The Year Everything Changed — And I'm Still Standing

I don't usually talk about my personal life this much.

I am the person who shows up, gets it done, and keeps moving. That is how I was built. That is how I have always operated. But this past year has asked more of me than I knew I had — and I think it's time I let you in.

So here it is. All of it.

My son.

My older son was diagnosed with a tumor in his spine.  

I'm going to let that sentence sit for a second because when I lived it, nothing moved fast enough and everything moved too fast at the same time.

He had been having trouble walking. Something was off and we knew it but the road to that diagnosis was its own kind of exhausting. And then when we had the answer — when we finally had the words to put to what was happening to my child — I remember thinking that knowing almost felt harder than not knowing.

We had the tumor removed at the beginning of this year.

The surgery was successful. He is recovering. He is on the road back to himself and I am so deeply, overwhelmingly grateful for that. But I want to be honest — this was one of the hardest things I have ever walked through. Watching your child struggle to do something as basic as walk. Sitting in waiting rooms. Holding it together in front of him and falling apart in the car on the way home.

I am a healthcare provider. I know anatomy. I know outcomes. I know statistics. And none of that knowledge made it easier to be his mom.

He is better now. We are getting there. And every single day I am grateful.

My younger son.

While all of this was happening my younger son was continuing high school and baseball.

This chapter is closing — the high school chapter, the one where I know exactly where he is and what he's doing and I can be in the stands cheering him on every weekend.

He is heading to junior college to play baseball and we have been figuring out all of it together. The logistics. The transition. The adulting that suddenly became very real very fast. I am proud of him in a way that is hard to put into words. He worked for this. He earned this.

But I would be lying if I said the transition was easy for me. One son recovering from surgery. Another one stepping into his independence. Both of them growing up at the same time in very different ways. (Well he will still be living with us, but still learning independence).

Motherhood is not for the faint of heart.

Roots.

And then there is the practice.

This year I achieved something I have been working toward for a long time — full practice authority as a nurse practitioner in California. No collaborating physician. Complete clinical independence. My license, my practice, my decisions.

I should have felt purely celebratory about it. And I do. I really do.

But I also want to be honest that becoming independent while simultaneously navigating a family medical crisis, onboarding new staff, restructuring the business, and trying to keep up with everything else — it was a lot. There were weeks where I did not know how I was going to get through the next day.

I hired. I restructured. I made hard decisions about what Roots is and what it isn't anymore. I let go of things that were not serving us. I brought in people I trust. I kept showing up for my patients even on the days when I was running on empty.

Because that is what this work means to me. It is not just a practice. It is a calling. And my patients deserve a provider who shows up fully — even when showing up fully takes everything I have.

The in between.

In between all of this I was still trying to work out. Still trying to cook clean meals for my family. Still trying to be present. Still trying to be a good mom, a good provider, a good business owner, a good human.

Some days I nailed it. A lot of days I didn't.

I burned things on the stove. I skipped workouts. I had weeks where the laundry sat in the dryer for three days. I had moments where I sat in my car and just breathed because I didn't have anything left to give and I needed one minute that belonged only to me.

And then I got back up. Because that's what we do.

Why I'm sharing this.

I share this because I think we do each other a disservice when we only show the polished version.

I am a functional medicine nurse practitioner. I talk to my patients about cortisol and HPA axis dysfunction and the physiological impact of chronic stress. I know this stuff inside and out. And this year I lived it in a way that was deeply personal.

Chronic stress is real. The impact on your hormones, your gut, your thyroid, your sleep — it is real. I know because I felt it in my own body while I was managing everything I just described to you.

What got me through was the same thing I tell my patients. You have to show up for yourself even when it's hard. You have to protect your health even when life is loud. You have to ask for help. You have to build the right support around you.

I am still in it. I am still figuring it out. But I am standing.

And so are you.

What's ahead.

There is so much coming at Roots that I am genuinely excited about. New team members. New programs. New collaborations. Things I have been building quietly that are almost ready to share.

But more than any of that — I am heading into this next chapter with a deeper understanding of what my patients carry when they walk through my door. Because I have been carrying it too.

Thank you for being part of this community. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for reading this far.

I'll see you soon.

With love, Toni