The Journey
Do you remember your first diet?
My childhood memories are hazy—more like scattered photographs than full stories—but I clearly remember the shame. The baby fat that never seemed to go away. Jogging. Celery sticks. Watching my skinny friends eat whatever they wanted while I carefully ate my banana. The weekly “treat” of nachos and icecream I allowed myself.
And the purge afterward.
I was probably around 11 years old when I stepped onto the dieting rollercoaster—hope and despair, effort and disappointment—learning early that my self-worth was tied to a number on the scale. I believed my body was something to fight, to control, to outsmart.
Like so many women, I grew up surrounded by promises. “Lose 10 pounds in 3 days!” (Some things never change.) I remember the excitement of starting the latest Grapefruit Diet or Cabbage Soup Diet. Feeling proud of feeling hungry—because hunger meant it was working. And if the weight came off, it always came back.
At 23 I was married, and at 25 I became a mom. For the first time in my life, I embraced weight gain. I loved watching my belly grow, amazed by the beautiful human forming inside me. Three children later, I assumed the weight would naturally come off.
It didn’t.
Back on the rollercoaster I went—lose a few pounds, gain back more. No matter how much I exercised or how carefully I ate, the muffin top wouldn’t budge. I came closest with the Rosedale Diet and long daily fasted walks. I hit my goal weight, stayed there for about a week… and then gained it all back again.
Life moved forward. Precious years with my kids. A painful divorce. Separation from friends and family. By 2015, I found myself in the gym, completely in love with CrossFit. For the first time, I felt strong and powerful. Combined with a mostly meat-based diet, I looked “fit” and toned—and I loved it.
Until one long run ended with my knees giving out. I hobbled home, injured and defeated. My plans to do a Tough Mudder disappeared, and the weight slowly returned once again.
Every year was the year. The year I’d finally reach that magical number and be happy in my body.
I tried changing my mindset. Meditation. Yoga teacher training at a beautiful ashram in the Bahamas. Fasting with my (heaven-sent) new husband. I believed I was already doing “everything right.”
The ketogenic diet crept up on me quietly. I assumed I was already doing it—high protein, low carb, whole foods, no sugar. But it wasn’t until I truly understood ketosis—and increased my fat intake while lowering carbs enough—that everything changed.
The weight began to melt away.
For the first time in my life, food loosened its grip on me. I had days where I barely thought about eating. I woke up early with real energy. The scale stopped being a judge and became data. I noticed patterns—how my body shifted with my cycle, how ignoring hunger backfired, how my body wasn’t broken… it was communicating.
I stopped fighting it. I started listening.
I’ve always loved to bake.
My mom taught me how to bake cookies, cakes, pies, squares, and cinnamon buns using family recipes passed down for generations. Dessert was a nightly ritual in our home. Cinnamon toast or ice cream before bed was normal. Baking with my mom is still one of my favorite things in the world—it’s creative, joyful, and deeply grounding.
Keto baking is different.
You can get close to familiar flavours, but texture and mouthfeel will never be identical. And a long time ago, I made a clear decision: feeling strong, healthy, and at home in my body mattered more than the fleeting pleasure of a sugary brownie.
Once I understood the science—how addictive sugar is, how misleading many “keto” recipes are—it became easy to say no. I learned to read labels. I learned that not all starches are created equal. (I once made “keto” wraps with tapioca starch and excitedly shared the recipe with all my friends before realizing how badly it spikes blood sugar—only one specialty type is actually resistant starch.)
Knowledge became freedom.
Today, I can honestly say I love my body. I trust it. I believe this lifestyle will support my strength, vitality, and independence well into my senior years.
Real Keto Kitchen exists because I want to share that freedom.
This website—these recipes, this information—is for women who are tired of fighting their bodies. For those who feel like their hunger can’t be trusted, like they’ve failed too many times to count. The science is still emerging, but the lived experience matters just as much: discovering what works for you and choosing it, even when it goes against social pressure.
You are not broken.
Your body is not the enemy.
If my journey resonates with you, I hope you’ll join me here—and that together, we can build a path toward vibrant health, confidence, and peace with food.