Not because of what the doctor said.

But because of what I felt walking out of that room.

I was 32 years old.
A mother of two young girls.
Living in a new country.
Trying to be a “good wife.”
Trying to be a “good mom.”
Trying to hold everything together.

And somewhere in between everyone else’s needs…

I disappeared.

My A1C was 6.4.

Pre-diabetic.

My cholesterol was high.
My thyroid numbers were a mess.
I was exhausted all the time.
My body felt heavy.
My confidence was almost gone.

I remember sitting there shocked because honestly… I didn’t “look sick.”

I wasn’t someone eating burgers and fries every day.

I was vegetarian.

I cooked at home.

I came from an Indian family where homemade food was considered healthy by default.

So how was this happening to me?

And the truth is…

I had spent years ignoring myself so quietly that I didn’t even realize it was happening.

When I moved to the U.S., my entire life changed.

Back in India, I had my own identity and career as an architect.

Then life shifted.

My husband had opportunities here and we moved.

I became a full-time mother raising two little girls.

And I truly loved motherhood.

I still do.

But somewhere in the chaos of diapers, school lunches, cleaning, cooking, adjusting to a new country, loneliness, and trying to “manage everything”…

My own health slowly slipped away.

Not overnight.

Quietly.

Like water dripping from a faucet you stop noticing after a while.

I stopped paying attention to my body.

I stopped dressing in clothes I actually liked.

I remember hiding behind loose shirts because I hated looking at my belly fat.

I’d avoid certain mirrors.

Avoid certain pictures.

Avoid certain conversations.

And the craziest part?

I normalized it.

I thought this is just what happens after kids.

This is what women go through.

This is what aging looks like.

This is what sacrifice looks like.

Until one blood test forced me to wake up.

That appointment scared me.

Not because I thought I was dying.

But because for the first time, I realized:

“If I continue like this… what kind of future am I building for myself?”

I looked at my daughters differently that day.

I started thinking about energy.
Mobility.
Strength.
Health.

Not just weight loss.

I didn’t want to spend the next 20 years tired, inflamed, medicated, and slowly shrinking my life.

But I also had absolutely NO idea what to do.

And like most people…

I entered the world of dieting.

The internet convinced me carbs were the enemy.

Rice was bad.
Roti was bad.
Fruit was dangerous.
Everything Indian suddenly became “unhealthy.”

And honestly?

At that time, keto felt like the answer.

Everyone around me was doing it.

People praised extreme weight loss.

The lower the carbs, the smarter you supposedly were.

So I followed.

1100 calories.

Tiny portions.

Fear of food.

Obsessing over carbs.

Feeling guilty after eating rice.

Looking back now, I realize how disconnected I had become from my own body.

But back then?

I thought suffering meant progress.

And this is what breaks my heart now as a coach…

So many people are still trapped there.

Especially South Asians.

Especially women.

Especially mothers.

We’ve normalized exhaustion so much that people clap for you when you survive on coffee and 1000 calories.

But thankfully…

Life had other plans for me.

Somewhere along this journey, I started learning from experts who completely changed how I viewed health.

I learned that health was so much deeper than shrinking your body.

I learned about nourishment.

Recovery.

Muscle.

Blood sugar.

Strength.

Longevity.

And slowly… my fear around food started breaking.

Then something unexpected happened.

I found powerlifting.

Which is honestly hilarious if you knew me back then.

The same woman hiding under oversized shirts eventually walked into a gym and started learning how to lift weights.

At first, it was intimidating.

I felt awkward.

Weak.

Out of place.

But little by little…

Something shifted.

For the first time in years, I stopped looking at my body as something to punish.

And started seeing it as something to build.

That changed everything.

Powerlifting taught me things therapy probably couldn’t.

It taught me discipline.

Patience.

Resilience.

Confidence.

But most importantly…

It taught me that food was not the enemy.

My body actually needed fuel.

Especially carbohydrates.

I learned how carbs could support performance, recovery, hormones, strength, and energy.

I stopped seeing rice as a “cheat meal.”

I stopped fearing fruit.

I stopped chasing starvation.

And ironically…

That’s when my health truly began improving.

Not when I punished myself harder.

Not when I ate less.

Not when I became obsessed with shrinking.

But when I started respecting my body.

Today, when people see me as a coach, powerlifter, or educator…

They see the result.

But they don’t always see the woman who once cried over blood work.

The woman who felt lost in her own body.

The woman who thought her life was “over” at 32.

And maybe that’s exactly why I do what I do now.

Because I know what it feels like to feel disconnected from yourself.

I know what it feels like to feel embarrassed, confused, exhausted, and overwhelmed by health advice.

Especially as a South Asian woman where food, culture, family, and expectations are all deeply connected.

And I also know this:

You do not need to destroy yourself to become healthy.

You do not need to fear your culture.

You do not need to earn food through punishment.

You do not need to hate your body into changing it.

Sometimes your body is not asking for more restriction.

Sometimes it’s asking for support.

For nourishment.

For strength.

For sleep.

For movement.

For healing.

That doctor’s appointment at 32 felt like my life was falling apart.

But looking back now…

It was actually the moment my life finally began.

And honestly?

I’m grateful for it.

Because it gave me back to myself

love

sujal

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