I didn’t set out to become someone who documented her health journey.

Honestly, I didn’t even know if I wanted people to know.

For a bit, I kept it close. I was processing the diagnosis, trying to understand what was happening to my body, while still being a mom, a wife, a teacher, and the person everyone else was used to seeing.

But somewhere along the way, I realized something.

Sometimes the people who give you strength don’t even know they’re doing it.

For me, it started with Jessie Morales and The Breast Chapter.

I have a personal connection to Jessie, so watching her openly document her journey was different for me. I knew her. I knew what a special person she was. And I could only admire her bravery.

She didn’t hide the hard parts.

She shared them.

And there was something incredibly powerful about watching someone I knew face something so scary with so much honesty and courage.

Then came Courtney.

Another strong woman in my life battling breast cancer.

I remember thinking, How can this be?

Two strong, beautiful women I knew personally, both facing this awful disease.

Courtney was strong. She was open. She was always smiling. She was a force to be reckoned with.

Watching her navigate her battle stayed with me.

Then came Biannca Champagne.

Biannca experienced an awful health scare and openly shared about listening to your body. Her words hit me in a way I can’t really explain.

Listen to your body.

So I started listening.

I started pushing my doctors.

I started asking more questions.

I started saying, Something isn’t right.

And eventually, I got my diagnosis.

Cushing’s disease.

Suddenly, all of those moments came rushing back to me.

The women who had shared their stories.

The people who had been brave enough to let others see behind the curtain.

The reminders that sometimes you have to advocate for yourself.

And the realization that sharing your story can change someone else’s.

When I got my diagnosis, my mom, my sister, Stacey, and my husband were behind me one hundred percent.

They checked in.

They listened.

They worried.

They showed up.

They were my people.

But outside of that small circle, I didn’t really know what to do.

And then, one Friday morning, Jordan Jones called me.

She offered to help with my four-year-old.

Just like that.

No big reason.

No expectation.

Just kindness.

I remember thinking, Wow. People really care.

That moment meant more to me than she probably realized.

It made me start thinking about all of the people who had helped me without even knowing they were helping me.

Jessie.

Courtney.

Biannca.

Jordan.

People who shared their stories. So many others I love dearly and haven’t named.

People who spoke honestly.

People who showed me what courage could look like.

And they probably had no idea how much their words and actions would eventually impact me.

So I decided to let it out.

I started telling people.

I started letting people in.

I started talking about Cushing’s disease instead of quietly carrying it around.

And somewhere in that process, I realized that maybe my story isn’t just mine.

Maybe someone else is sitting in a doctor’s office right now knowing that something isn’t right.

Maybe someone feels alone.

Maybe someone is scared.

Maybe someone has just received a diagnosis and has no idea what comes next.

Maybe someone just needs to see another person say, “Me too.”

If sharing the messy, scary, emotional, funny, frustrating, completely unexpected parts of this journey helps even one person feel less alone, then it is worth it.

I don’t know where this road is going to take me.

I don’t know what every chapter will look like.

But I do know this:

I was helped by people who didn’t even know they were helping me.

Their courage gave me courage.

Their openness gave me permission to be open.

Their stories reminded me that I didn’t have to walk through something difficult completely alone.

So now I’m choosing to share mine.

Not because I have all the answers.

Not because I have this figured out.

But because maybe, somewhere along the way, my story can be that little bit of strength for someone else.

And if even one person finds comfort, courage, or the push they need to listen to their body because of something I share…

then I’m glad I opened the door and let you in.

This is my Cushing’s journey.

This is my story.

And this is me, finally finding the courage to tell it.