12 Years Of Aeri

I’ve had Aeri for twelve years.
But honestly, she’s had me.

She’s had my whole heart, every version of me, every transition—gracefully, loyally, without question. From 22 to 34, through the chaos, heartbreak, growth, and healing… she’s been the one thing that’s always stayed.

She didn’t just stick beside me—she chose me.
And she’s never stopped choosing me.

These days, she’s choosing him too.
Her love for Taylor is something else entirely. She follows him from room to room like he hung the moon. And somehow, watching her bond with him made me love them both even more. It’s like she knows I’m finally safe.

But make no mistake—she’s still my girl.

She still insists on sitting next to me, always on the right side of the couch, politely staring if I’m on the wrong side—like, "Mom, how do I get over there?"
She still runs sideways when we get home, so excited it’s like her front and back legs are on different missions.
She backs her butt up for scritches, “revs her engine” on command, and does “nice to meet you” instead of “shake.”
She can high five like a pro, and she’ll always choose green beans and watermelon over boring old dog treats—but not spinach, that’s her siblings’ thing.

We call her Bear. Or Bear-Bears. Or squishy potato.
(Or Aries-as Taylor likes to call her.)
She answers to every nickname. And every feeling.

She was inseparable from her bunny brother Todd before he passed the day after our wedding. I could ask her, “Where’s your brother?” and she’d go find him—every time.

She is sassy and soulful. Fiercely loyal. Stubborn in all the right ways.
She’s intuitive, deeply emotional, and always knows when someone needs comfort.
She’s paddleboarded with me, run miles at my side, and always—always—claimed her spot next to me, no matter where we are.

She is more than a pet.
She is a witness to my life.

And today, we celebrate twelve sweet, sacred years.

Happy birthday, Bear.
I don't know who I'd be without you.

– Mom

Becoming the Person I Needed

Some stories don’t begin with clarity—they begin with survival.
And some announcements can’t be summed up in a single sentence.

This month, I’m stepping fully into a new chapter of my life:
✨ I’m becoming a full-time certified Peer Recovery Coach and Qualified Behavioral Health Assistant—turning everything I’ve walked through into a path I can walk with others.

It’s not just a role.
It’s a reflection of what I’ve become.
And it’s why I want to share the story behind it.

I didn’t bury my pain. I carried it and kept going.
I kept working, kept smiling, kept showing up—while quietly fighting to believe I was worthy of more.

For years, I repeated patterns that hurt me. I shrunk myself to avoid conflict. I over-explained, over-accommodated, and let people walk all over me to keep the peace.
Not because I was weak—but because I was trying to survive.
Because I believed, somewhere deep down, that maybe if I was small enough, agreeable enough, quiet enough… I’d be safe.
I’d be loved.

But healing asked me to expand.

It asked me to break the cycle.
To choose myself—even when it felt uncomfortable.
To stop watering down my needs and start reclaiming my voice.

That’s where this story really begins.
With a decision.
Not to be perfect. But to become.

I left a toxic work environment in 2022. I quit drinking. I started working on myself not because I hated who I was—but because I believed I deserved a life that felt good. A life that honored everything I’d survived.

And through that, I started to see that what I thought were my flaws—my sensitivity, my intensity, my fire—were actually my gifts.

I used to believe I was bad at communication.
But that belief came from a past where my words were silenced or punished.
Now, I see communication—and the ability to advocate and walk alongside others—as one of my superpowers.
I’m still learning to harness it.
But I’m embracing it fully.

That’s what led me here.

Peer coaching is the natural next step.
It’s where my story and my purpose meet.
Where I get to hold space, build trust, and reflect the light back to people who haven’t seen it in themselves yet.

As I step into this new role, I carry it all with me.
The growth. The grit. The grace.
The girl I used to be—and the woman I’m becoming.

And through it all, I live by this:

I choose authenticity, growth, and grace.
I live in alignment with truth, led by faith, driven by purpose, and anchored in love.
I protect my peace, honor my healing, and rise from every fall with intention.
I walk in integrity, speak with honesty, and show up for others without losing myself.
I make decisions that reflect who I’m becoming, not who I’ve been.

If you’re on your way, too—
I’m cheering you on.

M

Redemption in Motion: Why We Keep Showing Up

Some moments shift everything.
For me, it was standing inside the same prison gym my husband once trained in—pulling a 280 lb deadlift while men on the inside cheered me on.
That’s when I knew this wasn’t just about fitness.
This was healing.
This was homecoming.

RF2 stands for Redemption Road Fitness Foundation (R and F squared—RF2). It’s a nonprofit that brings CrossFit and community into Colorado prisons, with the mission of reducing recidivism through fitness, mentorship, purpose, and connection.

We are so grateful for the full support of CrossFit Headquarters. Through their partnership, we’re able to:

• Maintain CrossFit-affiliated gyms inside multiple Colorado prisons

• Provide annual scholarships that fund professional credentialing for currently and formerly incarcerated individuals

• Receive tickets each year to attend the CrossFit Games

• Work with HWPO (Hard Work Pays Off), led by five-time Games champion Mat Fraser, to program the workouts for our fundraising competitions

It’s not just about lifting weights.
It’s about lifting lives.
Because as long as there is breath in your lungs, redemption is possible.

Men and women inside prison train with RF2. They have the opportunity to earn their Level 1 or Level 2 CrossFit certification, giving them the tools to teach professionally once they’re released.

It’s about giving people a second chance before they ever leave—a sense of direction, a chance to believe they are more than their past.
It’s also a space where they can perfect their craft and take ownership of their growth.

My husband Taylor isn’t the founder of RF2, but he serves as its Vice President, alongside a full board that includes individuals who began their journey while still incarcerated. Having spent over a decade inside himself, his role is deeply personal. He understands the impact firsthand.
So do I.

Every time we walk into a prison with RF2, something sacred happens.

In February, I stepped into the gym at Sterling Correctional Facility—the very place where Taylor once trained.
That day, I pulled a 280 lb deadlift with the support and encouragement of dozens of men still serving time.
I can still hear their voices cheering me on.
In that moment, the separation between “us” and “them” disappeared.
We were just people—fighting for something bigger than ourselves.

In May, we visited Limon Correctional Facility and took part in a hero workout with the men there. We pushed through reps, rounds, and sweat side-by-side.
Just recently, we visited Skyline Correctional Center and connected with yet another group of athletes behind the walls.

The impact is never small.

Each visit reminds me: these people matter.
Their stories matter.
Their strength, resilience, and growth deserve to be seen.

This weekend, we’re hosting a WOD Fest and fundraiser, where our larger CrossFit and recovery communities will come together in support of RF2.

The funds raised go directly toward helping incarcerated participants gain professional credentials like their L1 and L2, providing transitional services for reentry, and ensuring that our volunteers have the support they need to continue showing up and expanding this mission.

And at the end of this month, we’ll head to the CrossFit Games in New York.
Not just to witness greatness—but to represent the ones who aren’t allowed to be there yet.

This blog is where I’ll share the stories that don’t always make it to social media.
The unseen moments.
The people we’ve grown to love.
The redemption we’ve witnessed firsthand.

Because RF2 isn’t just about fitness.
It’s about transformation—
and the stories that rise from the deepest places when you believe in someone long enough.

M

Healing in Motion: 4 Months Into the Unknown

About four months ago, my body started speaking louder than usual. And I had no choice but to listen.

It began with pain—unexplained, persistent, and disruptive. Not just a sore muscle or a bad day, but something deeper. Something that didn’t match a simple diagnosis.
Pain that touched everything: my workouts, my digestion, my nervous system, my sleep, my ability to be present.
Pain that tried to convince me I was broken.

But instead of giving in to fear, I made a decision: to show up for my healing anyway.

In the past four months, I’ve...

• Shifted my entire way of eating—choosing foods that support my gut, reduce inflammation, and stabilize my hormones

• Learned how to move my body with compassion, not control

• Listened when I needed rest

• Continued to train and move with intention, in ways that feel good to my body (this varies heavily depending on the day)

• Leaned into community, education, and faith when everything felt unclear

I started pelvic floor physical therapy last week. It was the first time in a long time I felt seen. I’ll be going back again this week.
And in August, I have an appointment with a specialist I’ve waited months to see—someone I hope can help me understand the full picture.

This process has tested me.

There have been moments I’ve felt helpless. Moments when my symptoms were invisible to everyone but me. Moments when I’ve questioned everything.
But even in all of that, I’ve also witnessed my own radical transformation.

It would’ve been easy to slip back into old coping mechanisms or patterns that numbed my pain. But I didn’t.

Instead, I chose:

• Food as medicine

• Movement as a gift

• Recovery as strength

• Faith and hope as my compass

I still don’t have all the answers. But I’m moving anyway.
This is what healing looks like right now—not from a place of certainty, but from a place of deep trust.

So if you’re going through something you can’t yet name—
If your body is louder than the imaging and labs that come back “normal,” “healthy,” “unremarkable”…
If your symptoms are dismissed or misunderstood—

You are not alone.

And you don’t have to wait for clarity to start showing up for your own healing.

I’m in it with you. And I believe we’re going to find our way through.

— M

The Stories I’ve Been Holding

I’ve carried these stories quietly for some time.

Not because I was hiding them—
but because I didn’t know where they belonged.

There are some things you just can’t fit into a social media caption.
They’re too layered. Too sacred. Too real.
And maybe... not loud or shiny enough to compete with everything else online.

That’s why I created this space.
Untouched Becoming isn’t for performance or perfection.
It’s for truth.

Here, I’ll be sharing stories about healing.
About recovery—mental, physical, emotional.
About chronic pain that’s not always visible, and strength that isn’t always loud.

I’ll be writing about RF2, and the work we do that has changed my life—bringing CrossFit, community, and personal development inside the walls of prison and back out into the world.

I’ll write about the CrossFit Games, and the stories that unfold beyond the competition floor—stories of resilience, redemption, and the power of being seen.

And I’ll share pieces of myself too.
The quiet parts. The strong parts. The becoming.

This blog isn’t about having it all figured out.
It’s about holding space—for the stories that don’t get told, and for the people who are still in the process of becoming.

I’m writing now because I finally have a space big enough for it.
Not a grid post. Not a story that disappears in 24 hours.
A place where it can live. And breathe. And maybe reach someone who needs it.

Thank you for being here.
If something I share makes you feel a little more understood—you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

We’re becoming, together.

M