When I was a little girl, maybe six or seven, I wandered into my grandparents’ bathroom. I don’t remember what I was looking for—but I found their medicine cabinet. The kind with the hazy mirror and creaky hinges, and inside… rows of those amber-orange prescription bottles lined up like tiny soldiers. Dozens of them. Some with faded labels. Others cracked open with cotton still tucked inside. I remember staring at them, overwhelmed—not with fear, exactly, but with a kind of sadness I didn’t have words for yet.

Even at that age, I knew something wasn’t right. I didn’t know anything about health, but I knew I didn’t want that. I didn’t want a future where my body was managed by pills, where life was measured in doses, and every day started with opening plastic lids instead of windows or doors.

Now, decades later, I call to check in on my parents—and it’s like déjà vu.

It’s not just one problem. It’s a carousel. First, it’s a knee. Then it’s blood sugar. Then weight gain and pre-diabetes. Then sleep issues. Then back pain. Then cancer. Then a broken foot. Then insurance premiums go up with more medical bills. Followed by another specialist. Then another medication with another side effect that needs its own medication. It’s exhausting—not just for them, but for me. For everyone who loves them.

And they’re not bad people. They’re not lazy or careless. They simply didn’t have the tools, the support, or maybe the courage to make their health a priority when it mattered most.

Now, I’m at the age where my peers are starting to show signs too. Chronic fatigue. Joint pain. Poor sleep. Anxiety spirals. Hormonal issues. Digestive problems they’ve “always had.” These aren't just isolated glitches—they’re warning signs. Whispers. Signals that the body’s been trying to adapt, compensate, hang on. But adaptation without action eventually runs out of room.

That old saying—“A healthy person has a thousand problems, but a sick person only has one”—used to sound like a dramatic proverb. Now, it’s haunting. Because it’s true.

That’s why I’ve made it my life’s work to apply what I learn. I didn’t just get into acupuncture because I thought needles were cool. I studied nutrition because food changed my energy. I committed to movement because my muscles, joints, and brain need it. I’ve made pivots. I’ve adapted. I’ve gone from a competitive athlete to a woman in her 40s who wants to be the oldest woman alive—but feel like a queen doing it.

Because what good is knowledge if you don’t apply it?

 There’s a big difference between knowing what to do and doing it.

Most people know what’s healthy. We know that a bottle of water is better than soda. We know that vegetables support our body more than a gas station donut. We know we probably shouldn’t be scrolling TikTok at midnight when we have to get up early. Knowledge is not the problem.

Action is.

When I was a broke college student, I ate like one—ramen, pizza, granola bars as meals. I didn’t have the skillset to cook well, I didn’t have the funds to buy organic greens, and truthfully, I didn’t have the discipline to say no when something easy was right in front of me. But that version of me isn’t who I am now. Over the years, my environment changed. My knowledge grew. My priorities shifted. And instead of staying stuck in that version of myself, I adapted forward.

Now, I know my way around a kitchen. I drink water like it’s a religion. I walk daily, not because I have to, but because I get to. I’m not a picture of “perfect” health—because that picture doesn’t exist—but I have progress. And progress, when it comes to health, is what buys you the kind of freedom that money can’t.

Health isn’t just a static state you “arrive” at once you’ve figured it out. It’s a dynamic relationship that will grow and evolve with you. I’ve gone from college athlete to casual golfer. From human garbage disposal to vegan to somewhere comfortably in between. From the life-of-the-party extrovert to the introspective thinker who now prefers books over beer pong. Life changes. You change. And your habits have to change with you.

The point of this entire series hasn’t been to glorify some unattainable, perfect ideal of health. It’s to help you build your version of freedom. And if freedom to you means being able to say yes to a hike, a road trip, a spontaneous game of tag with your kids, or simply waking up without pain—then that’s a freedom worth protecting. But you can’t protect what you don’t maintain. And you can’t maintain what you refuse to act on.

You don’t have to go from couch potato to marathon runner overnight. You don’t need to eat like a wellness influencer or meditate on a mountain. You just need to be honest. Ask yourself: what do I know that I haven’t acted on yet?

Is it that you need to get better sleep? Cut back on inflammatory foods? Walk 20 minutes a day? Set boundaries with people who drain your spirit? Drink a damn glass of water before your second cup of coffee?

Whatever it is—start there.

Because health is not just a thing you have. It’s a thing you create. Every single day. And the more you create it, the more freedom you get in return.

Not freedom from consequences—but freedom with choices. The freedom to say yes to the trip. To chase your kid across the park. To sleep deeply. To age with strength. To not need five cups of coffee to fake energy. To live your life—not just manage it.

So no, I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m asking you to think about what kind of relationship you want to have with your body. To learn, yes—but more importantly, to apply. To do. To make the small, sustainable choices that lead you toward the kind of life that feels like yours again.

Because knowing isn’t enough.

And your freedom is worth more than just good intentions.

Keep moving, eat something green, and question anything that sounds like a quick fix.
Chow! Chow!
—Jess