From Grief to Grit

Three years ago, on November 27th, I stood at a crossroads in my life. I didn’t look strong. I didn’t feel brave. I felt exhausted — physically, emotionally, spiritually drained. But that was the day I made a quiet, conscious decision: I was going to fight for my life. Not in the dramatic way people imagine. Not all at once. Just one small decision at a time. That was the beginning of my journey from grief to grit.

For years, my life revolved around becoming a mother. In 2015, when I was diagnosed with infertility and told I would never conceive on my own, it felt like the ground beneath me cracked open. I remember sitting there, trying to process words that didn’t match the dreams I had carried for so long. From 2015 to 2022, my life became a cycle of appointments, procedures, surgeries, hormone injections, and hope followed by heartbreak. IVF wasn’t just a treatment plan. It became my identity. It became my mission.

My body endured more than I ever imagined possible. I went through over twenty medical procedures in the early years alone. My hormones were constantly manipulated. My emotions were unpredictable. I was living in a state of survival, telling myself it would all be worth it when I finally held my baby.

In 2019, that dream seemed within reach. I got pregnant. I was told I was having a girl, due in January 2020. I was shocked, but cautiously happy. I didn’t let myself fully celebrate because infertility teaches you to guard your heart. Nine weeks later, during a routine ultrasound, there was no heartbeat. Just silence. A silence that still echoes in parts of my heart. I lost my baby girl, and with her, a piece of my soul.

Grief is strange. It doesn’t just sit with you quietly. It seeps into everything. I drowned in my tears. I questioned my body, my worth, my faith. But I kept going back to treatments. I stayed in the fight for three more years, hoping for another chance. I told myself perseverance was strength. But sometimes perseverance is just fear of letting go.

In 2017, in the middle of all this, I lost my mother to heart disease. Losing her shattered something fundamental inside me. She was my anchor. Without her, I felt untethered. Alone. The combination of infertility and losing my mom created a grief so complex and layered that I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Anger and despair took over. I became someone hardened, distant, emotionally numb.

There was a point when the weight of it all felt unbearable. I wondered if peace could only be found in silence. I questioned my existence. But somewhere deep inside, I knew my mother would not want that for me. I couldn’t let my story end in that darkness.

The turning point came unexpectedly. After years of hormone treatments, I had a severe allergic reaction and ended up in the ER. Sitting there, hooked to monitors, I had a realization that shook me. I had spent seven years fighting for motherhood. Seven years I would never get back. My body was tired. My mind was broken. And I had to face the hardest truth of my life — I might never be a mother.

That truth nearly crushed me. But it also freed me.

On November 27, 2022, I chose to take my life back. I didn’t know how. I just knew I couldn’t continue living in constant decline — physically and emotionally. I was tired of diagnoses. Tired of medications. Tired of feeling like my body was my enemy.

I started small. I met with a dietitian who gently helped me confront my unhealthy relationship with food and my mindset. For the first time, I understood that healing wasn’t just about weight or appearance. It was about inflammation, stress, and self-compassion. I committed to a 28-day medically monitored detox. It wasn’t easy, but when I lost 15 pounds of inflammation and felt clarity return to my mind, something shifted. For the first time in years, I felt hope in my own body.

In January 2023, I joined EOS Fitness. I forced myself to meet with a personal trainer once a week for four months. There were days I cried in the parking lot because I didn’t want to go inside. My grief was still heavy. My motivation was fragile. But I showed up anyway. That became my new definition of strength — showing up even when I didn’t feel ready.

Then in May 2023, I found Aquabike. More than a workout, it became my sanctuary. The water felt healing. The community felt safe. I committed to classes three to four times a week and stayed consistent with my nutrition. After 90 days, I dropped two clothing sizes. But more importantly, I felt lighter in ways that had nothing to do with pounds. My sleep improved. My energy returned. My mind felt clearer. The darkness that once consumed me started to loosen its grip.

I eventually graduated from my dietitian and personal trainer because I was crushing goals I once thought were impossible. I joined other classes and built what I now call my gym squad — a group of supportive, encouraging people who believed in me even on days I doubted myself.

Six months later, I did something that would have sounded ridiculous to the woman I used to be. I became a certified Aquabike instructor.

Me. The woman who once sat in an ER questioning her life. The woman who felt broken beyond repair. Now leading classes. Now inspiring others.

This journey was not glamorous. It required sacrifice, discipline, tears, and relentless self-honesty. I had to allow myself to grieve fully. I had to sit with pain instead of running from it. I had to accept that healing isn’t linear. Some days I felt unstoppable. Other days I felt the ache of what I lost.

But grit isn’t about never feeling pain. Grit is about continuing anyway.

On November 27, 2022, I weighed 195 pounds. On November 27, 2025, I weighed 125 pounds. Yes, my body transformed. But the real transformation happened in my heart and mind. I am healthier. Stronger. Whole — even with scars.

I once thought motherhood would define my purpose. Today, I understand that my purpose is bigger than one role. My purpose is to live fully. To honor the battles I’ve survived. To prove to myself that grief does not get the final word.

This is my story. From grief to grit. And every single step was worth it.