Estimated reading time: 6 minutes

Unstitching the Cage

The hum of a Singer sewing machine provided the first soundtrack I ever truly loved. Long before I learned the aggressive, rhythmic thud of barbells, that steady needle pulse promised order which is what I craved most.

During high school, while other students stressed over prom corsages, I hunched over yards of satin and velvet. I crafted royalty out of fabric while they sweated in the gymnasium. Although I didn’t go to Prom myself, I made absolutely sure my friends looked like queens when they stepped onto that wooden floor.

I possessed a real gift for making things alongside a dangerous habit of holding my breath. If you sew, you understand that the craft requires mastering the invisible details. You obsess over thread tension and hidden seams to ensure the garment holds together. My worst habit involved keeping a mouthful of silver pins while I worked. Every seamstress knows exactly what I am talking about. It is a terrible idea, completely irresponsible, and somehow we all do it anyway. I tucked them between my lips, pulling them out one by one to piece the fabric together. You figure that as long as you are careful, nothing bad will happen.

trading steel needles for digital pins

One violent sneeze later, I went from aspiring fashion designer to medical case study. I raced to the hospital with a sewing pin lodged in my lung. Turns out pins and lungs are not meant to meet; who knew? I survived the lung injury, but I kept the habit; trading steel needles for digital ones. For the last almost decade in CrossFit, I stood at the whiteboard with a mouthful of “likes” and “follows,” terrified that if I really just leaned into the whole person I am, I’d swallow the pins and choke.

I never became a world-famous Games athlete, but I built a solid reputation as a coach. My corner of the ecosystem grew, earning me a rightful spot at the whiteboard. Behind the chalk and my own PRs however, I held my breath for years. Losing a single follower or accidentally upsetting someone online terrified me constantly. Disagreeing with anything or challenging anyone in the community felt completely off-limits. Whenever someone put me down, I carefully calculated my words just to play the honorable peacemaker. Now I don’t regret my replies but many of those cruel comments brought me to tears before I posted that response. Fearing judgment and the loss of my peace pushed me to construct a beautiful, exhausting cage of my own making. Everyone always told me how strong I was, but they never saw the quiet moments when some days was just too much.

starving the ego

Everything shifted when I spent forty days in the wilderness on that fast. When you step away from the noise for that long, the experience does more than empty your stomach. It starves your ego and methodically unstitches every imaginable lie you tell yourself, including the one about needing to fit in. Not only do you see it in yourself, you start to see it in every other person. Many of us do this in the CrossFit space to feel accepted. Let’s be honest, it’s not just limited to CrossFit. We see this behavior everywhere. We buy the right shoes, post the workouts, and edit everything while omitting all of the other things that make us beautiful and human. By the time I came out on the other side, that eggshell life felt like a shirt I had massively outgrown.

who i am

My journey, or who I am, involves much more than providing a scaling option. It is the grit of a heavy deadlift and the grace of vintage lace. I am a multi layered woman, and I am done feeling like I need to apoogize or hide that contrast. That woman can chase strength in the gym and still stop in the middle of the day because a Jack Sparrow cello riff by Kian Soltani feels like a prayer.

I can spend hours studying movement patterns. Then my mind wanders to wax seals pressed into warm paper, and the slow art of calligraphy when you’re chasing the perfect line of ink. I’m the kind of person who will reread a sentence in a book three times because the words are just right, who keeps little notebooks of philosophical thoughts, who loves the quiet ritual of writing by hand instead of typing everything away. Somewhere in that world live sweeping orchestral music, old bookstores, sea air, and the blue hydrangeas that always remind me its time to head back to Nantucket.

This clarity about knowing who I am hit me the way a heavy clean finally does when you stop fighting it and just get under the damn bar.

reclaim – her word of the year

Recently, I shared a post about an exciting new project. A follower asked if I would help her create a christening gown from a vintage pattern passed down by her grandmother, who is no longer alive. For someone like me, that request feels sacred. There is something deeply moving about touching fabric that carries memory and helping a grandmother’s love reach forward one more time. To be trusted with something so personal, and to feel that someone believed I was the right person for this, makes my heart sing. Almost immediately, however, a cheap DM slid into my inbox. The person told me I was “vibing on a different frequency” these days. They warned me that my sewing, dating adventures (I’ve had none mind you) fasting, and my new different energy might cost me followers. They suggested I should just be the CrossFit coach who talks about scaling workouts.

I literally laughed out loud at the screen. After over seventy total days alone with my own soul, worrying about follower counts suddenly felt like arguing about sock color during a hurricane. Listen…if my complex personality proves too much for your feed, the door remains wide open. I will happily help you pack your gym bag and hold the umbrella for you on your way to the car.

part warrior part dork

I am reclaiming my right to be a dork, a powerhouse, a seamstress, a writer, and a sovereign sea captain all at once. The pins are finally out of my mouth, allowing me to take a deep breath and speak without fear. Also, somewhere in this process, I remembered how much I love to laugh. I have never felt more myself in all of my life.

If you want to pull up a chair, you are more than welcome at my table to share this journey. But if you are looking for the person who walks on eggshells, you arrived too late.

If you’re looking for content *making dramatic gagging noise at that awful word* there are thousands of accounts that do that way better than I ever will. I’m just here being me.