I Was Preaching Wellness While Quietly Falling Apart

Two nights ago, I was scrolling TikTok at like 1 a.m.—classic Gen Z insomnia move—when my Apple Watch buzzed with that annoying low heart rate variability notification again.

You know the one: “Your recovery score is trash, fix your sleep, or you’re basically dying.” I’d been ignoring it for weeks, chasing that hustle culture high of late-night content batches, iced matcha runs, and telling myself “mental health days are for people who aren’t built different.”

I’ve been in the health and wellness space for over 12 years now—started as that broke personal trainer trading sessions for gym access back in 2013, then moved into holistic coaching, gut health protocols, and now running my own online community teaching stressed-out 20-somethings how to actually feel good without performative #wellness BS.

I’ve seen every trend come and go: keto, celery juice cleanses, cold plunges that almost gave clients hypothermia. I’ve made every mistake too—pushing macros so hard I gave myself adrenal fatigue in 2018, skipping therapy because “meditation apps should be enough,” and once eating nothing but protein bars for three days straight, thinking it was “optimized nutrition.”

Spoiler: it wasn’t. My skin broke out, my energy tanked, and I cried in a Zoom call with a client because I felt like a fraud.

So there I was, staring at my Whoop strap data like it personally betrayed me. Sleep score 42/100. Resting heart rate creeping up. Stress levels red all week. I knew the signs—I’d coached hundreds through burnout. But knowing and doing? Different vibes.

I texted my bestie Aisha: “Girl, I’m cooked. Body’s screaming for help, but brain says keep grinding.”

She replied instantly: “Come over tomorrow. We’re doing a full reset. No excuses. Bring your magnesium gummies and that fancy adaptogen latte mix you hoard.”

The next morning, I dragged myself to her place in Lekki Phase 1. She opened the door in her fave oversized hoodie, hair in a messy bun, holding two iced coffees that smelled suspiciously like functional mushrooms.

“First rule of wellness club,” she said, handing me one, “no judgment. Second rule: we talk about the cringe stuff. Sit.”

We plopped on her balcony couch overlooking the lagoon. The sun was hitting just right, the breeze carrying that salty Lagos air. I spilled everything—the endless doom-scrolling, how I’d ghosted my own morning routines, the way anxiety felt like static in my chest every time I opened Instagram and saw another “transformed my life with breathwork” reel.

Aisha listened, nodding. “Babe, you’re not failing at health and wellness. You’re just human. Remember when I was obsessed with HIIT every day and ended up with shin splints for months? Same energy. We chase perfection, then crash when life isn’t Pinterest-perfect.”

We spent the afternoon rebuilding from scratch. No fancy biohacking gadgets—just real talk and simple stuff I’d forgotten worked.

First, we walked barefoot on her grass patch—grounding, she called it. Felt silly at first, but after ten minutes, my nervous system actually chilled. Like my vagus nerve finally got the memo to calm down.

Then nutrition. We made this massive bowl: avocado, smoked salmon, kimchi for gut health, spinach, quinoa, drizzled with olive oil and lemon. I hadn’t eaten a vegetable that wasn’t blended into a smoothie in weeks. First bite? I almost moaned. “This is better than therapy,” I joked.

She laughed. “Therapy AND this. Multitask your healing.”

We talked mental health openly—no sugarcoating. I admitted how comparing my chapter to everyone’s highlight reel was killing my self-esteem. She shared her own panic attack last year during finals, how she finally started journaling instead of just posting affirmations.

“Journaling saved me,” she said. “Not the cute bullet kind. The ugly, ranting, ‘I hate everything’ pages. Burn them after if you want. Just get it out.”

By evening, we did a 10-minute guided breathwork on YouTube—box breathing, nothing extra. In for 4, hold 4, out 4, hold 4. My heart rate dropped 15 beats right there on her living room rug.

I left feeling… lighter. Not fixed, but as I’d remembered, I wasn’t a machine.

That night, I posted a raw carousel on my stories: messy bedhead selfie, the empty bowl pic, my Whoop finally green for once. Caption: “Hit rock bottom with my sleep and stress. Real talk: wellness isn’t about perfect routines. It’s about coming back to yourself when you’ve drifted. Gut health, mental health, movement, real food, real friends. Starting over tomorrow. Who’s with me?”

Comments flooded—hundreds. “This is the post I needed.” “Finally, someone saying it without the filters.” “Can you drop the breathwork link pls?”

The next week, I doubled down. Fixed my circadian rhythm with actual sunlight in the morning (no phone first thing—huge game-changer). Added magnesium glycinate before bed instead of doom-scrolling. Swapped energy drinks for herbal teas with ashwagandha. Started therapy again—virtual, because Lagos traffic.

And here’s the plot twist nobody saw coming, not even me.

Three weeks later, during a routine blood panel I’d been putting off, the doctor called. “Your vitamin D is critically low, thyroid is borderline sluggish, and… you’re pregnant.”

I froze. Phone slipped. Pregnant? Me? The one who’d been preaching cycle-syncing and hormone balance but hadn’t even noticed my period was late because stress had messed it up for months?

I sat on my bathroom floor, ugly-crying—happy tears, terrified tears, all the tears. This tiny human was already teaching me the biggest wellness lesson: you can’t control everything. Sometimes life drops the ultimate plot twist to force surrender.

Now I’m eight weeks in, navigating morning sickness while still coaching, still walking barefoot when I can, still eating nutrient-dense food because it’s not just for me anymore. My community knows—I’ve been transparent.

No perfect bump pics yet, just real updates: “Nausea hit hard today, but ginger tea and rest are saving me. Mental health check-ins are non-negotiable now.”

Turns out the best health and wellness journey isn’t the one where you never fall off. It’s the one where you get back up—with grace, with friends, with ugly truths—and keep going. Even when the universe hits you with the most unexpected glow-up of all.

If you’re reading this and feeling off—burnt out, inconsistent, like you’re failing at self-care—know this: you’re not alone. Start small. One walk. One real meal. One honest conversation. Your body and mind will thank you.

And who knows? Your own plot twist might be right around the corner.