The Diagnosis I Didn’t Know Existed

Here’s something I’ve never talked about publicly. Not because I was hiding — but because I didn’t know it had a name. For most of my life, my weight felt like a battle I couldn’t quite win. Sometimes the pressure came from me. More often, it came from the world around me — subtle comments and expectations.

Either way, it settled into my thoughts, my nervous system, and in the way I moved through the world.

I tried. I really tried... everything. At one point, I lost almost 80 pounds, and still... my thighs didn’t change. My upper arms didn’t change. My lower belly didn’t change. Not in the way you’re told they’re supposed to when you “do everything right.”

​Those parts of my body felt different. Heavy. Tender. I bruised easily — even my dog, Stevie Nicks- would leave tiny paw sized marks. If she rested on my lap too long, it ached.  It never made sense. So I did what many of us do. I assumed it was me.

​The Question

I think it was 2022, and I was in therapy for my auditory processing disorder. I remember wincing when my therapist placed a binder on my lap. She paused.
“Do your legs hurt?” Yes.
“Do you bruise easily?” Yes.

Then she said a word I had never heard before - Lipedema. Not lymphedema. Lipedema. It's crucial to recognize that lipedema is often misunderstood and often overlooked, highlighting the importance of diagnosis for validation and hope.

When she described it, I was curious, but I was already recovering from a stroke; I did not have the emotional bandwidth for another diagnosis. Another specialist. Another layer. So I tucked it away.

The Pause 

In 2024, I began preparing for bariatric surgery. I went through the appointments, the approvals, and the psychological evaluation. I was scheduled. And then BAM, I hit my head. Suddenly, anesthesia didn’t feel like a small decision with a concussion. So I postponed. That pause gave me space.

Space to research lipedema more deeply. Space to ask questions.  What if this is what’s been happening all along? What if changing my stomach doesn’t change my legs or arms, again? I saw a functional nutritionist who confirmed that my labs were strong. My body processes nutrients well. There wasn’t evidence of something metabolically “broken.” So I slowed down and went for a formal evaluation, where I received confirmation. I have lipedema. Now what?

Surgery — Without the Gloss 

In October 2024, I had surgery on the front of my legs — where the pain was the loudest.
In March 2025, the back of my legs.
In July 2025, my arms.

Recovery was one of the most physically painful experiences of my life. It required patience, resilience, surrender, and pain meds -lots of them.  Healing wasn’t glamorous, in fact, very messy. But it felt right — for me.
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What’s changed isn’t just visual. It’s functional. I can move longer. I can hold shapes in yoga with greater reach. Cardio feels different — more sustainable.

My endurance has shifted. And more quietly, something else has shifted too. I feel less at war with my body. Not because everything is perfect. Not because I’m “fixed.” But because something finally made sense.

Why I’m Sharing This

To live with pain you can’t quite explain. To quietly wonder if you’re just not trying hard enough. There’s been a lot of exploring and a lot of self-advocacy in this part of my journey. Things took an incredible turn when I connected with a local clinic for lymphatic support. Not only did my body respond beautifully, but in conversations with these gifted therapists, I finally felt seen.
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Carolyn Baek was one of those therapists, and together, we kept learning. Kept asking questions. Kept exploring. And a real relationship formed in the process. I wanted Carolyn to have the opportunity to connect with the countless other women who deserved to be seen, so I connected her to Lori and Jenn, the incredible hosts of Every. Body. Talks.  Little did I know I would also be invited to join the conversation, where I had the space to unpack this complex, layered experience out loud. The episode lands today.

If any part of this feels familiar, I hope you’ll listen. And more than that, I hope you’ll give yourself permission to explore. I wish I had done that sooner.