I remember being wheeled into the hospital room, the wheels thumping against the floor, the constant shuffle of hospital staff moving patients back and forth. But through it all, the only thing I noticed were my doctor’s dark, focused eyes as he hovered over the rail of my hospital bed.
He said quietly but firmly, “This is a wake-up call, Adrienne. A second chance at life.” October 2014—the day I nearly had a heart attack—was the moment my life would change forever.
The pain hit first—a horrendous, searing ache shooting up my left arm. A sense of doom crashed over me, sharp and immediate. I shouted to my husband, David, “I think I’m having a heart attack!” and we rushed to the hospital. Tests were done frantically, confirming elevated troponin levels, a sign of heart damage.
Next came the heart catheter. Lying there, exposed and vulnerable, I heard them announce my weight: “249 pounds.” Naked, alone, and helpless, the only thing I could do was pray. “Please, God, don’t let me die. My three children still need me.”
That moment was a wake-up call I could no longer ignore. I understood clearly: if I didn’t change, there might not be a life left to change. I left the hospital three days later with high blood pressure medication, an oxygen tank, and instructions for a sleep study. Me? A 36-year-old mom? And just like that, the journey to reclaim my life began.
Growing up, I had been active and confident. Gymnastics was my passion—I loved tumbling, mastering flips, and standing strong on the balance beam. My parents were endlessly supportive, and my gymnastics coach, David, made me feel unstoppable, lifting me and playing air guitar to Van Halen’s Jump.
But life shifted. A new instructor arrived, and I remember the cruel words: “Have you swallowed a watermelon?” Suddenly, I became painfully aware of my body, my mind caught in the trap of comparison. I scrutinized myself, measuring my thighs and stomach against other girls, letting insecurity grow.
High school only intensified the scrutiny. Whispers in algebra class—“Look at how tight her pants are!”—planted seeds of doubt, fear, and shame. It stole my joy and clouded my gifts, yet my mother’s words always lingered: “It is because they’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.” That affirmation resonates with me still, even now, as a mother of three amazing children: Ashley, 19, Austin, 14, and Annabelle, 12.
As a new wife and mother, complacency crept in. I denied the weight gain, ignoring the mounting fatigue and lack of energy. Daily life became a struggle—cleaning, cooking, homeschooling—tasks that felt impossible. My children’s voices echoed, urging me to wake up as I napped mid-day. I hid behind photographs, cropped myself out, or avoided the camera altogether. I had accepted my circumstances and believed I was destined to remain obese.
But everything shifted when I saw my children starting to gain weight alongside me. That realization hit like a thunderbolt. “Sometimes, you need to lose who you were to find who you are.” My family deserved better. I had to fight for my life because nobody else would.
The struggle wasn’t just about exercise—it was about relearning food, balance, and self-respect. I had to confront my comfort-food habits and addiction to fast food, acknowledging that my struggle wasn’t just physical—it was rooted in self-love and self-worth. Once I surrendered honestly to myself, I could finally make a change. I stopped measuring my worth by the scale or my pants size. I chose myself every day.
The journey was grueling. Workouts were emotional, exhausting, and often humbling. Three-pound weights, planks, and the simplest exercises would bring me to tears. My legs shook, my body ached, and I prayed for strength. But I kept going—one day, one pound, one choice at a time. I reminded myself why I started, even when quitting felt easier than continuing.
Results came slowly, then dramatically. The comments of others, both positive and negative, rattled me: “You don’t even look like the same person!” or “You’ve lost too much!” I learned quickly that body shaming can happen at any size. The lesson? Ignore society’s definitions of beauty. Surround yourself with support, accountability, and love, and let your journey be your own.
Gradually, the transformation went beyond the physical. The fear, shame, and rejection that had held me captive began to fade. I felt energized, empowered, and alive again. In just 22 months, I lost 122 pounds—half of myself. One hundred pounds came off in less than a year. My body became strong, my confidence unshakable, and my spirit renewed.
Now, workouts are a priority, my family embraces healthier habits, and my mission is clear: to help others who feel stuck, trapped in their circumstances, or overwhelmed by self-doubt. Transformation for me meant more than weight loss—it meant moving from hiding to helping, from insecurity to empowerment, from exhaustion to abundant energy, from shame to confidence, and from feeling unworthy to embracing worthiness.
You are worth it. The struggles, setbacks, and temptations to quit are all part of the climb. But you can rise above. You can break free from the comparison trap. You can shine in your own skin. Your story doesn’t have to stay the same.
“Don’t let the fear of the time it will take to accomplish something stand in the way of you doing it. The time will pass anyway; we might as well put that passing time to the best possible use.” – Earl Nightingale
