Two years ago, I started noticing subtle signals from my body — aches, fatigue, and little symptoms that didn’t quite fit together. I was thriving professionally and personally: a mother, a shareholder in a multimillion-dollar company, and a frequent traveler. I thought I was paying attention to my body. I wasn’t. Not really.
It wasn’t until I ended up in an emergency room, thousands of miles from home, that I realized the truth: I had been hearing my body, but I hadn’t been listening.
The changes began in 2022. My energy shifted noticeably. I had always been the kind of person who woke up early, full of excitement for the day ahead. Suddenly, mornings felt heavy, like moving through molasses. Vertigo would strike without warning. I felt sluggish in a way that was completely unfamiliar — like someone had dimmed my inner brightness.
I reached out to a holistic nutritionist who recommended a comprehensive blood panel and suggested dietary changes — cutting back on dairy, avoiding salads (much to my surprise), and steering clear of gaseous foods. I followed the dietary advice but put off the lab work. Months passed. Then a year.
Why didn’t I go? Partly logistics — I told myself I didn’t have time. Then there was cost. Comprehensive testing isn’t cheap. Even though I invest freely in other areas of my life, I hesitated when it came to my own health. Looking back, I see how backwards that was. What could possibly matter more than my well-being?
By fall 2023, my body’s whispers had turned into shouts. My Raynaud’s Syndrome — once occasional — flared daily, turning my fingers, toes, and eventually my lips blue without warning. I had my first bout of shingles. My digestion slowed drastically; sometimes, I went a week without a bowel movement.
Yet I pressed on. Constant travel — to Barcelona, Seattle, and everywhere in between — filled my days, which stretched 14 hours long. I poured myself into work and family, telling myself I was fine.
Until I wasn’t.
One night, in a Seattle hotel room far from my husband and child, I woke in excruciating abdominal pain. It felt like someone had twisted everything inside me. I collapsed to the floor, crying to a colleague for help. A security guard carried me to an Uber, my colleague beside me, and we rushed to the hospital. I could barely sit up, curling onto the ER floor. After testing, I was told I needed emergency abdominal and colon surgery — or risk septic shock.
In that moment, I could almost hear the universe saying, “We tried to warn you.”
It turned out I had cecal volvulus, a twisting of the large intestine. That experience shattered my assumptions. My intuition had been speaking all along — through stomach pain, through exhaustion — but I hadn’t wanted to hear. I now realize intuition isn’t abstract; it’s a signal from your body, and it’s a skill we can strengthen. I’ll never ignore my body again.
After weeks in the hospital, I finally completed the bloodwork I’d postponed. I don’t know if it would have changed anything earlier, but I understood the importance of proactive self-care. I began taking vitamins and, slowly, truly listening to my body.
My mindset shifted. Investing in health is no longer optional — it’s the foundation for everything else. How can I give my best to work, family, or community if I’m running on empty?
Here’s what I’ve learned: hearing and listening are not the same.
Hearing is easy. You can acknowledge fatigue, headaches, or gut feelings, then return to business as usual. That’s what I did. I heard my body for months — years — and thought talking about it, even making it a New Year’s resolution, was enough. Hearing alone changes nothing. It’s background noise.
Listening is different. Listening means slowing down in a world that constantly demands speed. It requires trust — in signals that don’t come with charts or lab results. It means noticing how your body feels after a meal, how your energy shifts, or when pain keeps returning. And instead of rationalizing it away, you act.
Listening also means making choices that can feel selfish at first: saying no to one more meeting, canceling plans to rest, spending money on health instead of something more visible. Self-prioritization isn’t indulgence — it’s sustainability.
Listening to myself is not selfish; it’s the only way I can keep showing up for those I love. My body gave me repeated warnings — whispered, nudged, shouted — until it had no choice but to stop me. That’s the thing about ignoring yourself: eventually, your body will demand attention, whether you like it or not.
I don’t want that for anyone. If your body whispers, pay attention. Don’t wait until it screams. Don’t wait until you’re in a hotel room across the country, curled on the floor, realizing what you should have known all along: you are worthy of your own care.
Listen to your body. Don’t wait for it to stop you in your tracks.
