Blog

<img id="8qcpbtvnpmctein00" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/4vHmnHuDZKf1La2WSscXa9XuVDdeDXT6zBnF6TXsuiWRjQwwKXp4jr2WN2bZCuy0.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="60%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/4vHmnHuDZKf1La2WSscXa9XuVDdeDXT6zBnF6TXsuiWRjQwwKXp4jr2WN2bZCuy0.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 60%;" style="border-color: rgba(229,231,235,var(--tw-border-opacity)); --tw-scale-x: 1; --tw-scale-y: 1; --tw-pan-x: ; --tw-pan-y: ; --tw-pinch-zoom: ; --tw-scroll-snap-strictness: proximity; --tw-gradient-from-position: ; --tw-gradient-via-position: ; --tw-gradient-to-position: ; --tw-ordinal: ; --tw-slashed-zero: ; --tw-numeric-figure: ; --tw-numeric-spacing: ; --tw-numeric-fraction: ; --tw-ring-inset: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-ring-offset-width: 0px; --tw-ring-offset-color: #fff; --tw-ring-color: rgba(62,172,255,.5); --tw-ring-offset-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-ring-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow-colored: 0 0 #0000; --tw-blur: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-brightness: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-contrast: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-grayscale: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-hue-rotate: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-invert: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-saturate: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-sepia: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-drop-shadow: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-backdrop-blur: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-backdrop-brightness: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-backdrop-contrast: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-backdrop-grayscale: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-backdrop-hue-rotate: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-backdrop-invert: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-backdrop-opacity: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-backdrop-saturate: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-backdrop-sepia: var(--tw-empty,/*!*/ /*!*/); --tw-transform: translateX(var(--tw-translate-x)) translateY(var(--tw-translate-y)) rotate(var(--tw-rotate)) skewX(var(--tw-skew-x)) skewY(var(--tw-skew-y)) scaleX(var(--tw-scale-x)) scaleY(var(--tw-scale-y)); --tw-border-opacity: 1; --tw-filter: var(--tw-blur) var(--tw-brightness) var(--tw-contrast) var(--tw-grayscale) var(--tw-hue-rotate) var(--tw-invert) var(--tw-saturate) var(--tw-sepia) var(--tw-drop-shadow); --tw-backdrop-filter: var(--tw-backdrop-blur) var(--tw-backdrop-brightness) var(--tw-backdrop-contrast) var(--tw-backdrop-grayscale) var(--tw-backdrop-hue-rotate) var(--tw-backdrop-invert) var(--tw-backdrop-opacity) var(--tw-backdrop-saturate) var(--tw-backdrop-sepia); --tw-bg-opacity: 1; width: 640px; aspect-ratio: 16 / 9; object-position: 50% 60%;">One day around 8 years old, I woke up for a road trip to my grandparents' house and couldn't stop throwing up. My parents didn't know what to do except throw me in the backseat with a plastic bag and hit the road. Thus began a vicious cycle of anxiety, panic attacks, and no doctor visits. I spent the next 8 years in middle and high school throwing up multiple times a week before school. Every dance competition, every road trip, every sleepover, every new event caused me to throw up. People would ask me why I was nervous or why I was sick, and I had no idea. I loved to dance, and I loved going to my grandparents' house. My parents and family thought it was something I would grow out of, but I never did. Why would my body be trying so hard to tell me NO?&nbsp; After high school, I began taking my mental health into my own hands. I went to my primary care doctor, he prescribed me Prozac, and it made me sicker. We tried a few different medications with the same routine before I decided to go to therapy instead. 4-5 years of cognitive behavioral therapy later, and I was still throwing up when something would happen outside of my routines. Next, it was time to try medication AND therapy. I continued the therapy, anxiety-reducing self-help techniques, and started up on a different style of medication. We moved me from SSRI's to SNRI's, and within 60 days, I noticed a huge difference! I was sleeping better, I had more motivation throughout the day, and I didn't get random bouts of anxiety during the work days. The SNRI medication really helped me handle my day-to-day life without anxiety attacks. However, there were still big events like traveling and performing that caused me to throw up. After 5 years of therapy and medication, it was time to switch things up and figure out what I could do to improve my personal experiences in doing fun things like traveling and competing in pageants.&nbsp; In my mid-20's (I'm about to be 29 now), I'd been on the SNRI for a few years and had been out of therapy for a little while. Once I'd been in the same CBT therapy and on the same medication for a few years, it felt like I was stuck and wouldn't go any further unless I changed something. After 15 years of dealing with the same vomiting/panic attack/anxiety issues, I wanted to visit with a specialist for a real diagnosis - not just another diagnosis of anxiety during a therapy consultation. I spent over $2,000 and 6 hours with a neuropsychologist in Spokane who evaluated me, my thoughts, my experiences, and my feelings. I was willing to spend this time and money for an answer, because I'd already spent 15 years and who knows how much money on barely getting by. I would spend all the time and money in the world, just for an answer as to why I threw up or why I got nervous. Some doctors and therapists had tossed around diagnoses when I asked what could be wrong, and I heard: bipolar disorder (runs in the family), autism, schizophrenia, and just general anxiety disorder (again). None of these satisfied me; none of the medications for these disorders worked for me; and none of these were the answer in the end.&nbsp; I spent the money, and I spent the time. The neuropsychologist was awesome, reminded me of one of my favorite authors, and didn't make me feel crazy for being evaluated. We played some memory, number, and matching games, talked about growing up, talked about my mental health, and played with some tactile toys while talking. I didn't really understand what/how he was evaluating until I received my diagnosis a week later. Not anxiety, not panic disorder, not autism, not schizophrenia. Nope. Something I never expected: PTSD? I hadn't experienced anything traumatic that I knew of. My dad had PTSD from being a combat soldier, but I didn't know of anybody else in my family that had PTSD. Frankly, I thought it was a diagnosis saved for veterans of combat and survivors of severely traumatic events like attacks, assaults, natural disasters, etc. I didn't think PTSD made any sense for me, and I said that to my neuropsychologist. He explained that PTSD is vastly different from just a post-combat or post-assault disorder; even minute, daily experiences can compact over the years and cause PTSD. He said that when I spoke about my childhood, there were so many small events in which I was screamed at for not being right or being capable, I was screamed at for not being able to stop throwing up, or I was screamed at in front of an airport full of strangers. These thousands of small events over 20 years added up and caused me to react in the same way I did as a child: throw up. Now, if there's even a CHANCE that I could fail or be yelled at by someone, my stomach turns to knots. I could be stuck in the bathroom throwing up, or I could be as far as the ER completely dehydrated with no nutrients in the last 48 hours, all because I was yelled at in public a lot growing up. Whenever I was wrong or not good at something, I was told I was wrong or not good at said-thing in front of my family, in front of strangers in public, or wherever I happened to be at the moment. I didn't think this did anything to my psyche growing up, except allow me to be comfortable being wrong! Turns out, repetitive reminders that a child is wrong or incapable, especially public reminders, can make them FEAR being wrong or incapable. I was afraid of being wrong in front of people, even though I had been wrong in front of people thousands of times (and will continue to be wrong throughout my lifetime).&nbsp; My doctors suggested a couple different as-needed medications for flying and performing, and another doctor suggested EMDR therapy - eye movement desensitization and reprocessing therapy. I did some research and saw that a lot of patients saw enormous changes in their daily life after EMDR, but I also noticed some patients experienced worse symptoms after EMDR. Of course, every person is different, but I was still afraid to start the EMDR process. However, once I did, I knew within my first two appointments that the process would be life-changing. I had an epiphany almost every appointment. I was realizing week by week that my negative self-talk wasn't all me - it was developed from what others said to me. I realized week by week that my trauma was slow, small, and gradual; but that also meant that the fear had grown for 20 years and never even been thought of as trauma. When we thought of my disorder as anxiety, my doctors and I were constantly trying to figure out what caused me to be nervous, and we never knew. Now that PTSD has been put into the picture, we don't try to figure out what makes me nervous; we try to figure out what makes me scared or hesitant. The first time I got carsick after starting EMDR, I realized I don't get carsick...I get scared that I'm going to be yelled at for throwing up in the car again. I don't get nervous when flying, I get scared that someone is going to scream at me in front of the entire plane of passengers. Now that I've gotten through 6 months of therapy and 10 years of medication changes, my doctors and I have figured out fantastic solutions that have allowed me to travel, perform, and do anything I put my mind to. Will I still have bouts of nerves? Yes. Will I still throw up on occasion? I'm sure. But, will I be able to power through these events without being put in the ER? YES. Will I be able to push through the negative thoughts in my head and remind myself that I can do ANYTHING and nobody can stop me? I sure will. I've learned that people could yell at me all day, but as a grown adult who takes care of herself, there's nothing that yelling at me will do anymore. It won't even make me scared anymore, because I took care of myself first.&nbsp; Last, I just want to say thank you to Kendall for giving women like me a platform to share our stories. I didn't have the same internet in 2005 that we have today! I remember Googling why I threw up when I got nervous, and there was nothing on the internet. Nowadays, we can find entire communities of people with similar experiences to ourselves to remind us that we are never alone. The pageant community has given me friends and a family that care about me and my well-being. Pageantry has given me a platform to voice the issues I care about, and now the Mrs. American community is bolstering Kendall's RISE platform for women to share stories. I'm so grateful to pageantry for bringing strong women into my life, and I'm thankful to these women for lifting me up. They didn't need to, but they chose to include me. I can't wait to read more stories from RISE as Kendall reaches more women!

Overcoming PTSD: Mrs. Washington's Journey

There was a season in my life when everything looked fine on the outside—but inside, I was unraveling. In my early twenties, I struggled silently with an eating disorder. I wore a smile while carrying the weight of perfectionism, shame, and the unrelenting feeling that I had to earn my worth. I was functioning, achieving even—but I was not fulfilled. Years of self depreciation and self esteem issues had me spiralling into low self worth and feelings of failure. I almost dropped out of college from sheer burnout and exhaustion.Then, life delivered another blow. I lost a family member to domestic violence. The kind of loss that knocks the wind out of you. I remember standing still while the world kept moving, wondering how healing was even possible when you’re walking around with a hole in your heart.Grief doesn’t ask permission. It reshapes you. And so, in the wreckage of identity and loss, I made a choice I never expected to make: I moved across the country. I left behind the familiar—family, friends, safety nets—and took a leap into the unknown with my husband and our two kids (honorable mention to our 3 dogs along for the ride).What I found on the other side of that move wasn’t immediate healing. It was hard. Lonely. Humbling. But it was also where I started to RISE.I began doing the slow, intentional work:I started honoring my body instead of punishing it. I let myself grieve fully—and then, little by little, I started to dream again. I got involved with domestic violence shelters and started to work to improve the system.<figure id="figure-5h79ew9z5mctajicq"><img id="5h79ew9z5mctajicq" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/239XYSuAbo1plhyMzXVdA1X9FfxRq4gGRSBquQvfJVsAWwLWA26X0QYQE9tbsEPy.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 45% 0%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionX="45%" data-positionY="0%" data-fullWidth="false"/></figure> I rebuilt from the inside out—strengthening not just my career, but my confidence and my sense of purpose. RISE was born from that personal journey. It’s not just a brand. It’s my story—transformed into a mission.Because I know what it feels like to hit rock bottom. To wonder if you’ll ever feel like you again. To question whether your pain will always define you.And I also know what’s waiting on the other side: resilience, reinvention, and rising.Today, RISE exists for the woman who is still in the middle of her mess. For the survivor who’s looking for a second chance. For the woman who’s ready to rise but doesn’t know where to start.We equip women with tools for their careers, affirmations to speak life into their minds, and a community that says: You are not broken. You are becoming.If you're reading this and you're in the thick of it, I want you to hear me—this isn't the end of your story. It might just be the beginning of your rise.

My Journey to RISE: From Rock Bottom to Rising Woman

A personal challenge that I faced was at sixteen when my life took an unexpected turn. My family decided to move to the United States, and I found myself starting my senior year of high school in a foreign land. The excitement of a new beginning was quickly overshadowed by the reality of feeling like an outsider. &nbsp; On my first day, I walked through the crowded hallways, clutching my books tightly to my chest. The unfamiliar faces, the strange accents, and the overwhelming sense of being different made me feel incredibly awkward and isolated. Lunchtime became the hardest part of the day. With no friends to sit with, I often retreated to the bathroom, hiding in a stall to avoid the discomfort of the cafeteria. &nbsp; Days turned into weeks, and the loneliness weighed heavily on me. I missed my old friends, the familiar customs and routines, and the comfort of feeling at home with myself. One afternoon, as I sat alone in the bathroom, tears streaming down my face, I made the decision that I could not continue living in the shadows. I had to find a way to embrace my new reality. &nbsp; I began to take small steps toward self-acceptance. I started by joining a creative writing workshop. It was a way to spend the lunch hour doing something other than hiding in the bathroom. But it was also an opportunity to express myself through written words. I started writing stories and poems drawn from my experience as a new immigrant, a girl between two worlds. I wrote my truth. And something amazing happened. People were drawn in. My stories were published in the school newspaper, and people connected. Not in spite of my differences, but because of them. The more I embraced who I was, the more I allowed others to share who they were. I started to make friends who were genuinely interested in who I was, not where I came from. These connections brought a new sense of belonging and purpose. &nbsp; As the months passed, my confidence grew. I no longer felt the need to hide. Instead, I embraced my story, my heritage, and my journey. The experience deepened my empathy, making me a fierce advocate for inclusivity. I understood the pain of feeling out of place and wanted to ensure that others never felt the same way. &nbsp; By the time graduation approached, I had transformed. I stood tall, proud of who I had become. I knew that no matter where life took me, I would never again be afraid of owning my story and being true to myself. My journey had taught me the incredible power of self-acceptance and the importance of making others feel like they belong.So if you’ve ever felt like you don’t belong, please hear this: your story matters. You are not too different. You are exactly enough. Don’t shrink. Don’t hide. Take up space. Speak your truth. That’s how you find your people. That’s how you come home to yourself.

Blog

Overcoming PTSD: Mrs. Washington's Journey

My Journey to RISE: From Rock Bottom to Rising Woman

Sunika's Story