Life and behind the scenes

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I just wanted to thank you for all your support and also recognise that life is hard, and try to give back a little to those I can. I hope to see you all there.

Life has been hard lately. Really hard. And I don't think we talk about that enough.

I've been dealing with significant health challenges for a few years now. Things that have taken a lot from me, physically, emotionally, and financially. And there is something particularly strange about going through that as a health and fitness creator. There is a kind of shame in it. Like you are supposed to be the person who has this figured out. But the reality is genetics and life have their own plans, and none of us get to opt out of that.

My mum was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis at 50. Both my grandfathers died of heart disease. Both my grandmothers had dementia. I have watched my mum navigate 25 years of a degenerative disease and what she has taught me, without ever meaning to... is that health is not the absence of hard things. Health is how you keep finding a way through them.

She is 74. Still driving. Still walking. Most of her friends are bedridden. She just keeps going. She keeps working on her mind, finding ways to cope with the pain, refusing to stop. That is what I think about when things get hard for me. We either find a way or we don't. It's not about being strong enough. It's about what we choose to prioritise when life doesn't go the way we planned. And life has not gone the way I planned lately.

The cost of living keeps climbing. Some months I genuinely don't know what is coming in. I work three jobs with no sick leave and no holiday pay, if I don't work, I don't earn. There is no safety net. Some days that is frightening in a way I don't share online.

What you see is someone fit, capable, consistent. What you don't see is someone who moved abroad for her daughter and family, who loves it here, who calls it home, while quietly missing Australia every single day. My parents are getting older and I feel the distance in a way that is hard to put into words. I wonder how much time I have left with them. These are the choices we make for love. But love and grief can exist in the same breath, and sometimes they do.

I grew up with dyslexia. I nearly failed most of my English classes. The idea of writing a book https://www.amazon.fr/Brave-Beautiful-Baring-All-Happiness/dp/B0854CFVNP was genuinely terrifying and I did it anyway, even though I never made back my advance. I am learning German and I am nowhere near where I want to be. There are so many things I feel behind on, not good enough at, still reaching for. I don't think that feeling ever fully goes away. I think we just get better at carrying it.

I am sharing this because I think a lot of you carry something too. Something you don't show online. Something you smile through. And I want you to know, you are not alone in that. Not even a little bit.

And when everything feels like too much, the body is usually the first place we take it out. We criticise it, push it, punish it, or abandon it entirely. I have done all of those things. All of them. Especially during the hardest stretches, the ones I just described.

What I have learned, slowly and imperfectly, is that body acceptance is not standing in front of a mirror repeating "I love myself" until you believe it. It is something quieter and more uncomfortable than that. It is choosing to stop treating your body like a project to fix and starting to treat it like a home to live in, even when the roof is leaking and you haven't had time to clean.

Our so-called imperfections are rarely just about how we look. They are where years of comparison, other people's comments, unrealistic expectations, and the desperate need for control get stored. The same way grief and love can exist in the same breath, so can care and struggle. Accepting your body doesn't mean you will feel good about it every day. It means that even on the days you don't, you don't abandon yourself. You stay. You listen. You speak to yourself with at least the basic respect you would offer a stranger.

The shift that changed things for me wasn't about shape. It was about relationship. How do I treat myself when I am exhausted? What do I say to myself when I feel vulnerable or not enough? Can I choose care instead of punishment? Can I replace the criticism I was taught with something kinder, even just slightly kinder?

That starts with paying attention. The tight shoulders. The shallow breath. The clenched jaw you don't notice until the end of the day. Responding with small, consistent acts of care. Rest. Water. Movement that feels good rather than corrective. Boundaries that protect what little energy you have left, because when you are already carrying a lot, you cannot afford to spend what remains fighting yourself.

You don't have to become perfect to deserve love. You were born worthy of it. And when you stop fighting yourself, even partially, even imperfectly, something shifts. That energy comes back. It shows up in how you carry yourself, in your eyes, in how you show up for the people around you. That's when your body stops being the enemy and starts being yours again. We rise by lifting each other. I am grateful you are here. 🌿🤍

Love Rhy xo