Today, I Showed Up

One Thursday night in February, I was humbled.

Violently.

Food poisoning does not care about gym streaks or carefully planned weeks. It does not negotiate with your goals. It simply empties you out at two in the morning and reminds you who is actually in charge.

By Friday, I was supposed to celebrate. Three gym visits in a single week. A small but meaningful victory. Followed by a girl's night to celebrate National Susan Day.

Instead, I made it from my bed to the couch, where I promptly passed out again until 4pm.

Saturday brought more sleep. Sunday brought normalcy, but not strength. I wasn’t ready to integrate movement back into my routine. My body felt like a house after a storm. Standing, but unsettled.

Then Monday rolled in. A full workday. A reiki appointment. No realistic path to the gym. The easy answer would have been, Not today.

But for the past month, I’ve been reflecting. Daily. Weekly. Monthly. I reflect on what I set out to do and what I actually followed through on. I reflect so I can adjust. Adapt. Overcome.

This year, my word is Integration. Not intensity. Not perfection. Integration.

Integration means I don’t abandon myself when life interrupts. It means I fold the disruption into the process instead of letting it derail me. It means I honor the woman I am becoming while still carrying the woman I have been.

For nine years, I felt stuck. Today, I showed up and found joy.

Today, I showed up.

For nine years, I have struggled in ways both visible and invisible. I grew tired of being the slug on the couch. Tired of not writing. Tired of watching goals gather dust. Tired of telling myself stories about menopause, weight gain, and stagnation.

And lately, I feel something shifting. I feel myself returning.

One theme keeps surfacing in my reflections: I have to keep showing up. Nothing moves if I don’t move. Nothing grows if I stay still.

Monday night, I didn’t need a perfect workout. I needed presence. I came home from reiki energized in that quiet, cellular way. Ate some of my takeout. Turned on the Actor Awards. Stepped onto the walking pad.

Five minutes at 2.5 to warm up. Slow. Reacquainting.

At minute five, I nudged it to 2.8. Testing. Then 3.0. Then 3.2.

And I held it there for 23 minutes. Sweating. Steady. Focused.

At minute 23, my feet began to falter...I couldn't keep up with the pace. I was two minutes shy of 25 at 3.2. The old version of me might have forced it for the number. Might have pushed through just to claim the metric.

Instead, I listened. I dropped back to 2.8. At 25 minutes, I slowed again. Five-minute cool down. No disappointment. No internal criticism. Just completion.

That is Integration too. Not quitting. Not punishing. Not proving. Adjusting.

For nine years, I have told myself stories about being stuck. About being unfit. About not being able to get out of my own way. But when I show up, those stories begin to dissolve.

I’m not broken. I’m rebuilding.

Joy, I’m discovering, is not fireworks. It’s not a dramatic before-and-after reveal. It’s quieter than that. It’s the steady warmth that rises when you honor your effort.

Showing up can be simple. It can be complicated. Life will interrupt. Bodies will revolt. Schedules will rearrange themselves. But when I integrate instead of abandon, joy follows.

Today, I showed up. Maybe today you can too. Not perfectly. Not intensely. Just honestly.

What would it look like for you to integrate instead of quit? Just for today.