An Honest and Vulnerable Share About My Journey with Sports, Nutrition, and Failures

I remember when my relationship with food started taking the front seat of my life.

At the time though, I didn’t realize what was going to unfold.

It all really started with sports and injury.

Let me take you ALL the way back.

Strap in, because I am telling you the LONG version.

In high school, I was very set on playing a sport in college. I played both basketball and soccer. My parents would tell me to just pick one so I could put all my energy towards it, but I chose to pursue both. I loved the feeling of being in-season, so I managed to always be in-season between the two.

Soccer was a spring sport and basketball was a winter sport. But of course, any gap was filled with anther league so I could always be playing.

I was the type to stay after practice to refine my skills.. partly because my parents were busy running a business, being late to pick me up, but also because I wanted to be “the best.”

I had posters on my walls of the greats, like Muhammed Ali, inspiring me to be relentless and unwavering in my self-belief. My mindset was “we don’t practice until we get it right, we practice until we can’t get it wrong.”

I would spend hours outside of practice and games practicing. I definitely favored basketball, so more of my time was spent doing skill work. I would pick a skill, such as left-handed layups, and say I had to make 100 in a row before I could finish and go inside. Even if I was at 88 and missed 1, I would start from zero and make sure it was a perfect, consecutive 100.

I cared a lot about my performance. Playing and being strong made me feel amazing. It felt like I had something undeniably great about me. But if I didn’t play well, I would lock myself in my teenage bedroom, stewing in anger, sadness, and disappointment. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or be seen in this emotional state. I hated the feelings that came after a bad game. And I was so ashamed that it had to be witnessed.

I’m sure, subconsciously, those negative feelings drove me to practice harder too. I wanted how hard I worked to show. I wanted people to be intimidated when they saw me step on the court. I wanted coaches to wish I was on their team. I never would’ve said these things out loud, but it was what I thought about. Inside my own head, my ego was huge. But around others, I didn’t say much. I just went hard.

My older brother was also an amazing athlete, as were my parents per their stories. Though, again, I never would have said it out loud to anyone at that time, I wanted to be better than my brother. He set a high bar, but I had to make sure I did at least a little bit better than he did in things, from grades to sports. 

He was the first born, and I was a middle child. I don’t know if my parents really did anything to make me feel this way, but I always remember feeling like I had something to prove. I felt like I had to prove that I was good at everything and that I was a perfect person. I had big dreams and I couldn’t wait for them to come true.

So, I made sure I was good at everything in my life- top of my class, president of multiple clubs, got along well with everyone, and great athlete. I was doing all the things I possibly could, and I was doing them well.

I had a big basketball game coming up where we knew there would be a college scout. I was excited and I asked my brother to come, which I didn’t often do. The game was going so well for me, I was playing my best. 

I remember this moment very vividly. I was on defense and made a steal. I was running fast down the court and I saw two people on the opposite team running back with me to block. I made a cut towards the basket and it happened- I tore my ACL.

I was in terrible pain and couldn’t walk. My brother carried me off the court and into the trainer’s office. I was the type to endure pain, hide it, and play anyway. But this pain was too strong. I remember being physically and emotionally distraught, but all other details are blurry.

After I got a scan and it was confirmed I needed surgery, I became depressed. In front of people, I seemed normal. But when I was alone, I would cry. I felt like everything I ever wanted was ruined. But there was still a small part of me that hoped I could recover fully and still have a chance at playing in college.

I was eager to be cleared to play again. I religiously did the exercises the physical therapist told me to do. Proper nutrition was far out of my conscious awareness, and I don’t remember how I ate during recovery. But I did lose a significant amount of weight the months after surgery because of my sadness.

Once I was finally cleared to play again, after abut 9 months, I was playing in a summer league soccer game. It wasn’t long after my return that I re-injured my knee. The second time, I wasn’t in as much physical pain, but I was very angry.

After this, I was never the same. Even though I tried my best to play and practice normally, the fear of getting hurt again never went away. I would watch film of my playing, seeing myself limping and running strangely, but couldn’t tell i was doing it while it was happening.

I lost faith in myself and missed recruiting camps because of the re-inury. My future in sports felt like it was over. It felt impossible to accept. To this day, I still have thoughts about this time in my life, wishing it played out differently.

At this point, it was my senior year of high school. My body started to look different with the change in activity. I remember starting to experiment with food. I remember trying not to eat or just having some diet V8 drink in place of lunch at school. 

When I went to college, I kept working out on my own because it made me feel good. I would go on long runs and lift weights, while massively undernourishing myself. I didn’t know that I was undernourishing myself while I was doing it at this time. I thought I was just being “fit.”

This was around the time I applied for a job at GNC that was on Pitt’s campus (my undergrad). My boss was a pro bodybuilder and told me that I had the natural build for a figure competitor. Of course, my ego loved that and I trusted him.

Lifting weights with a purpose felt great. I felt like I was finding purpose after my sports injury. I remember thinking that had I not been injured, I never would have went to Pitt or had been working at GNC. I had felt like things were making sense for me.

The year was 2010, and it was not “cool” for girls to lift weights at this point. When I would go, I was often the only girl in the weight section of the gym. I was always naturally strong, and so again, my ego felt great being the strong. 

This helped me start to eat more because now my nutrition had a purpose. I ate well and felt great in my body. 2 years later (age 19), I did a bodybuilding show. But I did not win.

This, of course, made me angry. I worked really hard, long hours in the gym and eating very little. The discipline and effort was high, while some one competing alongside me didn’t know the difference between a carbohydrate and a protein, took first place. I was jealous and felt like she had an unfair advantage. And I was left feeling bad about my body and an unhealthy relationship with food. (looking back, I recognize it as jealousy. but at the time, I believed differently)

One show was enough for me because I realized it was too much mentally to be judged for my body. I also developed bad habits around food that I knew went too far. I knew the longer I stayed in this sport, the worse things were going to get for me.

But at that point, my closest friends were all very much into the “eat clean, train dirty” mentality. We all had disordered thoughts around eating, but we thought they were normal since we all had them. We just leaned into these extreme diet tendencies, completely unaware how unhealthy our thoughts actually were.

I kept training and eating like a bodybuilder even after college. I was very absorbed into my #fitchick identity (lol). I dabbled in  powerlifting for a couple of years after that, but it was starting to take a toll on my joints. Though, I loved how strong I felt!

At this point, I started telling myself I just wanted fitness to be fun. I didn’t want to keep competing.. I just wanted to FEEL like an athlete again. I joined a crossfit gym and was certain that I would just do this for fun.

But, eventually, I was recruited to join a competition team. I resisted, but I was very easy to convince. It's hard to waive competition in front of a competition fiend.

This is where things started to get confusing with food.

I had absolutely no idea how much energy I was expending with the way I was training. During the day, I ate like a bodybuilder with small meals. But after 3+ hours of training, I came home and binged.

I binge ate after every training session. But I needed the calories, so I never felt bad about it. I was probably the fittest and lightest I ever was at that time. No one, not even myself, saw my food behaviors as a problem.

After years of competing in crossfit, it became incredibly apparent that I needed to stop competing. I realized my drive for competition was an ego thing. It made me feel better than other people, and I worked on my personal development enough to realize it was not actually serving me.

Crossfit stopped, but my bingeing did not. My body started to change, and I had a hard time with it.

At this time, Fuel the Fire (my business) was very busy. I stayed regimented with exercise, but more casually. When I would come home or have time alone, I often binged. I couldn’t stop myself.

And I told absolutely no one.

On the outside, my life looked perfect. I had a thriving business, dated good-looking guys, felt respected by my community, and still looked like I was strong.

But inside, I felt empty. My friendships were starting to feel strained, I had a complicated relationship with my mom, and most of my boyfriends cheated on me. 

I tried to push down these feelings with binge eating, watching TV, dating apps, etc. But it was only a matter of time before I broke.

The energy that it took to deny what I was feeling was too much.

I needed a break from my life.

I was so numb that I had no idea what made me happy anymore.

I thought that the external validation I received would be enough to convince me that I was a “good girl” but I didn’t feel good enough.

What I really craved was for some one to see me.. to truly see me for me.. for some one to tell me they loved me no matter what my life looked like or what I achieved. I needed to hear that my life was worth it, even if I had nothing left to give.

But at that time, I realized I lived the identity of a martyr.

I gave and gave and gave until I was completely empty.

I was doing everything I could to make certain people around me happy, but it was never enough.

I just wanted to turn off the critical voice in my head that told me I wasn’t lovable, deserving of my own happiness, or good enough.

Once I hit that lowest of lows, I felt such a strong desire to run away from it all. I had achieved my biggest dreams and yet I felt the opposite of how I expected to feel.

Something had to change.

I came up with any excuse I could to leave the life I had built. I didn’t really understand what I was doing or why, but I knew I had to. It was just a deep, gut feeling that was illogical to everyone around me.

I knew I couldn’t help anyone until I helped myself first.

So, I closed my business and started my life over.

I’d love to tell those who are reading this that it was instantly magical and I felt free after that…

But I was an absolute mess for a while.

And I went through it publicly.

Some people tried not to judge, but I knew people were saying horrible things about me. I knew some people were happy to see me fall. I knew some people doubted me from the start. And my ego absolutely hated that I gave them the satisfaction.

But truly, it was the harsh critic in my head that became a self-fulling prophecy. I let every ounce of self doubt overtake me, and I didn’t try to fight it.

I stopped acting like I had all the answers.

And I got help.

A lot of help.

I stopped going to the gym for 2 years, and only took walks.

I dropped all the rules I had around food and simply listened to my body.

My weight went up at first because I overate all the foods I used to deny myself. But I didn't care because I knew the only way to heal my relationship with food was to let myself do whatever I wanted until all the build up of suppression was released.

Eventually, I got there and food no longer had a choke-hold on me.

I never wanted to be seen as weak, but I didn’t have the ability to hide my wounds anymore.

I was open and honest about my emotions for the first time in my life. 

I finally understood myself deeply for the first time in my life.

I faced pain I didn’t even recognize I was carrying.

And I made it to the other side.

This was the best and freest I ever felt.

But I faltered for another 2 years.

My savings were dwindling and I had to start working again. But I lacked self trust to run my business full-time again because of the pressure I remember feeling before.

So... I got a job... and I couldn't have been more miserable. My weight started climbing back up from stress and I'd feel the pull towards over-eating again.

However, I didn't binge or revert back to any of those old coping mechanisms.

Although, at this point, I did not want anymore tests or lessons from the universe because I hadn't had a big win in a while... this was definitely a testament to the work that I did and the tools I used/created to keep myself from drowning again.

It took me a year to leave that job because I kept fighting to make things better. But I realized it was the wrong fight for me.

I let go of that job and within a week, my inflammation went down and I felt like myself again.

I have more body fat than I used to, and I am at peace with that. My relationship with food is NORMAL, and I couldn't be happier.

Sure, I have moments where I still slip into self judgement, but again, the tools I have learned over the years bring me right back to center.

I've never loved myself more.

And I take a lot less half-naked pics of myself because I don't crave validation for this meat suit I am living in. I know it is perfect exactly as it is.

I came back to my business, Fuel the Fire, and now my mission runs deeper than it ever has.

This journey was really important for me.

Because I had to lose it all to see I was worthy of the things my heart desired.

I would’ve never learned this lesson any other way.

And now, when I support some one on their nutrition or wellness journey, I see the deeper layers.

Bingeing was never really about learning about nutrition.

It was a physical representation of my internal world.

That’s what is incredible about being a spiritual being in a human body. Our body is constantly communicating with us. 

But we have been taught to override it with “logic.”

And I deeply dove into understanding what these signals look like during that time in my life.

That is why these teachings have become an integral part of my work.

This is why I feel so deeply tied to this mission.

I have felt the depths of the darkness, and I wouldn’t have made it to the highs that I feel now without that experience.

And I am here to reflect back to others on this journey the beauty that I wish I saw in myself sooner.

If this resonated, click this link to schedule a free discovery call.

Sending you all so much love.

xoxo Shanon