Why Every Woman Needs a Circle — And How to Find Yours

I want to tell you something I don't share often.

I was an overweight child.

Growing up in Iowa I never quite fit in — not in the way that stings quietly and follows you into adulthood. My mom was a true Iowa farm girl and a baker. We ate well in the way that generation ate well — meat and potatoes, milk, home cooking, love on every plate. But my body ran differently. And I carried that difference in ways that went far beyond the number on the scale.

I carried it in my confidence. In the way I moved through the world. In the quiet belief that I was not quite who I was supposed to be yet.

That belief followed me for years.

And then — slowly, through some of the hardest and most beautiful seasons of my life — I started becoming her.

The Journey Nobody Talks About

After high school I studied dietetics at Iowa State University. I was already searching — for answers, for health, for the version of myself I could feel waiting somewhere ahead of me.

Then I left Iowa. Moved to the East Coast. And in that first year away from home I lost 40 pounds.

I felt like myself for the first time.

And then I moved to Portland, Oregon in the summer of 1995 — right into the heart of the fat-free food era. Everything was boxed, processed, labeled fat-free. I was working out regularly, hiking, moving my body — and watching my weight skyrocket because of what I was putting into it.

I remember standing on the scale at the local 24 Hour Fitness and seeing 199 pounds.

I was miserable. I was not who I wanted to be. And I knew something had to change.

Germany. A Backpack. A Journal. And Everything Changed.

In 2000 I did something that sounds either brave or crazy depending on who you ask.

I spent three weeks in Germany. Alone. With a backpack, a camera — a real camera, not a phone — and a journal. I traveled by train. Stayed in hostels. No social media. No constant connection. Just me, the world, and the quiet that comes when you finally stop running from yourself.

That trip changed my trajectory.

In Berlin I met a group from Columbus, Ohio at a local church. And when I returned to Oregon I knew where I was going next. Ohio.

9/11. The Navy. And the Body I Had to Fight For.

It was in Ohio that September 11th happened. And something shifted in my heart about my future.

I joined the US Navy Reserves. Signed my papers on October 31st, 2001.

But I was too heavy for bootcamp. I needed to lose 20 pounds before I could enter.

So I ran. I watched my calories for the first time. I pushed through the discomfort and the discouragement and the days when it felt impossible.

And I made it.

That season started something in me that has never stopped. I read Eat Right for Your Blood Type and immediately removed dairy from my diet. Then gluten. I discovered a deep love for fruits and vegetables, for authentic Thai food, Asian cuisine, fresh whole ingredients. I became a foodie — someone who understood that what you put in your body is not just fuel. It is information. It is medicine. It is a message you send yourself every single day about whether you matter.

Every trial gives you things to work on. Ways to improve yourself. I was learning that.

Hawaii. Grief. And Pushing Through Alone.

Then I lost my dad.

Father's Day weekend, 2003. The boat accident off the coast of Oregon. And suddenly all the health and wellness work I had done felt both more important and completely irrelevant at the same time.

Through the Navy Reserves I was able to go to Hawaii — working at the USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor for almost a year. Quiet. No social media. Disconnected from most of my friends.

I hiked the North Shore. Laid on the beach at Waikiki alone. Pushed through the grief with the ocean beside me.

I kept moving. I kept eating well. Not because I had it all figured out — but because somewhere deep down I knew that taking care of my body was the one thing I could control when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

Colorado. A New Beginning. And Learning to Live Whole.

I met my husband in January 2005 — via eHarmony. We met and married fast. We married in May — just four months after meeting. We had both just lost our dads and we wanted our wedding to be just for us.

A perfect Monday evening at Sunset Beach, Oahu. Flowers from the hotel lobby. His sister made my dress. Dinner downtown Waikiki with free champagne and dessert. Just the two of us.

Our wedding. Exactly right.

We moved to Colorado. Bought our first home in Golden. And it was there that we really dove into wellness together — massage school, whole food, hiking, skiing, living the Colorado dream. We wanted a future together. We wanted longevity. We wanted to build something real and live it fully and naturally — whole.

What I Know Now — After All Of It

I am not the overweight girl from Iowa who didn't fit in anymore.

I am not the woman standing on the scale at 199 pounds feeling like a stranger in her own body.

I am a woman who has spent decades learning what her body needs — through grief, through loss, through cross-country moves and Navy bootcamp and solo trips through Germany and quiet mornings on the North Shore of Hawaii.

And here is what I know with absolute certainty:

You cannot think your way out of grief. But you can nourish your way through it — one real meal, one walk, one glass of water, one good night of sleep at a time.

Whole Living — What It Means to Me

Now twelve years into our Montana homestead I have an orchard, a greenhouse, and a garden that feeds my family through spring, summer and fall.

I grow food. I cook food. I share food.

Elizabeth's Farm Table was born from this — the deep belief that a meal made with love is an act of healing. That eating real whole food grown from the earth is one of the most powerful things you can do for your body, your mind, and your spirit.

Whole living is not a diet. It is not a program. It is a decision — made daily — to treat yourself like someone worth taking care of.

Because you are.

Where to Start

You don't have to overhaul everything at once. Start with one thing today:

Small choices. Consistent days. A body that starts to feel like home again.