Hello, my friends.

Please forgive my radio silence for the past eight weeks.

I took an intentional break from work last month to focus on my final stretch of pregnancy. I buried my nose in books and academic literature about how to care for a newborn. I was nesting, preparing, and buying baby gear. We don't have family nearby so it's just me and my husband figuring this out together.

I also took a social media fast. Deleted all those apps from my phone.

The algorithm had figured out I was pregnant and kept showing me perfect mom influencers that only made me feel inadequate. So I chose freedom instead. I only logged in on my desktop twice weekly to connect with family and close friends.

And then, a few weeks ago, our healthy baby girl arrived.

I’m overwhelmed with gratitude.

These past weeks have been sacred to me. I’ve been completely immersed in watching this beautiful tiny human grow, soaking in every precious moment with my husband, healing my body, and honestly? Not caring one bit about work, personal projects, or newsletters.

Some seasons demand our full presence.

This was one of them.

When my baby emerged from my body, relief flooded through me the instant I heard her cry. Even though my pregnancy had been smooth and complication-free, worries had still lurked in the back of my mind.

I was shivering from the epidural. They told me I had a mild fever, but I didn’t care. My eyes locked onto her as the nurse weighed and measured her. For a moment, I might have seemed crazy—I needed to keep her in my sight. It was probably some primal instinct. I wanted to make sure no one would take my baby away.

Then they placed her on my chest.

My shivering stopped. Her crying stopped. The whole world went still.

I whispered a prayer of gratitude in my heart. Then the thought hit me: "My gosh, I'm a mom now. I can't go out of the house whenever I want to anymore."

Later, in the postpartum room, when I could finally see her face clearly, ten years of memories came flooding back. All the waiting. The desperation. The preparations. The hope. The disappointment. The trying again. All of it.

And then, like a whisper from somewhere deep, another thought arrived: Yes, I waited this long for her. But, she waited for me too.

Now that she’s here, safe in my arms, all those years of pain feel like nothing. Like a dream I can barely remember.

But she did wait for me.

She waited for me to heal—physically from cancer, emotionally from the shame of feeling “broken.”

She waited for me to learn how to love myself enough to change my habits. To stop punishing my body and start nourishing it. To forgive myself for not being perfect.

She waited for me to learn how to set boundaries. To protect my inner peace. To stop letting others’ opinions derail my progress.

She waited for me to face my fears instead of numbing them with food or avoiding them with busyness.

She waited for me to develop real faith and hope—not the superficial kind, but the deep, tested kind that survives disappointment after disappointment.

She waited for me to become aligned with my deepest values.

Those 10 years of waiting purged me, refined me, changed me in ways I'm still discovering.

Change is painful.

Change is uncomfortable.

But my baby—she's worth every moment of discomfort, every difficult choice, every time I had to choose growth over comfort.

I hope I changed enough. I hope I continue to grow and become the mother she needs me to be.

I'm actually grateful for those 10 years of waiting. They gave me time to examine my heart, to ask myself hard questions: Do I really want this? Or am I just jealous watching friends have babies? Am I trying to please others? Meet expectations? Check a box?

The waiting forced me to find my real answer. My true "why."

Six months ago, when I visited family in the Philippines, my brother told a friend: "When it comes to food and health, she is the complete opposite from before."

Complete opposite.

He's right.

I used to hate vegetables—would pick them off my plate no matter how my parents pleaded. I lived on meat, deep-fried everything, and junk food. Exercise was punishment, not joy. Health was something I’d deal with “later.”

When I started to change my diet and doing regular kickboxing, people close to me called me “crazy” and “too much.” Those words stung, especially from people I loved.

But I kept going anyway. Even when others wouldn’t. Even when it felt lonely.

Because somewhere deep down, I knew she was waiting for me to become ready.

I shared this in my pregnancy announcement newsletter, but it bears repeating because it’s even more meaningful now:

Years ago, when my doctor told me I'd need to wait again after disappointing blood work from a cancer check-up, he saw the devastation on my face. He said something that changed everything: "Don't let this stop you from living your life."

So I didn’t.

I turned waiting time into growth time.

During those years, my husband and I moved to a new country. I earned my doctorate in physical therapy. I got certified in lifestyle medicine and nutrition—choosing to become certified myself rather than hire a coach because I wanted these skills for life. I even started a YouTube channel (my husband's idea that I initially resisted).

Most importantly, I focused on my health through the fundamentals: whole food plant-based nutrition, regular movement, quality sleep, stress management, avoiding harmful substances, and meaningful connections.

The approach worked. My cancer went into remission with the help of my doctors and my own consistent efforts.

I want you to understand that I didn’t do it perfectly. Not even close.

But I learned to be consistent AND flexible at the same time. I learned to adapt instead of abandon. To iterate instead of quit.

A close friend once told me, “You didn’t just teach and practice lifestyle medicine. You became lifestyle medicine.”

Looking back, I realize the real prize wasn’t the goal itself. It was who I became in pursuit of it.

And even if this pregnancy hadn't happened, I would have known I gave my absolute best. No guilt. No self-blame. No seeing myself as a failure. That freedom alone was worth the journey.

But it did happen. She’s here. Sleeping on my chest as I dictate my words and edit this one-handed.

If my 18-year-old self could see me now—holding my baby, cancer in remission, living with purpose—she would be proud. And comforted. She’d know that despite all the challenges ahead, everything would be okay.

Throughout those ten years, my health goal was simple: just be healthy enough to bear a child safely. I wasn’t even expecting my cancer to disappear completely. I just wanted to avoid radiation.

Just healthy enough.

That felt like enough.

That was layer one.

When I became pregnant, I discovered layer two: taking care of myself meant taking care of the baby growing inside me. Every healthy meal, every walk, every good night's sleep—it all nourished her.

Now that she’s here, my "why" has deepened even further.

If I take care of myself, I can better take care of her. It’s that simple and that profound.

But there’s an even deeper layer, one that brings tears to my eyes when I think about it:

One day, she’ll be grown. She’ll be pursuing her dreams, maybe starting her own family. And when that day comes, I want her to feel free. Free to live her life fully without constantly looking back to check if I'm okay.

Without worrying about my health.

Without the burden I've felt watching loved ones choose not to care for themselves.

I've been on both sides now. I've seen how family and friends worry about me when I battled with cancer. I also know what it feels like to watch loved ones slowly destroy their health through their choices. I’ve seen it personally, and I’ve witnessed it professionally as a physical therapist, meeting with patients and their exhausted, worried families.

That burden. That constant anxiety. That guilty feeling of living your life while worrying about someone else’s declining health.

I refuse to give that to my daughter.

My health is one of the greatest gifts I can give her—not just now, but decades from now.

Peace of mind. Freedom.

The security of knowing her mother is taking care of herself.

That’s my ultimate why.

Can I be honest about something no one really talks about?

I researched everything about the baby. Breast milk storage. Nutrition for nursing mothers. Sleep schedules. Diaper brands. Baby gear. I wanted scientific evidence for everything (much to the amusement of family members suggesting remedies like moringa leaves, oatmeal cookies and supplements for milk supply—the scientist in me had to fact-check it all).

But I forgot to research about my own recovery.

And oh, my body hurts. Everywhere. Even though I feel lighter without a baby inside me, I move slowly. I can’t do as much around the house as I want to. I thought I’d bounce back faster—after all, I had all these healthy habits in place, right?

Recovery is humbling, even when you’ve done everything “right.”

Though I will say this: I’m deeply grateful for those prenatal exercises I did religiously for months. When I couldn’t feel anything from the waist down during delivery because of the epidural, muscle memory kicked in. My body knew how to push effectively even without physical feedback.

Isn't that the perfect metaphor?

The habits we build work even when we can't feel the immediate feedback. They're stored in us, ready when we need them.

Sleep is my biggest challenge now. The baby's feeding schedule, the diaper changes, the holding and soothing—it's beautiful and exhausting. My husband and I take shifts. I sleep whenever I can—20 minutes here, an hour there.

The scientist in me knows this is temporary.

The mother in me doesn’t care.

Every moment I spend feeding her, changing her, holding her while she sleeps—I’m acutely aware that time will fly. Soon enough, I’ll miss these interrupted nights.

So I flex. I don’t abandon. I adapt my habits to this season rather than waiting for “perfect conditions” to return.

Here's what I know for sure: consistency doesn't mean perfection.

I put cancer into remission while working full-time as a physical therapist.

I maintained my healthy habits through pregnancy while still working full-time.

Now I’m flexing, iterating—not abandoning my health habit through the beautiful chaos of new motherhood.

The fundamentals work, even when life gets messy. Especially when life gets messy.

Over the coming weeks, I’ll be teaching you exactly HOW to maintain healthy habits through busy schedules, stressful situations and major life transitions. Not only the theory and the science—you can find that anywhere. But the real, practical, and sometimes messy implementation.

How to flex instead of abandon.

How to iterate instead of quit.

How to build habits that survive real life with all its messiness and beauty and unexpected challenges.

Because if I can do this—through building a career, through cancer, through 10 years of waiting, through pregnancy, through these exhausting, sacred early weeks of motherhood—you can do this through whatever season you're navigating.

The principles remain the same.

I have so much to share with you.

But first, I want to ask you something: What's YOUR ultimate why?

Not the surface-level “I want to lose weight” or “I want more energy.” But the deep, soul-level why that will sustain you when motivation fades and life gets complicated.

What’s worth changing for?

Who’s waiting for you to become the person you’re meant to be?

Your "why" doesn't have to be a baby. It could be aging parents you want to care for. A business that requires your energy. A mission that needs you healthy. Adventures you want to take. Grandchildren you haven't met yet. A spouse you want to grow old with.

But it needs to be yours. And it needs to matter more than the discomfort of change.

Hit reply and tell me: What's worth changing for in your life? What transition are you navigating? What habit are you trying to maintain while life throws you curveballs?

Your stories, your struggles, your victories—they matter to me.

Thank you for your patience during my sacred pause.

Thank you for being here as I navigate this new phase.

And thank you for being part of this community that believes in flexibility over perfection, evidence over hype, and long-term transformation over quick fixes.

Welcome to my new season. I'm so glad you're here for it.

With gratitude (and a sleeping baby),

Grazelle 🌱

PS:

Whenever you’re ready, here are some other (free) resources you can check out: