I’ve asked myself over and over again why I’ve struggled to share this story. I think I finally know why.

As a doctor, it often feels like you’re expected to have all the answers. To always have the perfect plan. So how could I share my own health story if I didn’t have it all figured out? If I didn’t know the exact path forward?

But somewhere along the way, I realized that’s not what health is.

Health isn’t a destination where you finally arrive and have everything figured out. It’s a lifestyle that ebbs and flows through each new chapter and season of life. There are moments when you feel strong, moments that challenge you, and moments that force you to start asking different questions.

I also had to remind myself that it’s okay not to have all the answers. Nobody does.

So here’s to sharing the story I’ve kept to myself for so long.

the beginning

Dance has always been part of who I am. I started dancing when I was three years old, and by the time I was in middle school, I couldn’t imagine my life without it.

Then, when I was 12 years old, I was diagnosed with scoliosis.

At the time, my curve measured around 30 degrees. My orthopedic doctor gave me two options: wear a brace or do nothing and see what happened.

So I wore the brace.

Twenty-four hours a day. Every day. The only time I took it off was to dance.

For the next two and a half years, I did everything I was told to do. I showed up. I followed the plan. I hoped it would be enough.

Looking back now, I realize how much faith I placed in the idea that if I worked hard enough and followed every instruction perfectly, everything would work out the way it was supposed to. Scoliosis was the first time life taught me that doing everything “right” doesn’t always guarantee the outcome you hoped for.

It wasn’t enough.

By the time I was getting ready to start high school, my curve had doubled. What had once been considered moderate scoliosis was now severe.

And suddenly, the conversation changed.

the conversation i’ll never forget

My orthopedic surgeon looked at me and told me there was only one option left.

Have spinal fusion surgery. 

Which meant – Quit dancing.

I still remember sitting in that exam room, trying to process what I had just heard. Fourteen-year-olds aren’t supposed to be thinking about giving up the thing they love most.

I wasn’t thinking about my spine.

I was thinking about dance. About competitions. About high school dance team. About the future I had imagined for myself.

Looking back now, I know he wasn’t trying to take away my future. He was recommending the path he genuinely believed was best. But I’ve also learned that people are far more nuanced than any textbook could ever capture.

At fourteen years old, though, all I heard was: “You have to give it all up.”

I remember thinking,

This can’t be how my story ends.

There has to be something more. Something better. Something that no one had shown me yet.

So I started looking…

keep looking

Looking back now, I’m incredibly grateful I listened to that quiet voice inside me that kept saying, Keep looking.

At fourteen, I had no idea where that decision would lead me. I only knew I wasn’t ready to believe my story ended there.

I didn’t know it then, but that decision would shape not only my own health journey, but it would eventually shape the way I care for every patient who walks through the doors of Vitality.

Over the next several years, my family and I searched for anyone who could help me continue doing what I loved. We tried physical therapy, massage therapy, chiropractic care, and even traveled to Seattle to see a chiropractic specialist. We weren’t looking for someone to “fix” my scoliosis. We were looking for someone willing to ask a different question.

“How can we help you keep dancing?”

That question changed everything.

I was incredibly fortunate to find two people who believed in me long before I fully believed in myself: my massage therapist, Nancy, and my chiropractor, Dr. Sarah.

They understood something that wasn’t always obvious to everyone else. I wasn’t looking for permission to quit dancing – I was going to dance regardless. What I needed was someone who could help me move well, recover well, and feel confident enough to keep showing up.

Looking back now, I realize they weren’t just helping me manage my scoliosis. They were quietly shaping the kind of clinician I would one day become.

By the time I graduated high school, I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t done dancing. 

I decided to attend Long Beach State because they had a Dance Science program. At the time, I wasn’t exactly sure where it would lead me. I didn’t have a perfectly mapped-out plan; I just kept saying yes to the things that felt meaningful.

Then I took my first dance anatomy class with Karen Clippinger. Everything clicked. 

For the first time, dance and healthcare weren’t two separate interests. They were one.

I realized I didn’t just want to work in healthcare. I wanted to become the person I had needed when I was fourteen.

That dream eventually led me to chiropractic school, where I pursued a sports medicine emphasis and completed an additional year to become a Certified Chiropractic Sports Physician, all while working with dancers as a personal trainer.

Around that same time, I started strength training consistently.

Looking back, I think it was one of the first times I stopped seeing my body as something I needed to protect and started seeing it as something I could build.

For years, so much of my attention had been on my spine… what I couldn’t do, what I needed to be careful with, what might happen in the future.

Strength training shifted that perspective. It reminded me that my body was capable.

My scoliosis didn’t change. 

But my confidence did.

the journey didn’t end

Looking back, this would be the perfect place to end the story. I built a career that combined the two things I loved most. I opened the clinic I had dreamed about.

But the truth is, my scoliosis journey didn’t end there. In many ways, it was still unfolding.

While I was building a career around helping other people move better, I was still learning what it meant to care for my own body.

My scoliosis journey never stopped.

Throughout college, chiropractic school, and even after opening Vitality, I continued learning new things about my spine. I underwent a full-spine MRI. I met with neurosurgeons, orthopedic surgeons, and cardiologists. My curve had progressed to 73 degrees, and because of its severity, I learned that my heart and lungs would need to be monitored over time. Today, I still see a cardiologist several times each year, complete routine heart and lung testing, and have annual x-rays to monitor my spine.

Health, once again, reminded me that it isn’t a destination. It’s something we continue to navigate as life changes.

Two years ago, another scoliosis specialist sat across from me and told me it was time to seriously think about spinal fusion surgery.

Not necessarily tomorrow. But soon.

Before kids? After kids? Either way, I needed to start planning my life around it.

His recommendation wasn’t unreasonable. In fact, many people with curves like mine choose surgery, and for good reason. But deep down, something still didn’t feel right.

This conversation felt different than it had when I was fourteen.

This time, I wasn’t just a patient.

I was also a doctor.

I understood exactly why he was making the recommendation he was. I knew the questions to ask. I felt confident explaining why I had chosen the path I was on and everything I was doing to take care of my body.

We talked through my imaging. My heart and lung monitoring. My strength training. The life I had built.

At one point, he told me he was impressed. He encouraged me to share my story with other people living with scoliosis.

But he also made it clear that, in his opinion, I needed to begin wrapping my head around spinal fusion.

The hardest part was that my body wasn’t holding me back.

I loved my life. I could dance.I could work. I could strength train. If my back hurt, I knew how to help myself.

I wasn’t trying to get back to living. I was already living.

The conversation stayed with me for weeks. Not because I doubted his expertise. But because I found myself wrestling with a question I don’t think has one universal answer.

When do you make a life-changing decision based on what might happen decades from now… versus choosing to fully live in the body you have today?

I respected his perspective. But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be another way for me.

So once again…

I kept looking.

choosing my own path

That search eventually led me to something called Anterior Scoliosis Correction (ASC), a newer procedure that felt like a middle ground between doing nothing and undergoing a full spinal fusion.

For the first time in years, I felt hopeful.

I applied.

Then I was denied because of the complexity of my curve, where it was located, and the assumption that my spine would be too stiff because of my age.

I’ll be honest….that one hit hard.

It felt like I had finally wrapped my head around a plan, only to have the door slammed shut.

For a little while, I felt backed into a corner again.

Then that quiet voice came back.

Keep looking.

This time, it led me to a physical therapist in Riverside who specialized in the Schroth Method, a scoliosis-specific approach to exercise. I spent three hours learning how to breathe, move, and strengthen my body based on my spine – not scoliosis in general, but my unique curve.

I went home with exercises, equipment, and a commitment to show up for myself every day.

Something began to change.

Not the shape of my spine.

My relationship with it.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had some control again. I wasn’t living in fear of my next x-ray or my next specialist appointment. I was actively caring for my body.

Daily Schroth exercises became part of my routine. So did strength training. Prioritizing sleep. Eating well. Moving because I enjoy it, not because I’m trying to outrun my diagnosis.

Last year, I slipped and fell down a flight of stairs. I hit my head, neck, and back, and ended up with a concussion.

As strange as it sounds, one of my first thoughts afterward was, “I’m grateful my spine isn’t fused.”

Not because I believe spinal fusion is the wrong decision. For many people, it’s absolutely the right one.

But that moment reminded me of something I’ve come to believe deeply:

Life doesn’t come with guarantees.

I could choose surgery today because I’m afraid of what might happen thirty years from now.

Or I can continue making thoughtful decisions based on where my body is today while accepting that, if my heart or lungs ever become significantly affected, I can revisit that decision then.

For me, that’s what feels right.

I don’t know what my future holds. None of us do.

But I do know this:

I refuse to spend today’s health worrying about tomorrow’s possibilities.

I’d rather spend it living.

why i’m finally sharing this

For a long time, I thought I needed to have everything figured out before I could share this story.

I don’t anymore.

The truth is, I still don’t know exactly what my future looks like. I don’t know what my spine will look like in twenty years. I don’t know if surgery will one day become the right decision for me.

And honestly… I’m okay with that.

Because health was never about reaching a finish line. It’s about continuing to show up for yourself through every new chapter of life.

That’s what I try to do for my own body every day. And it’s what I hope to help my patients do, too.

People often ask me why I’m so passionate about helping dancers and athletes continue doing what they love. Why I spend so much time educating. Why I don’t immediately jump to telling someone they have to stop.

The answer has always been the same: Because I’ve been the patient sitting on the other side of that conversation.

I know what it feels like to wonder if your body is going to change the course of your life. 

I know what it feels like to search for hope. To search for answers. To keep looking.

My goal has never been to promise perfect outcomes.

I can’t. 

No one can.

But if I can help someone leave my office feeling a little more hopeful…

A little more confident…

A little more connected to their body…

Then I’ve done my job.

Looking back, I don’t think this story is really about scoliosis. I think it’s about hope.

It’s about resilience. It’s about learning to trust your body.

It’s about accepting that health isn’t a destination where you finally have everything figured out.

It’s a lifestyle that ebbs and flows through every chapter and phase of life.

Mine still does.

And maybe yours does too.

And if there’s one thing I hope you take away from my story, it’s this:

Your story isn’t over yet.