The Wake-Up Call

For years, I lived at full throttle—juggling work, family, outdoor and gym recreation, and our mini farm responsibilities. Although I was convinced that I was thriving, subtle warning signs began to appear. I experienced a deep sense of fatigue, narrowing of vision, and bright lights—both the sun and fluorescent lights hurt my eyes. Loud sounds and large groups of people overwhelmed me. I dealt with brain fog, dizzy spells, digestive troubles, mood swings, and food cravings. There was also this strange sound in my left ear, which I referred to as more than just a loud heartbeat always sounding off.

I dismissed each symptom as a temporary inconvenience. I always had so much to do. Besides, I had sought help from chiropractors, acupuncturists, massage therapists, and naturopaths for decades. We raised our own farm meat, vegetables, and fruit. I had home-canned for years and bought and ate organic food for a large portion of my diet. I wasn’t a junk-food addict; I didn’t smoke, drink sodas, or drink excessively. I did enjoy a nice glass of red wine periodically and my morning fresh ground, organic coffees! Plus, I loved to bake and eat anything sweet—that has always been my closest and truest addiction. So, I thought I was healthy and could not understand why things seemed to be spiraling downhill for me.

Life was stressful at this time—more stressful than I had ever managed before. But I never shied away from it. I leaned in with all I had, carried the load, and prayed I would make it out the other side. That was until one morning when I got out of my recliner to use the bathroom. I thought I was going to sit down on the toilet, but when I came fully back to consciousness, I had slammed down onto the side of the bathtub several feet away from where I was anticipating. I had an awake “black-out.” Something was unfolding, and it was beginning to look like I was indeed having some type of problem. My brain was not working at full capacity; my eyes were doing strange things, and the very hairs on my head hurt to the touch. I felt woozy and spaced out a lot of the time. What in the world was happening to me? Whatever it was, I had no control over it, and I could not fix it.

It was both frightening and humbling. I understood then that my body had been whispering for help for a long while, and I had ignored its pleas. My journey toward recovery began at what I thought was my lowest point, with the acceptance that something had to change. Later, I would discover that I had yet lower to go before I could even begin to crawl out of the dark and lonely hole I found myself in.

Seeking Answers

Navigating the medical world was daunting. I had chatted with a few of my natural doctors, but most seemed to point to the idea that stress was my main culprit. My symptoms worsened even though I was taking steps to reduce and remove the stressors I could identify. I began visiting a series of specialists, underwent blood tests, scans, emergency room visits, and endless questionnaires. The process was frustrating—at times, it felt like I was more a collection of symptoms than a human being. Yet, every appointment taught me something new about advocacy, patience, and the importance of asking questions. I didn’t give up on myself. Something wasn’t right. I had several possible diagnoses, but nothing seemed to ring quite true.

I approached each new idea presented to me with hope and a deepening desire to learn everything about each new label, pre-diagnosis, and test result. I went on a self-detoxing program but found out that it wasn’t the right time for that, as I continued to get sicker. I read a great book, “Fast Like a Girl.” This seemed like it would be my golden ticket to getting my body to begin to heal. Unfortunately, I discovered that at the point I went into long fasting, my body was already too unwell to pull itself through the experience, and I ended up in the Walk-In Clinic hooked up to IVs.

I was getting desperate. I had been positively diagnosed with papilledema—my optic discs were unwell, and the optic nerves in my eyes were dying. I was losing some of my vision. My brain and entire body were very inflamed—my brain so much so that the sound in my left ear was loud all the time, and it hurt my hair to touch it, let alone try to pull it back into a hair clip.

By early June of 2023—over two years into the process—I found myself on the brink of feeling lost. I was at my weakest in all ways, and it felt like my very life force was on the brink of being extinguished. A treasured friend, after praying for my health all night, called me in the morning and gave me the breadcrumb that would end up turning my journey around. She recommended I find an author by the name of Dr. Sherry A. Rogers and pick up a book of hers. I did—I read almost every book she published; I found almost all the podcasts and interviews she had ever done. I read most of her newsletters—I scoured, researched, and devoured everything I could find. Each new thing I learned felt like I had found my truth—the answers I needed. Eventually, I consulted directly with Dr. Rogers, who is both very wise and a compassionate doctor whose feet are in both the medical world and the natural world. I was additionally diagnosed with a combination of candida, substantial amino acids and nutritional deficiencies, possible vaccine injury, and a lifestyle that simply wasn’t sustainable. While the diagnosis was a relief, it also came with a sense of responsibility; my recovery would require my full commitment, honesty, and the courage to let go of old habits.

The Turning Point: Small Steps, Big Changes

Recovery didn’t start with grand gestures. It began, instead, with small, deliberate choices. I started prioritizing sleep, setting an even earlier bedtime, and creating a calming nighttime routine. I took naps and rested during the day whenever I needed it—something I had NEVER done my entire life. I re-examined my relationship with food, swapping out sugary snacks for nourishing whole foods. I learned to pause, breathe, and check in with myself throughout the day.

Exercise, which had become almost nonexistent, became a celebration of what my body could do. I found joy in gentle movement—walking the short distance to see my folks who live beside me had now become such a tiring activity (almost like what I think a full day at the gym would feel like). I engaged in light stretching, earthing/grounding, and meditations—rather than punishing, high-intensity workout sessions. Each step forward built my confidence and helped me appreciate even the smallest victories.

Emotional Healing: The Inner Work

Physical health is deeply intertwined with emotional well-being. As my body began to mend, I realized that I needed to address the mental patterns that had contributed to my burnout. With the help of my Bible and a small circle of friends, along with conversations with my natural health guides, I began to explore long-standing beliefs about worthiness, productivity, living up to others’ expectations, and self-care. I had spent my life trying to be a people-pleaser.

I learned that it was okay to set boundaries, to ask for help (I still struggle with this one today—but I have improved), and to say “no” without guilt. I also began practicing mindfulness and meditation, which helped quiet my inner critic and cultivate self-compassion.

Finding Support in Community

One of the greatest lessons I learned is that healing is not meant to be a solitary endeavor. Opening up to friends and family about my struggles was challenging but incredibly freeing. Their support—whether in the form of a listening ear, a home-cooked meal, or a gentle reminder to rest—was instrumental in my recovery.

I also found comfort in online natural health and wellness groups. Hearing others share their stories made me feel less alone and inspired me to keep moving forward, even when progress felt slow.

Redefining Success and Embracing Change

Recovery taught me to redefine what success means. Instead of measuring my worth by productivity or perfection, I began to value authenticity, balance, and joy. Setbacks became opportunities to learn rather than reasons for self-judgment.

Along the way, I rediscovered passions I had tabled—reading, putting my hands into the dirt, nurturing a small garden, touching the plants, feeling the grass beneath my feet, and soaking in the warmth of the sun on my cheek. I also began creating herbal remedies. Each rediscovered interest became a thread in the fabric of my well-being.

Maintaining Wellness: New Habits, New Mindset

Although I’m no longer in crisis mode, my journey is ongoing. I’ve learned that health isn’t a destination, but a way of living—one that requires ongoing attention and care. I continue to check in with myself regularly, enjoy progress, and adjust my habits as my needs evolve.

I try to feel the earth under my feet daily, make time for some type of gentle movement each day, and stay connected to the people who uplift me. I’m more attuned to the signals my body sends, and I honor those messages rather than ignoring them.

Advice for Fellow Travelers

If you find yourself struggling with your health, know that you are not alone. Here are some lessons I wish I’d understood sooner:

• Listen to your body. Symptoms are messages, not inconveniences.

• Ask for support. Healing is easier when shared.

• Start small. Tiny changes can yield big results over time.

• Be kind to yourself. Progress is rarely linear.

• Celebrate every victory, no matter how small.

  
  

Looking Ahead

Recovery has been the hardest—and most rewarding—journey of my life. It required me to confront uncomfortable truths, let go of old patterns, and embrace vulnerability. But it also gifted me with resilience, gratitude, and a renewed sense of purpose. I am thankful for my experience—it is exactly what I needed. It has put me back on my course, and I am headed in the direction I was designed to go.

Today, the hairs on my head no longer hurt, there are no more collapsing episodes, I can go into the sunlight without sunglasses, I am more tolerant of larger groups and louder sounds, the ringing is gone from my ear, my brain is better able to process things, and I have recovered over 50% of the vision I had lost. I no longer consume daily coffee or caffeine fixes, and I rarely have a glass of red wine. I do eat sugar again—but that is another battle for tomorrow or the next day, to begin eliminating it again.

My hope is that by sharing my story, I can offer hope and encouragement to anyone embarking on their own health journey. Remember: healing is possible, and every step forward counts.

Thank you for reading, and for walking this path with me.

with love,

Jodi