Why Wellness?

I didn’t wake up one day as Your Wellness Homegirl. I had to fight to become her.

This persona was forged through years of struggle — years of lacking wellness, experiencing trauma, and searching for meaning.

The Early Years: A Battle Against Isolation

My lack of wellness started in childhood. Growing up, I suffered extreme bullying. Attending a competitive, predominantly white private school as a Black child was challenging, to say the least.

To make matters worse, I was an outspoken, intelligent Black girl who spent more time with adults than kids my own age.

I skipped several grades and was in third grade by the time I was six. Between my lack of social experience and the constant shifts in my learning environment, I never got the chance to fit in. I was a prime target for bullying.

On top of that, I chose the one sport that Black people aren’t supposed to do — competitive swimming. I faced constant microaggressions from teammates, coaches who refused to train me, and blatant racism from competitors. My self-confidence was under siege, and between school and the pool, my social and emotional wellness were in shambles.

At home, things weren’t much better. The tension between my parents was suffocating. I watched their love fade, robbing me of the warmth of an affectionate home. By the time I was nine, they divorced, shattering my sense of security.

Lost and Out of Place

After the divorce, my mother, little brother, and I moved to Philly. Overnight, I went from being a suburban private school kid to navigating an inner-city public school for the first time.

I quickly realized I was too white for the Black kids and too Black for the white kids. Once again, I was the odd one out.

As I juggled all these life changes, puberty hit, and my mental health spiraled — fast. I remember reaching out to my mother for help, only to be told:

“Just pray about it. We all go through things.”

What did that even mean to an 11-year-old?

I prayed, but nothing changed. The God I thought I needed seemed absent, and my spiritual wellness crumbled.

After that, no one ever checked in on me again — because I was still doing what I was supposed to do.

Straight A’s. National-level swimming. Certainly, I must be fine.

But I wasn’t.

No one knew I was cutting myself.

No one knew I was slowly becoming addicted to painkillers.

No one knew I had developed an eating disorder.

No one knew I hated everything about myself and my life.

In my attempt to cope with my unwellness, I had started attacking my physical wellness.

A Cycle of Survival

This cycle continued through high school. Then, something happened that shattered whatever self-worth I had left.

I was raped.

It stripped me of the last piece of identity I had — me. I already felt out of place, unseen, and unheard. But after that I didn’t just feel lost— I felt powerless.

The only thing I had left to cling to was being a good student. If I could perform, If I could achieve, then maybe I still mattered.

So I poured everything into school. I graduated college at 16 and moved onto campus, but my broken relationship with my parents meant they refused to support me financially.

So there I was — still unable to sign my own permission slips, yet drowning in adult-level bills.

Financial wellness? I didn’t even have a shot.

Balancing school, four jobs, tuition, and the pressure to succeed, I turned to what I knew best:

Numbing the pain so I could keep going.

Drugs. Alcohol. Sex.

As long as I was getting good grades, I must be fine, right?

But chronic stress and self-destruction have consequences. I landed in the hospital several times.

Then, everything came crashing down.

The night Everything Changed

At the end of my first semester, I got a 2.8 GPA.

After maintaining a 4.0 all through high school, my world shattered.

Suddenly, I couldn’t produce results.

And if I couldn’t perform… then what was the point of me?

That’s when I made the decision to end my life.

April 5, 2018 is a day I will never forget.

I took over 70 pills, determined to end my suffering.

But God personally intervened.

He showed up — convincing me to call for help.

I survived, despite going into acute metabolic acidosis and being unconscious for three days. But survival came at a cost — I spent two of the worst weeks of my life in a mental institution.

That experience made one thing clear — I had to do something about my wellness.

I refused to relive that pain.

The Journey to Wellness

I started therapy. Tried experimenting with different treatments. Rebuilt my relationship with God. Educated myself on what it truly meant to live well.

Then, the pandemic hit.

Everything I had worked for came to a screeching halt.

Old habits resurfaced. I found myself in a toxic cycle — abusive relationships, desperate choices, and old self-destructive habits.

I was spiraling — again.

Then, a series of tragic events shook me awake.

First, I found out I was pregnant.

When I told my partner, he wrecked my apartment and put his hands on me.

Shortly after, I got into a horrific car accident that should have killed or seriously injured me.

And finally, out of concern for my safety and that of my unborn child, I made the heartbreaking decision to terminate the pregnancy so I could sever ties with my abuser for good.

The Turning Point

That moment forced me to make a choice.

I knew that if I continued on this path, one way or another, I would not survive.

For so long, I thought I was beyond saving.

But I wasn’t.

God had already saved me — I just had to stop running from it and choose to live like it.

I realized wellness couldn’t be about perfection — it was about choosing myself even when I didn’t feel worthy of the choice.

I could either continue living in self-destruction…

Or I could fight for my wellness.

I chose to fight.

And that’s how Your Wellness Homegirl was born — not out of perfection, but out of pain.

Out of learning, unlearning, and choosing, every single day, to heal.

This journey wasn’t about looking good or being strong for others.

It was about reclaiming myself — body, mind, and spirit.

It was about finally giving myself the care and compassion I had spent years searching for in all the wrong places.

And now, my mission is to help others do the same.

If you’ve ever felt lost, broken, or like you didn’t belong — trust me, I see you.

I am you.

And I want you to know:

Wellness isn’t a destination. It’s a choice.

A choice to learn to thrive, not just survive.

Every single day, we choose.

And today? I choose me.

Choosing to heal and turn off survival mode can be one of the hardest decisions you’ll ever make.

But I’m living proof that it’s possible.

And if I can do it, so can you.

And I’ll be here, reminding you every step of the way:

You are worthy of wellness, too.