For the next couple of weeks, I’m going to share a 7-part series of something I’ve never shared before. It’s the story of how I got here… and why I’m about to step in a new direction.

My first real memory is of when my mother died of breast cancer. I was five. I didn’t understand what that meant for a long time, but what left its mark on me was this: she had gotten sick, and she was only 37 when she left this world. At some point along the way, I learned that her mother had died of the same illness in her thirties as well.

So I was raised with the belief that I would get breast cancer too. It wasn’t intentional. My dad loved me deeply, and his fear of losing me, too, meant he regularly reminded me to take care of myself. I was determined to be as healthy as I could be so that I wouldn’t experience the same fate. I played numerous sports to stay fit and paid attention to what I ate, following whatever was considered “healthy” at the time.

I didn’t realize it then, but there was an underlying current of fear that lived quietly in my body. That was the beginning of my relationship with health, rooted in fear rather than trust.

I had my first scare when I was 16. I found a lump in my breast and didn’t want to tell my dad. It was frightening to be in a hospital at that age, carrying that kind of possibility. Fortunately, the lump was benign. Because of my family history, it was removed to be safe, which wasn’t typically done for girls my age at the time.

I continued on, playing sports through high school and college, taking care of myself as best I could.

I didn’t know then how deeply that early loss would shape my path.

Stay tuned for Part 2.