when life feels lifey, I’m going to write

I’m All Over the Place and So Is Our Country

This is a brain dump of my thoughts this morning, a week into Trump’s presidency. I’m starting with the heaviness I feel and ending with how I’m using movement to protect my peace and reclaim my autonomy where I can. There’s so much more swirling in my mind—thoughts I’ll share eventually—but for now, here’s a mix of organized and unorganized rambling about what’s on my heart. I feel deeply for so many people, and I can’t quite fathom how this is actually real life.

The Weight of Now

I feel angry. Frustrated. Sad. Upset. Confused. How did we get here? How did so many Americans vote for a group of racist, fascist, ableist, white supremacist individuals to hold power in our country? It feels surreal. Like we knew it would happen. We hoped and prayed that it wouldn’t. But, here we are. It’s hard to reconcile how someone I care for could support values and actions that feel so deeply misaligned with basic empathy and human decency.

I recognize my privilege. I live in comfort, with a safe neighborhood, a warm home, and nice things. I still have this deep feeling of anger and sadness. Maybe it’s because I care. I have compassion—for my neighbors, my community, people I know and people I don’t. This privilege doesn’t shield me from the weight of what’s happening around me. The injustices others face daily is something that I can’t sit back and ignore.

This week I read a quote about families torn apart, children returning from school to find their parents gone. It scared me, but what devastated me more was learning the context. It wasn’t from today—it was Anne Frank in 1943, during the Holocaust. But here we are, in 2025, and it’s happening again. Here. Now. In America.

This is not okay but it is our reality. How do we move forward with our regular routines when the literal weight of the world feels so heavy? Maybe it’s writing, like this. Putting all those thoughts on paper. Maybe you share them with the world, or keep them to yourself. I was hesitant to hit publish on this, but maybe it’s turning those thoughts and feelings into action, even by way of a small Substack post.

We can’t change what’s happening. But we can lean into this discomfort even though it’s hard, focus on compassion and use both to push for change. The wheels are in motion but maybe we find our own ways to protect what matters, to stay resilient, and to reclaim what we can control when everything feels so out of control.

This is not the end. We still have choices. We can still hold on to hope, fight for justice, and show up for each other. One step at a time, one act of care, one decision to stand for what’s right. That’s how we begin.

On Another Note - Body Autonomy

I care deeply about women’s rights and body autonomy. A woman’s right to choose—what to do with her body, what to wear, whether or not to carry a pregnancy to term—is sacred. It’s hers, and hers alone. I know that there are women who would give anything to have a child, and yes, there are others who terminate pregnancies for reasons we may never know. But the core truth remains: it is her choice.

I believe that all bodies matter. All races. All ethnicities. All genders. All abilities. Why is it so hard to meet one another with empathy? We don’t need to understand everyone’s decisions to support them. It seems simple yet has become so complex. Choose empathy. Choose kindness. Choose love. Look after your neighbor. This is basic human decency—Humanity 101.

When our rights are stripped away, it feels like a violation of our very existence. Seeing how easily those in power can disregard our dignity and autonomy serves as a harsh reminder that our bodies are not always our own in the eyes of those in control. Losing control over our bodies is like losing control over the God-given home we inhabit, the vessel we move through this world in. This body is ours to care for—it is not something that belongs to anyone else, least of all the government.

Finding Strength Through Movement

So, what do we do? When it feels like our hands are tied, when everything feels dark and unsettled and the weight of the world feels physically and emotionally heavy, what can we control when it all feels so out of control?

Some days, running my business and creating little social media reels feels silly; like does this even matter. But I remind myself why I do it. My work is more than a personal training business; it is rooted in women’s body autonomy—through movement.

Movement is one thing we can control. We get to choose how to move our bodies. Whether or not to lift heavy weights. To take a walk or go for a run. To decide which group fitness class excites us. We get to decide when we’ve had enough or when we want to keep going (that’s right diet culture, not you, not today; not ever).

Movement is more than physical; it’s about choice and confidence. It’s about reclaiming autonomy and cultivating the resilience to face what we can’t control.

Through movement, we channel anger and frustration in ways that heal us, not harm others. We can lift, punch, push, and pull, releasing what weighs us down without tearing others apart.

Because strength matters—not just the kind that builds muscle, but the kind that fuels our hearts and minds to keep fighting for what’s right.

During times that feel heavy and uncertain, movement reminds us of our power. Each choice we make to move, to care for our bodies, and to prioritize ourselves is an act of resistance. It’s a declaration that we own our autonomy, our strength, and our futures.

We can’t always control what’s happening around us, but we can control how we rise, how we show up, and how we channel our energy to build something better. Movement isn’t just about fitness—it’s about reclaiming ourselves, one step, one lift, one breath at a time.

And Now What?

My friend Jess shared this verse with me and it was fitting for my swirling thoughts and feelings:

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. ~Pslams 34:18

I am down, but not out. I can’t fight the resistance if I stay small and quiet. I can’t be an ally if no one knows I care about them. But I do care. I see you. I am here for you. Whether you were born here, immigrated here, identify as a trans woman, a trans man, are in a same-sex relationship or any member of the LGBTQ+ community, and/or are white, Black, brown, or any other ethnicity, I see you.

I stand with you. We’re in this together, and together, we are strong enough to create change, to challenge injustice, and to build a world where everyone’s humanity is recognized and valued. We will fight for equality, for autonomy, and for each other. We won’t stay silent, and we won’t back down. Our collective strength is unstoppable.