Hey there,

I’m Snezhana!

Throughout my youth, I was always fit and healthy — which was surprising, considering the sheer amount of junk food I constantly ate. The only “vegetable” I liked back then was French fries. Most of my meals were nothing but fast food and sweets: McDonald’s, KFC, pizza, M&Ms, Coke — you name it.

But little by little, almost without me noticing, my health began to slip. I found myself getting tired more easily, my hair started falling out, and my mind often felt foggy. Still, it wasn’t until after the birth of my daughter that I truly realised something had to change.

I had gained 10 kilos during pregnancy, and no matter what I did, they simply wouldn’t budge. What happened to my once fit, healthy body? I wondered. Just a few years ago, I could eat whatever I wanted without gaining a single gram. Now, it feels like I only have to look at food for it to go straight to my waist.

It was even more disheartening when, a couple of years after my daughter was born, airport staff at the scanner still assumed I was pregnant. I felt crushed. And to make matters worse, despite our hopes for another baby, it just wasn’t happening. It was a frustrating, painful time that forced me to face the truth: something in my lifestyle had to change.

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The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself.

Mark Twain

There was a time when I looked in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back at me. My body felt like a heavy burden I couldn’t shake off, and every step I took seemed weighed down by the invisible weight of self-doubt and shame. I remember hiding behind loose clothes, avoiding social gatherings because I was ashamed of how I looked and afraid of the judgment I imagined from others. The mirror wasn’t just a reflection of my body — it was a reminder of all the battles I was silently fighting inside.

I felt trapped in a cycle where every attempt to change seemed to pull me deeper into frustration. Food was both a comfort and a cage, a confusing battlefield where cravings won more often than my willpower. There were days when I felt like I was swimming in the deep ocean, overwhelmed and lost, searching desperately for the sunny island of peace and confidence I longed to reach. The sharp contrast between who I was and who I wanted to be was a constant ache in my heart.

Yet, beneath all that pain, there was a quiet hope. A hope that someday, I could break free — not just from the weight I carried on my body, but from the weight of shame, fear, and loneliness. That hope became the light that guided me through the darkest days, reminding me that I was more than a number on a scale, and that I deserved love and kindness — from others, but most importantly, from myself.

Me, January 2023, at my heaviest.

That’s when my real quest for health began. It was 2019, and while I had already started eating somewhat healthier a few years earlier — turning vegetarian in 2015 (a story for another time) and dabbling in veganism — junk food still dominated my plate. Biscuits, chocolates, pizza, fake meats, vegan mayo, vegan yoghurt, vegan ice cream… these were all regulars in my meals.

But by 2019, I couldn’t ignore it any longer: I was overweight, constantly tired, and felt utterly drained. That’s when I decided to channel my strong will and discipline, this time in service of my health — and give it my all.

“I’m done with junk food!” I declared.

In fact, I dove headfirst into eating 100% raw vegan. Soon after, I embarked on a 21-day juice fast — and then another, and another. Over the next two to three years, I repeated this cycle relentlessly. I’d do a juice fast, drop all the weight, and then, within mere weeks of returning to normal eating, watch helplessly as it all came back.

Between juice fasts, I experimented with everything under the sun: keto, whole-food plant-based, the starch solution, intermittent fasting, even the occasional 72-hour water fast to push the scale down further. But none of it ever addressed the real problem — that as soon as I returned to regular meals, the weight would creep back, sometimes faster than before.

A few years into this relentless pursuit, it dawned on me that I was “deep in the mud.” I had slid into the painful trap of bingeing and yo-yo dieting. I lost the same stubborn 10 kilograms over and over, only to regain them all. My wardrobe was a testament to this vicious cycle: two distinct sets of clothes — slim clothes for those fleeting days at the end of a diet, and larger ones for all the times in between.

Every time I shed the weight, I felt elated, almost invincible. But when it inevitably returned, I was consumed by shame and crushing disappointment. I couldn’t understand it. In every other area of my life, when I set my mind to something, I achieved it with ease. Why was this different? I didn’t lack willpower or discipline — if anything, I had an iron grip on those. But with food, it felt like something else had taken control. I would watch, almost as an outsider, as this other version of me devoured everything in sight, powerless to intervene. Then came the stomach pain and nausea, a punishment that felt strangely deserved.

Through it all, one truth kept rising to the surface, no matter how much I tried to outrun it: never fast just to lose weight. Diets don’t work — at least not for good. These weren’t just passing opinions I stumbled on; they were hard-won truths echoed by countless experts and real stories alike, daring me to finally see my struggle for what it really was.

Me, November 2024

It was around then that something inside me finally clicked — I knew deep down that things had to change. I was worn out by all the restrictions and constant deprivation, and I was starting to see that this way simply wasn’t working for me.

At the same time, my interest in mindfulness really began to grow. I started exploring how I could use it to heal my relationship with food, to stop fighting and start truly listening to my body. And, amazingly, a few years later, I had lost all the extra weight — and kept it off ever since.

But what still feels almost miraculous is how gentle and enjoyable the whole journey turned out to be. There was no sense of missing out, no white-knuckling my way through. I loved my food, I felt satisfied, and I still do.

Now, knowing how many women struggle the way I once did, I’ve made it my mission to help them find this same freedom — so they can finally stop battling their bodies and start living with ease and joy.