For decades, I struggled with food, my body, and my sense of worth.

Not in a visible way.
I functioned. I worked. I was praised.
Most people had no idea what I was carrying.

Inside, I was constantly trying to be “enough.”
Enough to be liked.
Enough to be chosen.
Enough to belong.

Food was where the weight of that went.
Not just stress, but the feeling that I had to earn my place in the world.
The exhaustion of always trying.
The loneliness of always trying, and still feeling like it wasn’t enough.

I didn’t wake up wanting to become a coach.
I was trying to survive my own relationship with myself.

Recovery is what changed everything.
Not perfection. Not discipline.
But learning how to live without using food to manage my emotions, my worth, and my identity.

I’m originally from Japan, and I’ve built my life and work in English.

I didn’t grow up speaking this language.
I’ve made embarrassing mistakes I still remember.
Moments that stayed in my body long after the conversation ended.

So I became careful.
I learned how to scan for what was expected.
How to choose words that wouldn’t expose me.
How to sound “fine” even when I wasn’t.

That kind of vigilance shapes you.
It creates an insecurity most native speakers never have to think about.
Not just about language, but about belonging.

That awareness shapes the way I listen.

That pursuit is what led me into the wellness field more than 20 years ago.
Not to build a brand,
but because I had lived this from the inside.

Along the way, I wrote a book in Japanese about emotional eating,
which was praised by Joshua Rosenthal, the founder of the Institute for Integrative Nutrition.

I’ve since worked with people across cultures and professions who appear capable and successful,
and privately carry a pressure they have never had language for.