I was 12 when the headaches started. At first, they were just annoying—background noise I could mostly push through. But they got worse, fast. Within months, they became constant. Not flare-ups. Not occasional migraines. Just pain, 24/7.
For years, I bounced from doctor to doctor, trying everything they recommended. Birth control. Migraine meds. Painkillers. Therapy—because they needed to make sure I “wasn’t exaggerating.” (If you’re a woman, you probably know that story all too well.) Nothing worked for long. Some things didn’t work at all. And some made it worse—Botox, in particular, gave me the worst 8 months of my life.
At 16, I was working my first job at a fruit stand on the side of a highway. I was alone in the evening, sorting out rotten apples when my vision suddenly went fuzzy. I had no idea what was happening—just that I couldn’t see, I was alone, and I was terrified. That was my first aura migraine. My mom had to rush me to the ER, and my manager had to come close up the stand. I remember thinking, Great. Another kind of head pain to add to the list.
At 17, I finally got into one of the top neurologists in the country. She ran a bubble test and found something else—a hole in my heart. Another checkmark. Another reason my body didn’t work the way it should’ve.
Through my teens and twenties, I tried it all: massage, acupuncture, physical therapy, chiropractic work, lifestyle changes, diet overhauls. You name it. Some things helped temporarily. Some helped mentally, even if the pain didn’t shift. But nothing erased it. The headaches never left.
At 21 when I went up to Vancouver for school – I had stopped all my physical jobs. So when I got sick one day and coughed, I threw my back out. Which lead to a whole run around to find out that I have a lumbar vertebrae out of place. Cool. Yet another check mark.
And honestly? I was angry. I was hurting. Pain has a way of eating at every part of you—not just your body, but your mind, your mood, your relationships. I became reactive, exhausted, bitter. I felt like my body had betrayed me.
Eventually, I realized I had two choices: let pain rule me forever… or figure out how to work with it. I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist. But I could choose how I responded to it—and how I lived in spite of it.
That decision changed everything.
Not overnight. Not perfectly. But enough. Enough to feel like I was starting to reclaim parts of myself that pain had stolen.
That’s why I built BadAsh.
Not as a typical gym. Not as a one-size-fits-all approach to fitness. But as a place I wish I’d had earlier—where people could show up as they are, with whatever they’re carrying, and feel seen, supported, and safe.
I built it for people like me.
People who live with chronic pain. Who’ve been told it’s all in their head. Who want to get stronger—but need a space that actually supports them. Where the music isn’t screaming at you, the lights can be dimmed on days when your head can’t take it, and the programming adapts to you—not the other way around.
I built BadAsh Athletics as a place that felt like HOME. Where you could be comfortable. Where you could try new things without fear of judgement. Where you could community. And be rooted in strength.
