The Strength to Keep Going

There were many moments in my life when I wondered how I could keep going. I had experienced infertility, years of IVF treatments, the loss of my mother, pregnancy loss, heartbreak, and a period when I barely recognized myself. Each experience took something from me, and there were times when I felt completely exhausted. Yet somehow, I kept taking the next step. Looking back, I understand that strength isn’t always loud or dramatic. Sometimes strength is simply waking up the next morning and deciding to try again. My journey began in 2015 when I was diagnosed with infertility. Becoming a mother had always been one of my greatest dreams, so hearing that conceiving naturally would likely never happen was devastating. I had imagined raising children, celebrating birthdays, creating family traditions, and experiencing all the ordinary moments that make motherhood special. Suddenly, the future I had pictured for myself felt uncertain. I was heartbroken, but I wasn’t ready to give up. I decided to pursue IVF because I still believed there was hope. I entered fertility treatment determined to keep trying until I could finally become a mother. At the time, I had no idea that this decision would begin a seven-year journey filled with medical procedures, emotional challenges, hope, and disappointment. My life became centered around fertility clinics, blood tests, hormone injections, medications, surgeries, ultrasounds, appointments, and waiting. Every treatment brought the possibility of good news, while every unsuccessful attempt brought another wave of disappointment. I learned what it felt like to build hope again and again, only to have it challenged. Infertility changed more than my plans for motherhood. It affected my confidence and my relationship with my own body. I often wondered why something that seemed so natural for other people had become such a difficult journey for me. There were days when I felt exhausted from constantly starting over, but I kept going because I wasn’t ready to give up on my dream. Then, in 2017, I lost my mother to heart disease. Losing my mother was one of the most painful experiences of my life. She was someone I could turn to when I was afraid, discouraged, or overwhelmed. I wanted her beside me during my fertility journey. I wanted to tell her about every appointment and every setback. I wanted her encouragement when I felt like I couldn’t continue. But she was gone. I had to learn how to carry grief while continuing to fight for the future I wanted. Then, in 2019, after years of IVF treatments and countless prayers, I finally became pregnant. I was told I was expecting a baby girl. After so much uncertainty, I finally allowed myself to believe that my dream was becoming reality. I imagined holding my daughter. I imagined watching her grow. I imagined celebrating birthdays and creating memories together. I even imagined telling her about the grandmother she would never have the opportunity to meet. For the first time in years, I felt completely hopeful. Then came the ultrasound appointment that changed everything. There was no heartbeat. Losing my baby was one of the deepest heartbreaks I had ever experienced. I wasn’t only grieving a pregnancy. I was grieving a future I had already started imagining. I was grieving the memories that would never happen and the life I had spent years trying to create. After that loss, I struggled to understand how I was supposed to move forward. I continued IVF treatments because I wasn’t ready to let go of my dream. I kept looking toward the next treatment and the next possibility because focusing on the future felt easier than facing the pain I was carrying. But eventually, the emotional weight became too heavy to ignore. Years of stress, hormone medications, grief, and emotional eating contributed to my weight reaching 195 pounds. My confidence disappeared, and I barely recognized the woman I saw in the mirror. I wasn’t only carrying physical weight. I was carrying years of disappointment, sadness, fear, and exhaustion. Then I experienced a severe allergic reaction to one of my hormone medications and ended up in the emergency room. That moment forced me to stop. For seven years, I had been focused on fighting for the future I wanted. Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten to take care of myself in the present. I realized that I couldn’t change infertility. I couldn’t bring my mother back. I couldn’t undo the loss of my baby. But I could decide what happened next. That realization became the beginning of a new chapter. On November 27, 2022, I decided to choose myself. I knew I couldn’t rewrite my past, but I could start rebuilding my health, confidence, and relationship with myself. I started working with a registered dietitian and completed a medically supervised detox program. I began learning healthier habits and rebuilding my relationship with food. Instead of using food to escape emotional pain, I started learning how to nourish my body with patience and compassion. Then, in January 2023, I joined a gym and began working with a personal trainer. At first, fitness was simply about improving my physical health. But it quickly became something much deeper. Every workout reminded me that I was capable of doing difficult things. Every healthy choice reminded me that I was worth taking care of. Every time I showed up when I didn’t feel motivated, I became a little more confident. I learned that motivation isn’t always what keeps us moving. Sometimes, we move because we have decided not to give up. There were days when I didn’t feel strong. There were days when I wanted to stay home. There were days when progress felt too slow. But I kept showing up. One workout, one healthy meal, one better decision, one day at a time. Then I discovered Aquabike classes, and fitness became something I genuinely enjoyed. I found a supportive community that encouraged me and celebrated progress. Exercise was no longer only about changing my body. It became a way to connect with others, improve my mood, and rediscover happiness. Eventually, I decided to become a certified Aquabike fitness instructor. That decision represented something much bigger than a certification. It showed me that the person who had once felt lost could become someone capable of helping others. My struggles had given me empathy. My losses had given me perspective. My recovery had given me purpose. My physical transformation became another important milestone in my journey. On November 27, 2022, I weighed 195 pounds. Three years later, on November 27, 2025, I weighed 125 pounds. Losing 70 pounds was an incredible accomplishment, but the number on the scale doesn’t tell the whole story. The biggest transformation happened inside me. I became more disciplined. I became more patient. I learned to appreciate small victories. I learned that progress doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. Most importantly, I learned that strength doesn’t mean never struggling. Strength means continuing despite the struggle. For years, I thought strong people were the ones who never cried, never felt lost, and never needed help. Now I understand that real strength can look completely different. Sometimes strength is admitting that you’re hurting. Sometimes it’s asking for help. Sometimes it’s taking a break without giving up. Sometimes it’s starting over after something didn’t work. And sometimes, strength is simply getting out of bed and choosing to face another day. I still miss my mother. I will always carry love for the daughter I never had the opportunity to hold. Those losses are permanent parts of my story, and I don’t need to pretend otherwise. But I also don’t need to let grief take away the life I still have. I can remember and still move forward. I can grieve and still experience happiness. I can honor my past while creating a new future. That is what the strength to keep going means to me. It doesn’t mean that everything eventually becomes easy. It means that you learn how to handle difficult moments differently. You learn to trust yourself. You learn that one bad day doesn’t erase months or years of progress. There were moments when I thought my life had already been decided by everything I had lost. I believed infertility, grief, and heartbreak had taken away my chance at a meaningful future. But I was wrong. My future wasn’t gone. It simply looked different from what I had imagined. I found purpose through fitness. I found confidence through taking care of my health. I found connection through community. And I found strength by learning to choose myself. Today, I no longer ask myself why my life didn’t go according to plan. Instead, I ask what I can build from where I am. That question changed my life. I can’t change the years of infertility. I can’t bring my mother back. I can’t undo the loss of my baby. But I can decide what I do with the life that remains. I can keep moving. I can keep learning. I can keep helping others. I can keep taking care of myself. And I can keep believing that there are still beautiful moments ahead. If there is one lesson my journey has taught me, it is that you don’t need to have the strength to handle your entire future today. You only need enough strength for the next step. Sometimes the next step is very small, but small steps still move you forward. Keep going even when progress feels invisible. Keep going even when the journey takes longer than expected. Keep going even when your plan changes. Keep going because your story is not finished. I once thought strength meant fighting until I finally got everything I wanted. Now I understand that strength can also mean accepting what I cannot change and still choosing to live fully. My hardest experiences didn’t make me who I am alone. My response to those experiences did. I kept going. And somewhere along the way, I discovered that the strength I had been searching for wasn’t something I needed to find outside myself. It had been there all along.