and warm baths and extra sleep and kisses on the shoulder. It deserves to be celebrated—not criticized.

So that’s what I’m doing now. Making peace. One bite. One step. One choice at a time.

If you’re on a similar journey—maybe your body has felt like a battleground too—I want you to know: you’re not alone.

You don’t have to fight anymore. You can choose love instead.

Love for your legs that keep moving.

Love for your belly that’s been home to babies.

Love for your arms that hold others.

Love for your heart that still hopes.

Because this body?

This beautiful, resilient, still-standing body?

She’s been through hell and is still showing up.

And that is something worth honoring.