My story
I Was fighting my body from the age of 15 —And It took me half of my life to make peace with it.
I grew up with a clear idea of what a “good” woman should be: pretty, skinny, nice.
At 15, I started dieting and going to the gym.
What followed was a cycle of restriction → cravings → loss of control → shame → starting over. And getting pulled deeper into that spiral.
Food became the way I coped with everything I couldn’t feel.
That contradiction stayed with me for years. And still does, sometimes.
Becoming Tough
At the same time, I worked multiple jobs and operated in high-pressure, performance-driven environments — mostly surrounded by men.
The feedback I received was: too sensitive, too emotional, too reactive.
So I adapted. I learned to function. To perform. To be tough.
On the outside, that looked like strength.
On the inside, it meant shutting things down.
Pushing beyond my limits
Training became another place to prove myself.
I pushed hard — but not intelligently: too much load, too little fuel.
Over the years, that led to repeated stress fractures and other injuries.
I ignored those signals and kept going. What I was feeding was my eating disorder — not my body.
Breaking down
At 28, I realized that I did not have it under control. My relationship with my body, food and training was not healthy. After years of fighting, I was exhausted — and longing for peace.
I started therapy. And I learned that emotions are directly connected to our needs. I understood that. But only in my head. I still couldn’t actually feel it.
During that time, I suffered physical setbacks: I ruptured the ligaments in my knee twice within 1,5 years. Three surgeries. Months on crutches.
I was terrified of not being able to move. Terrified of losing control. Terrified of gaining weight.
For the first time in years, I couldn’t push through. I had to sit still.
that’s where something shifted.
Learning to feel
My biggest fears and past pain came up. I couldn’t suppress or run from it anymore.
I had to sit with my emotions. For the first time in over a decade, I experienced what it means to feel — not analyzing, not controlling, but actually allowing what’s there.
In that phase, I started working with my body differently: I was forced to slow down and listen more. And so my relationship to training changed.
I stopped using it as a tool for control. And started building strength in a way that supported me — first, physically, and over time, also mentally.
I still have days where I fall back into old patterns. Days where the fear of losing control comes up. Days where I have to remind myself that how my body looks is not my value.
It’s still not easy for me to put my ego aside and run easy, allow myself to rest, or enjoy food without judging myself. But I’m learning.
In Breathwork, I found a way to feel — without losing myself. A space where suppressed emotions can be processed safely. A place where I can come back to myself and find clarity if I feel lost. And where I experience strength in being vulnerable.
For a long time, I thought being strong meant pushing through. Now I see that real strength is feeling what’s there, knowing what I need — and acting accordingly.
Not always pushing. Not always performing.
But staying connected to myself.
Living today
Passing on what I’ve learned
In my work, I bring both sides together:
Personal training to build strength that is sustainable, supportive, and real
Breathwork to create a space where you can feel, process, and reconnect
I want to help people build trust in themselves. To feel confident in their bodies. To feel safe to take up space — and to go after what they actually want. when you trust your body, you start trusting yourself.
Interested in working with me?