WAKAAN and the Complicated Business of Changing Your Life

Disclaimer: This article is written by Val and reflects her personal experiences and perspectives. We believe in celebrating and supporting all bodies, regardless of size. Val is sharing her own personal journey, and the views expressed in this article are hers alone. Readers should consider this article for informational and personal insight purposes only, and it should not be interpreted as professional medical or health advice.

I wrote most of this story a year ago, and didn’t publish it. At that time, I had spent eight weeks changing nearly everything about the way I ate, moved, and took care of myself, with one specific finish line in mind – WAKAAN Music Festival. I started at 315 pounds. By the time I made it to Mulberry Mountain, I had lost over 50.

More importantly, I felt different. My knees hurt less. I wasn’t getting winded doing ordinary things. I slept better, I thought more clearly, and wore clothes I wouldn’t have touched before. Somewhere along the way, my attempt to get physically ready for a music festival became something so much bigger. I felt like I was on top of the world and had fully invested in nutrition as a great way to ease the symptoms of many of my ailments.

Then, I came home. And for whatever reason, I fell off. Not just a little bit, either. I neglected this article I wrote, and neglected myself as well. A year later, and all the bad habits are back, along with a good chunk of the weight.

I’ve spent some time wondering whether that changes the story you’re about to read, or if publishing an article about transformation after regaining the weight makes the whole thing seem silly, unfinished, or even ingenuine.

I don’t think it does.

Everything that happened during those eight weeks still happened. The confidence was so real, and so were the lunch breaks I spent walking laps around my office building. So were the tiny unseen victories that meant more than the number on the scale. Learning I am capable of this type of change is still real. Falling off was real, too.

Shortly before WAKAAN 2025, I learned something during a polar plunge that became a central part of my journey: two opposite things can be true at the same time. I am both proud of myself for what I accomplished and disappointed that I have lost most of that progress. I can also have lost momentum without having lost everything I have learned. I know I feel better when I take care of myself, yet still struggle to do it.

In less than a week, I will be heading back to Mulberry Mountain, where so many of us call Home. Now’s the perfect time to publish the story I should have published back then. I’m leaving largely as I wrote it, because that version of me deserves to tell her story without correction. She knew how to keep one foot in front of the other, and I think I still know how to do that.

Dancing Myself Home: The 8-Week Road to Wellness at WAKAAN

Prologue – The Ticket Purchase 
When I was little, my family upheld the longstanding Italian tradition of Sunday dinner. Served around 1 pm, this was our big meal of the day. Once the meal ended, we would retire to the neighboring room, which contained the stereo system featuring speakers at opposite ends. My dad would lie in the center of the floor to continue the concert, and comment on how his setup really did provide the best listening experience. As my siblings and I aged, Dad began letting us take turns selecting the music. Thumbing through his records, there was always a wide selection. The Beatles, Linda Ronstadt, and even George Carlin’s Class Clown album were among the meticulously organized collection. We all became well-versed in setting the vibe, and I remember burning CDs just for the dinner mix as I moved through middle and high school. 

Later, I joined the high school marching band. As a trumpet section leader, I led our crew in chants and dances before taking the field for performances. We worked hard each summer, memorizing our drills and music. Our high school had a talented, award-winning band, and I look back on traveling to those competitions as some of the best days of my life. 

After graduation, I joined the workforce and lost touch with how much music really meant to me. In my late twenties, a lifelong close friend named Keith took me to a local Warehouse rave. Something inside me woke up after nearly a decade, and I knew I needed more. 

I started attending music festivals, traveling to different states and collecting friends and memories along the way. I’m 38 years old now, and I have two boys of my own who join me at festivals whenever possible. This year, I had the pleasure of taking them to Cosmic Kinection at Astral Valley Art Park near St. Louis. I was out of shape and tired, but the promise of a sky full of lasers quickly made me forget about the fragile state of my body. 

Saturday at the fest, I injured my knee dancing to Jason Leech‘s unforgettable rain-drenched set. This caused some issues for the rest of the fest since I couldn’t really walk. I knew I needed to take back my health in order to continue enjoying these festivals. 

There’s a specific kind of exhaustion that goes beyond tiredness…The kind that seeps into your bones and rearranges your sense of who you are, without even realizing it. That’s where I was when my health journey began: 315 pounds, joy dimmed, body heavy, spirit heavier. 

To get some relief from my knee, I began receiving regular ultrasound treatments at my primary-care doctor’s office, DeWitt Chiropractic, in Coralville, Iowa. Nicholas Kerkove, the gentleman tasked with my treatments, lit up when I mentioned my love of EDM festivals. He’d been to other fests like Electric Forest, and when I shared my plans to hit my all-time favorite gathering, WAKAAN Music Festival at Mulberry Mountain in Arkansas. We discussed our favorite artists and his personal connection to Super Future. I told him WAKAAN was eight weeks away and I wanted to get my body ready. After all, fatigue is the biggest adversary to these festivals. Lucky me, this fellow community member turned out to be a licensed nutritionist. I took the first step on the journey and signed up for his program on the spot. 

After just two days of the program, I was shocked to feel better, both mentally and physically. During that first week, I was both proud of myself for taking control of my health and disappointed for waiting so long. 

I found myself thinking about an old memory from gym class. The teacher would make us sprint to the end of the field, touch the light post, and run back. At my lowest point, I realized I had reached my own light post- the heaviest weight I had ever been. Every step toward it… every late-night binge, every drive- thru order, every time I avoided physical activity…had brought me farther from wellness. My knees ached, my breath was shallow, and I was tired. Not just of the weight, but of the distance. 

But the thing about that light post is once you touch it, you get to turn around. The second you pivot and start running home, the view changes. Suddenly, the things that once seemed far away, like energy, creativity, and confidence, come closer with every step. The things you’ve discarded along the route come into focus, but this time with the clarity to decide what to bring back with you and what to abandon for good. That’s what the decision to begin my eight-week program felt like: turning around and finally seeing home in the distance. 

Deciding to do something about my health felt like buying a festival ticket to a better version of myself. I didn’t know what the lineup would look like or what the journey would require; I just knew I needed to be there. 

Nicholas, my nutritionist, became my guide. He didn’t hand me a strict set of rules; he handed me structure and understanding. With daily check-ins, clean and mindful eating, and increased ambient movement, I accepted the program as lifestyle training, not a restrictive crash diet. 

I designed myself a “Road to WAKAAN” wellness binder which outlined the program parameters, included food logs, recipes, and a special motivational image for the last page, courtesy of my long-distance festival friend. This beautiful bible was eye-catching enough to keep me engaged and excited about filling the logs out. And what do you know – the longer I engaged in the process, the more results I saw.

The Road Trip Begins
Small wins began to show up early. My everyday aches and pains faded, my sleep deepened, and my skin began to clear up. My lunchtime walk became routine rather than something I dreaded. Each breakthrough felt like laying down another track in the studio, Nicholas nodding along from the mixing booth. He reminded me that progress is rarely dramatic; it’s more of a steady rhythm, a bassline that carries the melody of transformation. 

My victories began to stack up in ways I never imagined. The trash bin by my desk at work stopped overflowing with food wrappers. My clothes stayed cleaner. I could finally wear white without fear of transferring cheesy-poof dust to my outfit. I was well on my way. 

First Pit Stop- North Coast Music Festival 
I had completed 3 of 8 weeks of clean eating, and this beautiful fest in Chicagoland felt like a great place to check in with my body. I still trailed behind my friends as we moved from stage to stage, but it felt easier. I didn’t tire as quickly and was able to breathe steadily, even while repeatedly climbing the steps of the stadium. I bought meals from vendors but avoided fried foods and sugary drinks. The choices weren’t hard. Surprisingly, I didn’t have to talk myself out of ordering fried chicken and soda. I simply knew those items wouldn’t serve me well, and instinctively selected more nourishing things to fuel my body. I mentally logged another win: successfully reworking my emotional connection with food. Attending North Coast, seeing RL Grime live for the first time, spending the weekend with my out-of-state friends, enjoying Frick Frack Black Jack; these were the things I was here for. The experience was my focus, and I no longer was subconsciously incorporating decadent foods as a big piece of the ceremony. This was proof of my change in habits and ways of thinking.

Out of Gas With a Flat Tire 
Just as the rhythm started to feel steady, September arrived – and with it, that familiar shadow I’ve known for over a decade. Every year around this time, something in me sinks. It’s like the air becomes heavier and the color drains from everything. Seasonal depression has a way of fooling me into abandoning my plans. During these lulls, I’m notorious for half-completed art projects lining my shelves and unanswered invitations in my phone notifications. I anticipated a rough month. For a brief moment, I considered throwing in the towel. I could skip my walk, chase temporary comfort in pasta and milkshakes, and tell myself I’ll start over later.

But I didn’t. 

I reached out to Nicholas for support and to share what I was struggling with. I told him this happens every year at this time. He gently introduced the idea that it doesn’t have to be this way. He gave me grace, offered support, and new ideas on how to continue to care for myself. The mantra became “forget your mood, stick to the plan”. I still drove to the park on my lunch breaks, still put one foot in front of the other even when I wanted to disappear into my couch. I still followed Nicholas’ program, even when my appetite was gone. It was the first time my willpower outlasted my melancholy. 

Maybe healing isn’t about banishing the darkness, but learning to light your own lantern.

That subtle defiance of choosing myself even when I didn’t feel like it changed everything. It cracked something open inside me. So, when I arrived at Convergence Wellness Campout 2 weeks later, I wasn’t just attending a festival. I was seeking alignment. I was ready to meet the part of myself that had survived the storm. 

Rest Stop- Convergence Wellness Campout 
Once I was back on track, my brain functionality kicked into overdrive. I decided to stop dissociating from past trauma and face it head-on. 6 weeks into my journey, I attended Convergence Wellness Campout, again at Astral Valley Art Park. This was a festival made of ceremony rather than spectacle. It became the emotional sound-check before the main event. The programming of this festival centered around self-discovery and healing, and I dove into everything offered. 

At the Rest and Recovery Foundation, a massive igloo-like dome shimmered with healing energy. Copper structures lined the interior, and the gentle hum of sound bowls resonated through the air. The sound-bed experience was incredible – vibrational points embedded in the mattress made the music come alive inside my body. I could feel the frequencies travel through my bloodstream and dance with my heartbeat. 

The Cacao Ceremony, also provided by the Rest and Recovery Foundation, was a different kind of medicine. Warm, earthy, and sweet, it felt like drinking liquid memory. We each shared something vulnerable, and I found myself remembering moments I’d buried in busyness. Tears came, but so did laughter. It felt like an emotional cleanse, a heart reset. 

In the Tea Ceremony, 30 of us drank a carefully brewed elixir and hummed together in unison. The sound vibrated through my chest, turning the crowd into a single living instrument. When the guide placed a tuning fork on my third eye, the frequency seemed to prime me for the rest of the day’s activities.

My Henna Tattoo experience left me marked in more ways than one. The artist, Amber, chose Hecate’s Wheel – a symbol of inner wisdom and cyclical transformation. She explained that it represented the truth that everything I need is already within me. This beautiful sigil on my body mirrored what I was already working to accept.

And then came the Polar Plunge, yet another offering of the Rest and Recovery Foundation (I LOVE those people!). Crouching neck-deep in icy water for a full 3 minutes, I felt the kind of clarity that doesn’t need words. The guide spent the first sixty seconds teaching me how to breathe, and as my inhales and exhales became more deliberate, he asked me to hold one hand above the surface, palm open to the sun, and keep the other submerged. He prompted me to feel both the heat of the sun as well as the chill from the ice. We discussed how two things can be true simultaneously, and suddenly everything came into focus. That was the moment I understood the lesson of this entire journey – pride and disappointment can coexist. Progress and imperfection can share the same body. And I wasn’t late to my healing. I was right on time.

Arrival at the Gates
When WAKAAN week arrived, I felt ready. My body was lighter, yes, but my spirit felt weightless and free. The gates didn’t just open to a music festival; they opened to a version of myself I’d been waiting to meet. I remember walking into camp and realizing I didn’t need to brace for exhaustion. I had endurance. I could tow my wagon, set up camp, and still dance without needing to sit down. Food choices came naturally- protein shakes and fruit instead of fried fair food. My instincts had locked in, and the choices to prioritize my health went beyond nutrition. Having a clear mind and acting in my own best interest at every turn means I no longer feel guilt for setting boundaries. I hesitate less to make decisions, a beautiful reminder of the lesson from my Henna tattoo: that everything I need is already within me. Not worrying about how I’m being perceived has helped me make better decisions for myself in situations where previously, I may have prioritized others. Another win. I felt like I finally knew myself and was ready to be amongst the community in my new form. 

Headliners at Mainstage 
Wakaan was the heartbeat of everything I’d worked toward. It was a kaleidoscope of people, lights, and music. I ran into so many friends I’ve met over the years at other festivals. Some told me they were getting married; others had bought homes or earned promotions. I shared my own story, that I’d reclaimed my health, my energy, and, maybe most importantly, my creativity. 

My biggest personal triumph was my Frick Frack accordion project. For years I’ve been an idea machine, bursting with creative concepts that never quite made it out of the sketchbook. This time, thanks to the mental clarity and sustained energy from proper nutrition, I followed through. I designed the art piece, executed each step with care, sealed the images (custom tarot cards of my 2 favorite dealers) to the bellows of the accordion, and carefully delivered it to the blackjack table. 

The Frick Frack dealers were so moved that later in the weekend, they bet me a signed, painted wall piece from the set – a literal piece of the festival to take home. I instantly hit blackjack on my hand, the crowd roared, and I accepted their cheers for more than just the surface-level win. It was quite the honor to be considered for such a big prize, and I’m still looking for the perfect place and method to display this gargantuan love letter from the casino. 

Hilarious bets at the Frick Frack table weren’t the only shenanigans alive on the mountain. I set up a Christmas tree at camp, draped it in lights, and gave small gifts to passersby. Conversations sparked around family traditions, memory, and belonging. My camp neighbor, Josh, happily donated both Christmas ornaments he happened to have in his car- just one of many synchronicities over the weekend. That silly little tree became an altar of connection. Arriving back to camp at 5:00 a.m. to find it had been turned into a “take one, leave one” trading post really made my heart sing. It made me feel like my good deeds caused a ripple effect of giving. Taking care of myself has really helped me show up for those around me, and it inspires others to do the same. 

My body became part of the celebration too. For the first time, I wore outfits that used to scare me. I donned a Barbie-pink skirt, a white pashmina, a hockey jersey with no shorts- just fishnet tights and confidence. My thighs no longer burned or chafed. I didn’t need bike shorts under every outfit. I didn’t have to plan my evenings carefully to conserve energy. My body is no longer a costume I hide inside, but rather the vehicle that enables me to do so much. I danced barefoot, wagon in tow, through every DJ set that called to me. My stamina surprised even me. I didn’t need to push through fatigue…I simply flowed. 

Closing Out The Fest: Sunrise Sets 
I felt connected to the earth, to the people, to the energy of everything. I understood why Liquid Stranger’s vision of WAKAAN works. It’s not just another festival. It’s a living ecosystem of healing, connection, and creation.

When the last sunrise stretched across Mulberry Mountain and the ending chords of San Holo’s “Light” nestled themselves into the morning dew, I realized that follow-through was the truest measure of my personal healing. I had started something and finished it. I had nourished my body and felt the difference. I had brought art into the world and shared it proudly. I had ignored my sour, moody moments and stuck to the plan. Most of all, I began the important process of trusting myself. I proved that I can show up for myself, be my own best friend, and care for myself the way I am willing to care for those closest to me. 

Packing Up, Heading Out
Now came the ever-important step of taking these lessons back to my daily life. Festivals create space for these moments and realizations to become obvious, but the challenge is taking them home. I vowed to treat every single day like it’s the first morning of a fest, full of possibility and excitement, with opportunity for connection anywhere if you’re open to chasing it.

Taking down camp felt reverent. Each tent pole, each folded tarp, felt symbolic of integrating what I’d built. Camp would soon be packed away, but the version of me that emerged during this journey won’t be going back into storage. My 8-week program had concluded. I shed 50.2 pounds and multiple inches off every area that was measured. My biggest brag is the 3.75 inches I lost from my neck. The physical changes are amazing, and I am grateful for them. But if I’m being honest, they seem to be mere side effects of the changes taking place within. 

Driving home, I noticed the steering wheel no longer touched my stomach. The physical space became symbolic of the emotional space I have been granting myself, and I was overcome with a quiet sense of peace and belonging. My gratitude ran deep: 

To Nicholas, for teaching me how to fuel not just my body but my mind – for helping me find clarity in nourishment. For reminding me that I am human, and for being gracious during my tearful moments.

To the Rest and Recovery Foundation, for allowing access to such meaningful experiences. For being vulnerable and encouraging the same without judgement. For providing the physical and spiritual space for everyone in any phase of life. 

To Super Future, for being the missing link between me and Nicholas, the nutritionist. For throwing down an incredible set on the mountain. For returning to the stage after starting a family.

To Liquid Stranger, for curating the most healing, intentional, bass-filled container of energy in the EDM world. For prioritizing community and lifting each other up. For all the time and energy you have poured into this world. Without this festival on the horizon, I wouldn’t have had a finish line to run toward. 

And to the WAKAAN family, the most artful, kind, and beautifully chaotic pop-up city that materializes every year. You reaffirmed my love of this community and confirmed what I already knew. Every WAKAAN Festival is better than the last, and that’s a direct result of what the organizers and attendees bring to the table. 

Epilogue – Dancing Myself Home
Eight weeks. Three festivals. Fifty pounds gone. One transformation that refuses to pause. I started this road believing I was lost. I finished it knowing I was always on my way home. Now, when I look in the mirror, I see more than a smaller body – I see a softer heart, a sharper mind, and a steadier rhythm. The music didn’t save me. I did, by listening.