As I stand in the dark wings of the stage, I feel my nerves kick in. After months of skipping nights out with friends, turning down my favorite meals and logging countless hours in the gym, I only have ten seconds of undivided attention from the judges. As I muster up confidence, I hear my coach's voice in my head, "You deserve to be up there. Stand with pride. You earned this moment." Suddenly, I hear my name echoed throughout the auditorium and I feel my body begin to shake. Taking a deep breath, I puff up my chest, channel my inner goddess and step into the spotlight of the stage.

Image via Imaxtree

I was introduced to the bikini competition world in college when I began cyber-stalking my college sweetheart's ex-girlfriend. She was a dancer (think: naturally slender and lithe) and bikini competitor. Instead of feeling jealous, I found myself (also a fit-freak) captivated by her world of chiseled bodies and flashy suits.

But it wasn't until May of last year, when my muscle-head boyfriend suggested we do a show together, that I signed up for my first competition, the NPC-IFBB Titans Grand Prix show hosted by Jon Lindsay's Muscle Contest. I knew it would be a long, hard road full of sacrifices. I knew it would test me in every way possible -- mentally, physically and emotionally, especially given my past (more on that later). So began my 16-week transformation into a bikini competitor, which I quickly learned is so much more than spray tans and shiny suits.

I've always had a love for health and fitness -- but it wasn't always a healthy relationship. Throughout high school, I suffered severely from a negative body image. I became an anorexic who popped laxatives like a multi-vitamin. I limited my food intake to no more than 900 calories a day and spent at least two hours in the gym -- twice a day.

At my lowest point, I contemplated drinking the chemicals under the sink in order to purge. Before I could, my mother, who'd been suspicious about my behavior, staged an intervention that very night. I owe my health and (my life) the love of my parents, who helped me develop a healthy relationship with fitness by reminding me that the body is a vessel for living, not the reason for living.

Today, after years of meditation and practicing self-love, I am in a much healthier place with my body image. Still, any girl who's been down the anorexia path knows the demons are always looking for an excuse to come out again. This was my No. 1 fear with competing. It offered plenty of triggers for self-hate, self-doubt and eating disorders, and those close to me shared the same concerns. But I wasn't about to let that stop me from challenging myself, because to me that meant my demons had won -- and forget that.

So I dove into the opportunity headfirst, ready to tackle whatever this journey might throw at me. I knew I couldn't do it alone, and would need an experienced coach who would be sensitive to my triggers.

If there's one mistake competitors make, it's putting their trust in a coach who promises show-day results at any cost. An overzealous training plan can wear down a person's metabolism and lead to a metabolic disorder. I was not about to let that happen. After inquiring about competition coaches at my own gym, I was connected with 5% Nutrition sponsored athlete Noelle Rockwell.

As a woman who has faced just about every health issue out there -- metabolic damage, pituitary failure, hypothyroidism, cervical cancer, going through menopause three times by the age of 30 and hormone replacement therapy -- she knows a thing or two about taking care of one's self in extreme circumstances.

"I get so many abused clients damaged from this sport," Rockwell says. "I've been there myself, and I know the feelings of self-hatred, embarrassment, humiliation and fear of failure when you've exhausted all means of dieting and exercise. I've lived that, and it's personal for me. That's why I do this."

Given my unstable past, it was important that I worked with someone who doesn't screw around when it comes to the health of her athletes, and her openness about her personal fitness journey allowed me to put my trust in her. "I'm fairly blunt and I don't sugarcoat things," she warned from the beginning. She wasn't kidding.

When I began my training, I was actually in fairly good shape. I was hitting the gym five days a week and ate mostly proteins, whole grains and greens during the week. But come weekends, my inner fat kid came unhinged, devouring bottomless mimosas and mixed drinks, Uber Eats, pizza and, my Sunday ritual, Nutella-filled doughnuts.

I had my reality check when Rockwell asked me to take "before" photos in a bikini. Up until then, I'd relied on oversized sweaters and lose-fitting shirts to hide my forever food baby.

After the first few snaps, I asked my photographer to show me the pictures and when I saw them, I cringed. Months of indulging were obvious around my waistline. My once angular face had transformed into Pillsbury pudginess. That's when my demons made their first appearance. Standing at 5' 5.5" and 150 pounds, I believed it would take a miracle (or liposuction) to transform my potato-esque body into that of a chiseled competitor's.