Alexis 'Breck'

I cried through most of my workout today. It took me twice as long to get through it. Honestly, I didn’t want to do it. My body hurt in places it shouldn’t. I struggled with exercises I once could do easily. I felt weak. Frustrated. Angry at myself for letting my health get here, for not showing up sooner, for all the times I let life happen to me instead of for me.

But here’s the thing — I didn’t quit. I finished. I cried, yes, and some of it was because of the workout itself, the frustration, the pain. But mostly… it was life catching up with me. The exhaustion, the major changes, the chaos, trying to put myself first for the first time ever. Those feelings spilled over, and I let myself feel them fully.

I’m proud of myself for showing up anyway. For fighting through frustration, doubt, and tears. Because no one can do this for you. No one is coming to save you. You have to want it more than anything else for yourself. Personal changes are the hardest things we can do. But we CAN do them.

I’m so grateful for my coach — for her grace, support, and understanding, for holding space for me when I felt like giving up. Some days are heavy, some are easier, but showing up anyway? That’s what matters.

One day at a time. One choice at a time. And today, I chose me. 🤍

This year has tested me in every way. I’ve been in that deep, dark space where even existing felt heavy. Climbing out of it hasn’t been easy—it’s messy, slow, and exhausting—but it’s possible. These productive, peaceful days I’ve been having lately… they’re proof that the climb is worth it. It’s hard to be depressed, and it’s hard to get better. We just have to pick our hard. I’m doing it today for tomorrow. 💙😊

Two years ago today.

June 3rd is etched into my bones. It’s the day I heard the words no parent ever wants to hear: Your child has cancer.

It was the worst day of my life. The fear, the unknowns, the helplessness. I didn’t know if he’d survive. I didn’t even understand what leukemia really meant. All I knew was that everything had just changed.

But now—two years later—I don’t see today as just a day of pain. I see it as the day I woke up.

This is his story, and when he’s ready, he’ll tell it in his own way. But this—this is mine. The story of a mom who had to learn how to be strong in ways I never imagined. A mom who started her own healing journey in the middle of trauma. Who changed everything—how we eat, live, think, and care for our bodies—because I had to. Because I wanted to live differently.

It’s been two years of growth. Two years of fight. Two years of watching my son face things that would terrify most adults and come out laughing.

He’s so brave. And that bravery has shaped all of us.

We’ve met incredible people, we’ve endured what I never thought we could, and we’re still here—so proud of the journey we’ve walked.

Today isn’t just about what we went through. It’s about what we became.

To every parent in this fight: your story matters too.

Here’s to perspective. To healing. To living fully, even when life doesn’t go how you planned.

The things this kid has had to endure… Yesterday, Colton had his lumbar puncture. They put him under anesthesia (the anesthesiologist’s suit was our favorite), then took spinal fluid to check for any signs of relapse—because leukemia likes to hide there. After that, they put chemo into his spinal fluid as a precaution, along with intrathecal chemo through his port.

The lumbar puncture can cause headaches, but he’s never had one before. He’s also never thrown up after. But yesterday, he was so sick. He threw up on the way home, fell asleep at 7 PM (an hour and a half before bedtime), and slept straight through until 8 AM. This morning, he woke up feeling like himself again—until the headache hit, and he threw up again. Thankfully, he’s feeling better now.

But man… I just want him to stop missing out on life because of this stupid disease. We have two more LPs to go, and I cannot wait to be done with them. I hate putting him under. I get so much anxiety every time. He hates it. I hate how it makes him feel. I hate having to detox his little body afterward. He deserves to just be a kid.

And little Covey—he’s such a light. Always trying to make us laugh, always distracting Colton from the hard stuff. He’s the best little brother, so loving and protective. Whenever Colton doesn’t feel good, Covey is right there, ready to help in any way he can.

I love my boys so much. I can’t wait for them to just have normal childhoods again.

I did a thing. ✨

If you told me two years ago that I’d be standing outside the temple, I don’t think I would have believed you. My past lifestyle wouldn’t have pointed me here, and honestly, I didn’t tell many people I was going through. This was something deeply personal—something I wanted to do just for me. And I’m so glad I did.

When Colton was diagnosed, my world flipped upside down. We spent a week in the hospital, and when we finally came home on a Friday, I walked into church that Sunday and never looked back. Since then, I’ve learned what it truly means to trust God and my Savior. Giving my burdens to Christ hasn’t taken away the hard things—but it has made them lighter. I can do hard things, but I don’t have to do them alone.

We make life harder than it needs to be. But the second we surrender, the second we stop trying to carry everything by ourselves, things shift. Not that life magically becomes easy—but suddenly, it’s bearable. Peace replaces chaos. Light replaces darkness.

I’ve felt that shift in our home, in my heart, and now, in my body. Walking out of the temple, I physically felt lighter—like I had released years of survival mode, fight-or-flight, and burdens I didn’t even realize I was still carrying. This was part of my healing journey, part of taking care of me—something I’ve learned is just as important as taking care of everyone else.

If you’ve been feeling weighed down, stuck, or like you’re just surviving, I see you. I’ve been there. And I promise, there’s another way. ✨

That is all! ☺️🥳

You don’t need a dinner date or chocolates to feel loved, valued, and radiant. You deserve to be celebrated—by YOU. This love week, let’s shift the focus inward. Book that treatment. Take the long bath. Buy yourself flowers. Speak to yourself with kindness. You don’t need permission to prioritize yourself. You are enough. You are worthy. You are radiant.

Tell me—how are you celebrating YOU this Valentine’s Day?

Drop a comment and let’s share self-love ideas!