Choosing Myself: The Moment I Stopped Surviving and Started Living
- Apr 7
- 3 min read
By Alison Kero
Ironically, I was at a low point when I decided to stop dimming myself. The beginning of 2025 was miserable for me in a way that felt all-consuming. I hated my job, my life, my body, and most of all, my silence. I was exhausted from pretending I was fine when I wasn’t. On my commute to work, I would literally daydream about getting into a car accident—not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted a reason to stop. I wanted an exit from a life that felt unbearable without having to explain myself.
Then, in February, my chronic Lyme disease was retriggered, and my body forced the pause I had been mentally begging for. I could barely think. I could barely move. Simple tasks felt monumental.
I went on short-term disability, and for the first time in a long time, everything stopped. No distractions. No performing. No pushing through. Just me, my health, and the truth I had been avoiding.
It was in that stillness that something shifted. I realized I could not go back to the way I had been living. I wasn’t willing to survive anymore—I wanted to live. I wanted a life that felt aligned, nourishing, and honest. So I made a decision that changed everything: I chose myself.
I hired a coach. I changed my diet. I found a doctor who actually listened to me and treated me like a whole person, not a collection of symptoms.
I committed to daily movement, even when it was gentle and slow. I worked on my mental health with the same seriousness I gave my physical health. None of it was glamorous. None of it was instant. But it was intentional.
Along the way, I started creating boundaries—real ones. Not just with other people, but with myself. I stopped saying yes when my body and spirit were screaming no. I paid attention to what I consumed, not just in food, but in conversations, media, commitments, and relationships. I began asking myself questions I had never slowed down enough to ask before: Does this align with my goals, my morals, my values? Does this support the life I’m trying to build? Does this bring me closer to feeling healthy, grounded, and alive—or is it just clutter?
That word, clutter, took on a whole new meaning. I realized clutter isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. Mental. Energetic. It’s the habits that drain you, the relationships that keep you small, the beliefs that tell you to settle. Clearing it wasn’t about perfection; it was about making space for what actually mattered.
And then I did the most important thing of all: I kept showing up for myself. Every single day. Some days it looked like strength and discipline. Other days it looked like rest and compassion. But I showed up anyway. Focusing on my health became an anchor. It helped me reclaim my power when everything else felt uncertain. It reminded me that I had agency, even on the hard days.
I don’t apologize for wanting to be the best version of myself. I don’t apologize for prioritizing my health, my growth, or my boundaries. Becoming the healthiest, most aligned version of me isn’t selfish—it’s necessary. It’s the only way I can make the difference I’m here to make. The only way I can truly show up for others, for my work, and for my life.
How could anyone apologize for doing that?
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