I Was Almost 300 Pounds—and That’s When It Hit Me

I was almost 300 pounds when I started.

That number still makes my stomach flip—not because I’m ashamed of it, but because of what it represented.

Pain.

Neglect.

Burnout.

And honestly? Fear.

It wasn’t about the scale. It was about the moment I realized I couldn’t chase my daughter around the park without gasping for air. That if I kept going like this…

I might not be around to see her graduate.

To walk her down the aisle.

To hold her babies.

To be there for the moments that matter.

I had given so much of myself to everything and everyone else, I had nothing left in the tank.

But something clicked that day.

Something loud and terrifying whispered, “If you don’t do something now… you might run out of time.”

So I did something.

I didn’t know what I was doing.

I didn’t have the perfect plan or a six-week miracle program.

I had fear in my chest and fire in my gut. And that was enough.

I started moving.

I started eating like I loved myself, not like I was punishing myself. And slowly, pound by pound, piece by piece—I built a new version of me. Now, I’ve lost almost 100 pounds. But more than that, I’ve gained life.

Energy.

Confidence.

Moments with my daughter I used to sit out of.

It taught me something simple but powerful:

If I can do this, I can do anything—as long as I stay consistent.

As long as I keep showing up.

Because no one’s coming to save me.

If I don’t fight for my health, my future, my daughter’s memories—no one else will.

This journey isn’t about perfection. It’s about purpose. And mine? Is to be strong enough to live fully, love fiercely, and never let myself fade into the background again.

This is only the beginning.

And if you’re standing where I was, staring at your starting line—let me tell you something:

You’re not too far gone.

You’re just one decision away from a comeback.

Let’s work. Let’s evolve.