I’m not going to lie—I was a walking time bomb. Addicted to work. Stressed to the max. Pushing, striving, and chasing success at all costs.

And on the outside? I was winning. Speaking on big stages, launching book after book, racking up accolades. I had the awards, the media features—TV interviews, magazine spreads (even Woman’s World!), radio appearances, newspaper shoutouts (dating myself a bit there! ). By every worldly measure, I was the epitome of success.

But behind the scenes? My health was spiraling. My family was paying the price. And when setbacks hit, I only had one gear: GO HARDER! More work. More grind. More hustle.

Then, it all came crashing down. My body betrayed me.

I saw it coming. After losing both my parents to cancer and chronic illnesses before I even turned 31 (my dad at Easter 1999, my mom on December 31st of the same year), I knew I couldn’t ignore the warning signs. I sat in the doctor’s office, rattling off my symptoms:

⦁ My weight was at an all-time high.

⦁ PCOS was wreaking havoc on my body.

⦁ I was hemorrhaging three weeks out of the month.

⦁ Debilitating nosebleeds from allergies.

⦁ Fatty liver—"irreversible," they said.

⦁ And then the kicker—pre-diabetes. With my family history, the doctor recommended I start insulin immediately.