3 Women - Different Stories - Same SPIRIT
Today at TLC, I got to meet three new warriors.
Their stories are different, but they all have the same quiet, relentless power: they refuse to give up on themselves. With details changed for privacy and identities fully protected, I want to share a glimpse of their courage with you.
These are composite stories with all identifying details altered to protect privacy. Any resemblance to real people is coincidental.
Warrior One: The Mother Who Chose to Let Go
Our first warrior is a mom in mid-life who has spent years trying to make her home “perfectly safe” from mold.
She has done all the things:
Multiple dust tests
Endless HERTSMI/ERMI reports
Moving out, moving back, cleaning, remediating, changing filters, re-checking everything
Every scan and lab result felt like a verdict on her safety. If the score was high, her nervous system would spiral. If it was “good enough,” she might briefly exhale—until the next test.
Recently, one particular test came back with shockingly high numbers from a single filter. It felt like another betrayal. But something new happened this time.
She realized:
“I can’t live my life by a number on a paper.”
She is not ignoring reality—she’s choosing to live in relationship with it instead of fear of it. She is learning to:
Do what is reasonable to create a safer environment
Then stop
Breathe
Let her body and nervous system, not just the lab values, guide her next step
Her child, who once struggled with neurological symptoms and mood changes from mold exposure, is slowly coming back to himself. He climbs, plays, goes to outdoor school. They still encounter exposures—like the musty indoor gym—but now, instead of panicking, she notices, supports him, and steps away.
Her new philosophy is quiet and radical:
“I will not abandon myself to the testing. I will notice, adjust, and then let go.”
That shift—from hypervigilance to trust—is as powerful as any prescription.
Warrior Two: The Young Artist Rebuilding a Life
The second warrior is a young woman in her twenties who has already survived more than many people face in a lifetime:
tick-borne infections, suspected PANDAS in childhood, mold exposure, brain fog so heavy she had to step out of school and work, and waves of debilitating symptoms that seemed to come and go without warning.
On top of that, she walked through a painful breakup and divorce, house instability, and the emotional whiplash of feeling “almost normal” one month and “barely functioning” the next.
She describes it this way:
“One week I can work, create, laugh with friends. The next week, my body feels like it’s made of sandbags. I can’t trust what tomorrow will feel like.”
She has lived in a home with visible mold and “DIY fixes,” moved between spaces that never felt fully safe, and carried the heartbreak of wondering:
“Is it the environment? The Lyme? The mold? Or is it just… me?”
Despite all of this, she has continued to:
Show up for clients and creative work when she can
Advocate for herself in a medical system that often dismisses complex illness
Learn her body’s patterns, triggers, and tiny “green lights” of energy
Keep dreaming of a life where she isn’t constantly negotiating with her symptoms
What struck me most was not how “sick” she is—but how fiercely alive she still is:
She loves her art.
She cares for her dog.
She is learning that taking breaks, saying “no,” and needing help are not failures—they are strategies of survival.
Our work together is not simply about binders and antimicrobials. It’s about helping her answer two questions:
How can I support my body so it doesn’t feel like it’s constantly on the edge of collapse?
How can I build a life that honors both my limitations and my brilliance?
That is warrior work.
Warrior Three: The Seasoned Veteran of the Long Road
The third warrior is an older woman who has been on the healing journey for well over a decade.
Her story is layered:
Multiple infections. Mold exposures. Chronic pain. Pelvic and bladder pain that nearly broke her spirit. Hormone shifts. Cardiac concerns. Extreme sensitivity to medications and supplements—where even “gentle” treatments can send her system into days of overwhelm.
She has:
Seen dozens of practitioners
Tried protocols, abandoned them, tried again
Read the books, listened to the podcasts, joined the groups
Raised children, cared for aging parents, held a marriage through storms
Grieved the life she thought she would have
And she is still here.
She has grandkids now—small, bright souls who think of her simply as the loving adult who shows up for them. They don’t know how many nights she lies awake, heart racing at 3 a.m., or how carefully she has to plan her energy to make it through a family outing.
She wrote to me before our visit and said, in essence:
“I am exquisitely sensitive. I’m afraid of flares. I’m afraid of making myself worse. I’ve learned so much, and yet I still feel stuck. I need someone to help me put this all together.”
Her victories are not loud, but they are profound:
Pain that once made her think she couldn’t go on has eased with diet, nervous system work, and persistence.
She has learned to respect her sensitivity as data, not as a defect.
She continues to cultivate connection—to her faith (wherever it is now), to her family, to the tiny things that spark joy.
She is not “weak” because her body reacts strongly. She is brutally honest about what is hard and still shows up anyway.
That is what unshakeable looks like.
The Thread That Ties Them Together
Three women.
Three different ages, histories, and homes.
A shared diagnosis of mold and complex chronic illness—but that’s not the most important part.
What ties them together is this:
They keep getting back up.
They keep asking questions.
They keep loving their people, even with limited energy.
They are willing to try again—gently, wisely, on their own terms.
Illness has taken so much from each of them: energy, certainty, money, time, dreams, and in some moments, hope.
But it has also revealed:
A depth of courage they didn’t know they had
The ability to advocate for themselves
A more tender relationship with their bodies
A fierce compassion for others walking the same road
These are not “complicated cases.”
These are unshakeable humans.
For Every Warrior Reading This
If you see yourself in any of these stories—
the over-testing and hypervigilance,
the up-and-down waves of function and collapse,
the decades of trying to connect the dots—
please hear this:
You are not broken.
You are not “too much” or “too sensitive.”
You are living in a body that has carried an enormous load for a very long time and is still whispering, “I want to heal.”
Healing in this world is rarely linear. It looks like:
Two steps forward, one step back
Learning when to push and when to rest
Moving from fear to partnership with your body
Letting yourself be supported
At TLC, I call my patients “warriors,” not because they fight every minute, but because they keep choosing themselves, even after years of being misunderstood.
To today’s three new warriors—names changed, stories blended, identities protected—
and to every warrior reading this:
🌿 You are not alone.
Your story is still being written.
And your unshakeable heart is already one of your greatest medicines.