I’ve never really talked about this, but I nearly died at nineteen.

Not in a poetic, metaphorical way. In a “24 hours away from blood poisoning” way. In a “doctors kept sending me home and not taking me seriously because they assumed I was just some sloppy college freshman and I kept testing negative for the only two things they had the brain cells to be willing to test me for” way.

 Let me backtrack…

The beginning of freshman year of college, I broke my foot entering a friends dorm room party like Kramer from Seinfeld. There just happened to be a dumbbell on the floor and I just happened to step on it and roll my ankle to the side.

I told the whole story about my broken foot and one drunken night out amidst the mess a few years ago on the Lady Like podcast. You can listen here should you so please.

Brutal time to break my foot. I was in a hip-hop dance crew at the time (Yes, truly. And quite good, too.) — I still went to dance classes with my cast on my leg. I am stubborn. I rebel. I digress.

Around that same time I had been dealing with throat issues — pain, inflammation, swelling, difficulty swallowing. This went on for weeks, progressing quickly downhill. But I had a double major and a minor’s worth of credits, and a party life to uphold. I was busy. I didn’t have time to be sick.

I must have gone to the doctor anywhere from four to seven times; each time tested for Mono and Strep. Negative. I would be sent home with no answers.

A few weeks had gone by and I was now at a point where I couldn’t eat solids, and my throat was so tight it was impacting my voice box. I sounded like a high-pitched elf. When I spoke, I would laugh at the voice coming out of me, then the laughter would cause such pain I would cry. It’s funny now, the vision of that cesspool of emotion and physical pain. But in reality it was so bad I had to carry a notebook around to write things to my friends because talking was too brutal.

My best friend Carly who’d grown up with me in my hometown happened to be going to school with me at the University of Minnesota, THANK GOD. She literally saved my life. She’d had enough of seeing my physical decline, and one day drug me into the doctors office, blasting past reception, and found a surgeon and said “You need to look in her throat NOW something is wrong with her.”

It worked. He shined a flashlight in my throat and his words were “Oh my God we need to operate immediately.” He sat me on a table in a room, no anesthesia, brought in a scalpel and some crazy sucking machine, and immediately cut open and (sorry for the graphic-ness) drained what was a huge abscess in my throat. He said I was mere hours away from blood poisoning it was so bad.

That evening, my mom drove up from Wisconsin with my aunt. We ate pasta from Noodles & Company. My first solid meal in weeks. I could swallow. I’ll never forget that pesto cavatappi. Divine.

Two weeks later after my stitches had dissolved, doctors finally performed a tonsillectomy on me. I haven’t had a throat issue since.

And most importantly, I survived past nineteen.

But surviving wasn’t the same as living.

That wasn’t the only thing that happened to me that year.

There was something else — the thing that happens to most women at some point in our lives but we rarely speak about. The thing we think is our fault and makes us party harder to convince ourselves we’re fun and OK. The thing that makes us both terrified of and desperate for male approval. The thing we don't tell our mothers about for a decade because we know it will break them.

That thing.

That year made the composition of my brain change forever. If I was going to not just survive but live, I had to reclaim myself. I had to take my body back under my control — all of it — the parts that almost killed me, the parts that were broken, and the parts taken without permission.

The summer of nineteen was when I had to make some decisions.

The Hustle

That summer, I went back home to Wisconsin and worked Eugster’s Farm Market like I’d done every summer since I was thirteen and driving highboy tractors to pick corn at 4 AM.

But this time was different.

I ordered a fitness and nutrition book. I decided to get strong. I started setting my alarm for 6am. I'd drive to the Princeton Club on Madison’s East Side before my farm shift and lift weights and run — not because I was trying to look like anything, but because I wanted to feel capable. Tough. Like I got to decide what my body could do.

I learned everything about nutrition labels and ratios for building muscle. I cut out alcohol except for one day a week, proving to myself I could. I was done numbing. I was done trying to party my way through pretending I was fine. And there was no shortage of requests for a DD amongst my teenage friends in Wisconsin.

By the time I went back to school that fall, I'd lost the "freshman fifteen" I'd gained. I was strong in a way I'd never been before. People noticed. I was fit as fuck.

I knew I had limited time left at school. Not because I was scared to be there, but because that summer on the farm, I realized I only had one life, and I needed to pursue the shit out of my dreams with it.

I came back to campus that fall knowing I was leaving by the end of the year to make performing my career.

It’s interesting what happens when you make life-altering decisions at such a young age, and what influences those decisions — most of them completely unknown even to your inner circle.

The Chill

I'm forty now. I’m not a different person at forty than I was back then, but I am the most distilled version of the person I became at nineteen.

I’m the same size as I was at nineteen, but even stronger. I understand my body, my mind, and their needs. I’m capable because I know I am and I’ve done the things now that I once decided I would do.

That nineteen-year-old who quietly decided to alter her life is still here. She never left.

What started as survival decisions became my operating system. What felt like desperation at the time was actually the blueprint.

Forty isn't about becoming someone new. It's about recognizing I've been her this whole time — I've just spent the last twenty-one years getting better at being her.

The decisions you make when everything falls apart? Those are the ones that stick. Not because trauma makes you stronger (fuck that narrative), but because crisis clarifies what actually matters.

At nineteen, I learned my body was mine to command. That doctors could be wrong. That survival is a choice you make every single day. That if you can make it through the worst year of your life, you can make it through anything that comes after.

And here's what I know at forty that I didn't know at nineteen: that summer wasn't a turning point. It was the foundation. Everything I've built since then — the career, the physical strength, the life — it all started with that decision at nineteen to take charge.

Sure, nineteen nearly killed me. But it also made me.

I have a family friend running 50 for Freedom: Ending Sex Trafficking in our Lifetime

Aaron Stark — a runner with an extraordinary mission. On December 27, 2025, Aaron is embarking on "50 for Freedom": a solo journey to run 30 miles in each of the 50 states over one year. This isn't just about logging miles — it's about making miles matter in the fight to end sex trafficking in our lifetime.

This campaign is "Powered by Venture"— his trusted partner with top-rated financial accountability. 100% of net proceeds will go directly to organizations actively working on the front lines: Venture, Project Rescue, and F.R.E.E. International.

Aaron's Goal: Raise $80,000 to cover travel, gear, lodging, and logistical costs for this coast-to-coast odyssey. By helping him shoulder these expenses, you ensure that every additional dollar raised through his efforts goes directly to:

• Prevention education in vulnerable communities

• Rescue operations for victims of trafficking

• Safe houses and aftercare programs for survivors

• Legal support to prosecute traffickers

  🏃 ONLINE GIVING: www.30forfreedom.org/50x30 — Fastest and easiest way to give

  ✉ MAIL A CHECK: Make payable to "Venture" Write "50 for Freedom - Aaron Stark" in memo line Mail to: Venture, 511 E. Travelers Trail, Burnsville, MN 55337

Upcoming Shows

Last Chance for:

TICKETS: Mobile, Alabama - Thursday Nov 6th

TICKETS: New Orleans, Louisiana - Friday Nov 7th

I have amazing local openers — women — featuring for me in both cities!

Love you all and cheers to the hustle + chill. We always win in the end.

xx NPH