New Year, Same Me — Just Showing Up Anyway

Every January comes with pressure.
New goals. New body. New habits. New everything.

And I’m just not doing that this year.

What I am doing is showing up.

Most mornings start way earlier than anyone would recommend. I’m talking 3 a.m. window, caffeinated and questioning my life choices, out the door by 4:45 like it’s normal behavior. Not because I’m some ultra-disciplined superhero — but because that quiet early morning belongs to me. No noise. No chaos. Just intention.

But I also want to be honest about something: I haven’t always been here.

There was a stretch where I didn’t work out at all. Not months — years.

Five years ago, my only real goal was staying sober. That was it. One thing at a time. No “summer body.” No training plan. No pressure to be anything other than grounded and okay. Survival mode, honestly.

That season looked like rest. Protecting my peace. Keeping life small and manageable.

Eventually, that shifted into, “Okay… maybe I’ll start walking.”
Short walks. Inconsistent walks. Then longer ones. Then more consistency.
Then eventually I found my way back into gyms, classes, weights, and structure.

Not because I suddenly became disciplined overnight — but because I was finally ready. And readiness matters. This version of consistency came after healing, not before.

And don’t get me wrong… yes, I absolutely want a fuller booty.
Yes, I want arms like Jessica Biel’s character in that Prime show The Better Sister.
Yes, I visualize, manifest, and romanticize that version of myself regularly.

But also? Those goals can get tossed aside on any given Sunday.

Because the gym, for me, isn’t just about aesthetics. It’s about how it sets the tone for my day. Strong. Focused. In control. Capable. Like no matter how heavy the weight or how brutal the set, if I just breathe, stay present, and keep moving, I get through it. That mindset leaks into everything else.

The community is honestly the best part.

The women I see day after day. The ones who show up even when they clearly don’t want to. The ones who quietly inspire me just by being consistent. The ones I look at and think, “Yeah… I want what she has.”
And the fellas too — different energy, still part of the rhythm.

Most days, I work out with a small group of ladies — usually three or four of us, depending on who slept in, who had a late night, or who chose peace that morning. The glue holding us together is Jen, a NASM-certified boss and basically our form police in the best way. She knows when to push weight, when to scale back, and when to fix form. And form is everything. We call ourselves the Booty Babes, and honestly, without them, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t show up most days.

There are also the regulars who walk by with a quick good morning, the ones who stay to chat for a minute, the people who make it feel like more than just a room full of machines.

And yes, playlists matter.
I’m known for constantly saying “Siri, play” and “Siri, pause” mid-workout. It’s become a running joke with the ladies. If you hear someone bossing around their phone between sets, it’s probably me.

The workouts themselves? Humbling.

Lately, I’ve been consistent with lifting, running, and rowing. Today we did 20 minutes on the treadmill at a 12 incline and 3.0 pace. Six minutes in, I was mentally trying to negotiate my way out of it. No song on earth was helping. But I adjusted the incline for intervals, kept putting one foot in front of the other, and finished. Only to later find out the usual is 30 minutes. Cute.

Here’s another thing people don’t always talk about: when I move my body, I naturally want to take better care of it. I crave salmon, veggies, real food. Does that mean I never hit the McDonald’s drive-thru? Be serious.

And yes, we need to talk about Crumbl.

I love Crumbl. Everyone knows I love Crumbl. But I’m also not eating six cookies every week. Sometimes I’ll grab a box, cut them into quarters, and just have a bite here and there. Sometimes I eat more. Sometimes I don’t. It just depends on where I’m at that day. And I’m not interested in being hard on myself about it anymore.

Same with macros. Sometimes I track. Sometimes I don’t. My weight usually sits somewhere between 165–169, and I genuinely don’t trip about it. What matters more is how I feel. When things feel easier physically? That’s a win. When my pants feel a little tighter than I want? That’s my cue to dial it back in. When I see my little triceps popping through? I’m like okayyy, hello.

Do I want the fitness model on Instagram body? Sure.
Do I visualize it, manifest it, meditate on it? Absolutely.
Do I know it takes time and discipline? Also yes.

But I’m not interested in hating myself into change anymore. I’m interested in respecting myself into consistency.

This season of my life is less about perfection and more about showing up — messy, tired, caffeinated, imperfect — and doing the best I can with the day in front of me.

And honestly? That feels sustainable.

That feels real.

That feels like something I can keep.