From "You Have 5 Years To Live"… To Speaking On Stages Around The World With This 5-Minute Morning Method

Sean is my brother. He's 18 months older than me. My best friend.

He's a veteran — went to Iraq, came back, and it was really hard for him to adjust. The VA put him on a ton of medication.

And one day he decided to take all of that medication to try to take his life.

My dad spent the whole day looking for him. The police were looking.

Finally, at dusk, my dad pulls into this park. He sees Sean's car.

But by the time he gets there, my brother is blue. Eyes rolled back.

My dad starts giving him CPR. Out of nowhere, two women with blankets are there. They call the ambulance. And by the time it comes, Sean has shallow breath.

I fly from New York to Louisville. My dad picks me up at the airport and he's prepping me in the car —

"If he wakes up, we think he could be brain dead. You have to prep yourself for this, Kate."

I walk into his hospital room and I just see him in this coma hooked up to all of these tubes.

I get to his bed and I fall to my knees and I just start praying.

"Just give me what he has. PLEASE just give me what he has. Let him wake up. I'll take it. I'll take it."

I share this because I don't believe it works like that. But I do believe in the power of our mind.

And in that moment — strong emotion, my brain locked into the moment — I planted a seed. I planted a virus that if he was going to be okay, I couldn't.

By the grace of God, he woke up 10 days later. He wasn't brain dead. He walked and talked again. Thank God.

A month later, I was back in New York and I started to get sick.

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Then My Body Started Falling Apart

First my stomach was bleeding. They said it was celiac disease.

At the time there were no gluten-free pizzas or donuts — I didn't even know what that meant. But I cut the food out and I didn't get better.

Then I got diagnosed with lupus.

Then Lyme disease — neurological Lyme disease with multiple co-infections.

I was working for DraftKings at this point, doing a fantasy football show. One day I just stopped talking.

My producer's in my ear — "Kaitlin, Kaitlin." And I'm like, "Yeah." They're like, "Are you okay?"

I had no idea. They roll the tape back and it was like lights out. Like a robot glitched.

And it wasn't just on camera. I'd be in my apartment walking room to room — "What am I doing? Why am I here?"

My mom came to visit and we went to the grocery store. She looked at me and said, "Kate, we need cheese." And I'm not kidding you — I looked at her like I had no idea what cheese was.

My brain was just becoming mush.

My hair started falling out. I had a really hard time moving my right knee — like crazy, like I couldn't walk around.

Diagnosis after diagnosis after diagnosis.

Then in 2017, after five years of this, I got diagnosed with something called scleroderma.

It's an autoimmune disease where your body starts hardening. For most people it's the skin, but mine was inside. My large and small intestine were hardening and it was moving up through my heart into my throat.

I could barely swallow. My voice was disappearing.

I remember flying to upstate New York to see the best specialist we could find. He runs the scans. He comes in and looks at me and says —

"I'm really sorry, but there's nothing we can do. At the rate of this, you're looking at five years, best."

I share this because that seed I planted on my knees at my brother's hospital bed — it grew.

Like any virus, if you don't take care of it, it'll spread. And it did.

Out of my mind, into my body — and it was killing me.

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My Life Became My Illness

I went from living my dream — red carpets, interviews, MTV — to being this other version of me.

All I thought about, all I talked about, all I expressed was how I was sick. It became this identity.

I share this because when I left New York and moved to California, I was really ashamed. The first thing somebody asks you is, "What do you do?" I had gone from this amazing career to — nothing.

And I started to tell people, "Well, I am sick."

And I would affirm that over and over and OVER.

My life consisted of doctor appointments. My life consisted of ways to try to get better. And I was doing everything.

Antibiotics. IV antibiotics. Droppers. Enemas. Chambers of intense heat and intense cold. Before anyone cold plunged or sauna'd, I was in there. You name it, I was doing it.

And at moments it would get a little bit better. But then it would get worse again. And then you go back to the drawing board.

I share this because everything I was doing was external — the next doctor, the next pill, the next scan. And the more I went to the doctor, the more I picked up more diagnoses.

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Nothing Changes Until You Change

My brother kept saying, "Kate, come to California. You got to get out of there. Come to the beach. Come on, sis. You'll heal out here."

So I left New York.

Turns out — wherever you go, you're also there.

It didn't matter if I went to California. It didn't matter if I went to Timbuktu. I was the same person running the same program in my mind.

I was running this program that if he was going to stay alive, I couldn't. And that was the command, and that command was growing. The virus was spreading throughout my body.

I was on eight different medications at the time. And I was a zombie — just existing in this shell of myself. I couldn't function.

And the medications themselves — you look at those things, they have a black box warning. Number one side effect: may cause you to want to end your own life. I was already right there.

Even though I was trying so hard to live, at the deepest subconscious level I was scared that I was going to die. And when you're scared that you're going to die, you just start attracting more things to kill you.

And that's what happened. I developed tumors in my ovaries that were on the cancer spectrum. Both my breasts. And then — a pituitary tumor.

And the whole time, the virus wasn't in my body. It was in my mind. It was the seed I planted. And no antibiotic in the world was going to reach it.

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"I Just Wanted to Feel Alive"

My body is dying. And I know that. But I'm still trying to fall back in love with life. I just want to feel alive again.

I remember going to Machu Picchu for my 30th birthday. I'm sitting on the side of this mountain — the air is so thin you can barely breathe — and I close my eyes, and I say a prayer: Use me. Use me, please. Just use me.

That night at dinner, my boyfriend looks at me and he's like, "I think you should go home."

I didn't listen. I flew to Brazil instead.

Two days later I'm standing at Christ the Redeemer and — CRACK. My nose gets shattered. Blood everywhere. I fly back to California, need reconstructive surgery — and while they're scanning my face, the doctor goes quiet. He's staring at the screen. Not saying anything.

"There's a mass on your pituitary gland."

A mass. A mass means a tumor. A tumor means — I have a brain tumor. On top of EVERYTHING else.

I'm just lying on this table staring at the ceiling, and I can feel everything I've been holding together just... collapse.

Can it get any WORSE? I don't know why people ask that question. It's a terrible prompt to the universe.

I go home and tell my boyfriend I need surgery. He looks at me and he's like, "This is too much. You need to go."

I just found out I have a brain tumor. And the person I love is telling me to leave. Go WHERE?

No job. No money. Nowhere to go. Nothing.

Thank God I have my brother. I wound up at Sean's house with a suitcase and nothing else. Devastated. But still clinging to this relationship because it had become my entire identity at that point.

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The Night Everything Broke

I remember it was the day before Valentine's Day. I decide I'm going to go to my ex's house — and I'm like, "I'm going to remind him I'm amazing." He was really into old money, so I found these coins from the 15th century — Spanish coins — and I got this treasure chest and 30 red heart balloons.

I text him first. He says he'll be out all night.

I go anyway.

As I walk in, I see this candle flickering. And I can see shadows on the wall. I see a head. I see another head. Then this blonde head pops up and looks at me. Then another blonde head pops up. Then he turns around.

My treasure chest falls. Coins rolling across the floor. I lose the balloons.

He's like, "What are you doing here?"

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Sometimes It Takes an Amount of Pain to Change

It doesn't have to. But that's how it happened in my life.

I remember running out and being in my car. And something rises up from the deepest part of my chest that I've been pushing down for years.

My health — GONE. My career — GONE. My home — GONE. The person I thought I'd spend my life with — GONE.

There was NOTHING left. Not one single thing.

I grip the steering wheel and I'm just saying it, over and over and over through the tears:

"I'M DONE. DO YOU HEAR ME? I WILL NEVER LIVE THIS LIFE AGAIN. I'M DONE."

And I meant it. I was so sick of being sick. I was so sick of being unhappy. I was so sick of not living this life that I truly believed I came here to live.

DONE being this person. DONE being sick. DONE being broken. DONE begging someone to love me. Done with all of it. Every. Single. Thing.

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"I hit that same wall. That moment where you're just... done. This is exactly what happened to me." — Rachel K.

"The rage part got me. That's not giving up. That's waking up." — Marcus T.

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The Decision That Changed Everything

I go back to Sean's house. Pretty devastated for the next week or two.

But that night in the car changed something in me. Something permanent. I knew that if I wanted my life to change, I was gonna have to pull myself up and get it together.

So instead of laying in bed crying all day, I forced myself to get up. And Sean starts putting on music. He's like, "Come on, sis. We gotta go outside." You wanna play the heartbreak songs when you're heartbroken — but that's only gonna make you cry and feel worse. So I started playing different music. The happiest, most alive music I could find. And I just… let myself feel something other than sick.

And through feeling better, I realized — if I wanted to attract anything new in my life, I'd have to change how I feel. No one was gonna hire me if I walked into a room crying and broken. I had to mentally get myself right.

I called my parents. I'm like, "I'm going back to work."

My dad's like, "You just got diagnosed with a brain tumor. What are you talking about?"

"I don't know. But I need to go back to work."

And here's the irony — when I started to change, my reality around me changed. The job I was gonna go look for came and found me.

Three days later, I get a call. Out of nowhere. Out of nowhere. A producer I'd worked with five years ago in New York — who even makes phone calls? He's like, "Kate, any chance you're looking for work? Santa Monica. Can you be there Monday?"

It's a Friday. I don't even know what it's for yet. Sunday night I find out: West Coast correspondent for SPORTS ILLUSTRATED.

I go straight to the mall. Buy three outfits. "This job is MINE." I don't even have it yet. But I realized — I have to just start acting like I am.

Monday I crush it. Tuesday they call me back. Wednesday I'm meeting the CEO. The whole time I'm lactating from the brain tumor, stuffing my bra in the bathroom, nose still broken from Brazil. Nobody knows I'm dying. But I could feel this glisten of light.

Then my dad calls. He talked to someone from the Pentagon. "Baby, you got two options. You're coming home, or I'm coming to get you."

March 2020. I left Friday. Country shut down Monday. And somehow — I got the job ANYWAY.

But now I'm on 8 different medications. I can't function and work. So I sit my parents down and say, "I'm going to take this job. But I'm stopping all my medicine."

My dad — angry, scared — looks at me: "So we're just going to play make believe, Kaitlin?"

"That's it, Dad. I need you to believe it with me."

I stopped ALL 8 medications. I took the job.

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The New Morning Routine

The next morning I wake up and it hits me. All of it. My body hurts. My heart is broken. I'm scared my life could be taken from me. When you wake up in the morning, you're hit with it. When you're falling asleep and the world is silent, you get hit with those feelings again. That's when the thoughts creep in.

I knew that before I could get on camera, I had to change my energy. So I find the happiest song I can find, put my headphones on, and dance around my parents' living room in Louisville, Kentucky in my pajamas like nobody's watching — because nobody was.

I close my eyes and build this picture so vivid I can feel the warmth of it: I'm living by the beach in California, and I'm traveling the world telling people that they can heal — because I'm healthy. I'm proof.

I wrote it down so I could see it every morning. And for those few minutes, I didn't think about a single thing that was wrong with me. I didn't hope for it. I FELT it — in my chest, in my hands, in the way my body moved to the music.

Sometimes I'd have an amazing interview and then get hit with sadness. Sometimes my body was hurting so bad it was trying to pull me out of the present moment. I had to continuously overcome those thoughts and feelings.

But the more I focused on a new feeling and a new image, the more my body moved in that direction. I wasn't sad about what I lost anymore. I was excited about what was coming.

10 Months Later — The Results

Every day for ten months, I did the same thing. Wake up. Get hit with it. Fight through it. Put on music. Dance. Close my eyes and step into that vision until I could feel it in my bones.

Some mornings my joints ached so badly I could barely move. I danced anyway. Some mornings I'd find more hair on the pillow. I'd put my headphones on anyway. I had to change my energy before I could get on camera — so I did. Every single day.

And the more I focused on telling positive stories for Sports Illustrated — LeBron James doing food drives, athletes showing up for their communities — the more the old life started falling away. I wasn't trying to heal anymore. I was just being this new version of me.

Then the country starts opening back up. My dad sits me down at the kitchen table: "Okay baby, I know we're doing this make believe thing, but you got to go back to the doctor. Get a brain scan. See what's going on."

So I go back to California. I'm smiling. I get my brain scan.

The doctor comes out. He shows me the results. He looks at me in a way no doctor has ever looked at me before.

"What have you been doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's gone."

The pituitary tumor. GONE.

Then I go get my organs checked. The scleroderma — the damage they told me was irreversible, the organs that were hardening — GONE. Everything. Perfect health.

Every single thing in my body healed. EVERY. SINGLE. THING.

And I'm like — what? I'm just this girl. How does this happen?

For nine years, I tried everything to heal. And the moment I stopped trying to heal and just started falling in love with my life — started being whole, started being healthy, started changing the story — my body healed.

He's like, "What did you do?"

And all I could think was:

"I just fell in love with my life."

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"I read this and cried. This is exactly what I needed to hear today." — Sarah M.

"She's not selling you woo-woo. She literally worked at Sports Illustrated while doing this. It's real." — David R.

"My therapist has been telling me for years what Kaitlin explained in 3 minutes. The programming thing clicked instantly." — Jen T.

"Sent this to my sister who's been struggling. She texted me back in tears." — Marcus W.

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"Here's What I Didn't Understand Until After I Healed"

After I healed, I became obsessed with understanding why. And I realized something that changed how I see everything.

Your brain is like an operating system. And who you are — right now, today — is just a set of programs. What your parents taught you, what your teachers taught you, what your doctors told you, what your culture installed. That's who you think you are. But it's just software.

And if your life feels stuck — if you feel limited, if everybody else seems to be doing great and you're not — it's because your program has a virus.

Mine was installed on a hospital floor, begging God to take my health if it meant saving my brother. My body took that command and ran it for nine years.

I share this because we all have programs running that we didn't choose. A doctor says "you have five years" — that's a program. Someone you love says "you'll never be able to do that" — that's a program. And every time we say "I am sick" or "I am stuck" or "I am broken" — that's a command.

Here's what I learned about how to change it:

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"I Had to Find a Way to Give This to Everyone"

After I healed, my life took off in ways I never imagined. I went from Sports Illustrated to hosting for Mindvalley — standing on stages in front of thousands of people in cities I'd never been to, interviewing some of the biggest names in personal development.

And everywhere I went — every city, every stage, every green room — I kept meeting the same person. Different face, different story, but the same look behind their eyes. That quiet exhaustion of someone whose life isn't working and they can't figure out why.

One in four adults are on antidepressants now. People are sick and people are sad — and the solutions most of them have access to aren't working.

I fell in love with life, and my body followed. How could I help others do the same?

I think things like meditation and journaling are beneficial. But most people don't make time for them. We're all so overstimulated as it is — adding one more thing to the list feels impossible.

But everyone listens to music. And music is the fastest way into the subconscious mind — it's a backdoor past all the noise, straight into how you feel. That's why I used it. That's what changed everything.

And then I got to thinking — this is great, but none of these songs are about me. We can all resonate with certain songs, but what if you could make a song that was specifically about a dream you wanted to experience? What if songs could be personalized to you and your dreams?

So I started making my own music. And then I thought — not everybody's gonna wanna do this. But what if I could create a tool that would give them the same experience but faster? They don't have to become the musician. But they do have to be able to program their lyrics — a soundtrack for their new life.

A tool where if you're having a bad day, you can play a two-minute song and remember — this is who I am. This is where I'm going.

So I built Lovify.

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Introducing Lovify

Lovify is the only personal transformation tool that uses your own personalized music and visualization to help you create the life you want.

No retreats. No journals. Just your phone and a pair of headphones. Let me walk you through it.

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The Only Music Platform Tuned to the Frequency of Your Body

Here's something I learned that blew my mind. Every song on Lovify is tuned to 432Hz. And I know that sounds technical, but stay with me.

You know that feeling when you're standing by the ocean and your whole body just… exhales? Or when you watch a sunset and your shoulders drop without you even trying? That's your body falling into sync with the Earth's natural frequency. It's called coherence — and 432Hz is that frequency turned into music.

A double-blind study published in Explore journal found that 432Hz music significantly reduced heart rate, blood pressure, and respiratory rate. Your body recognizes this frequency the way it recognizes sunlight or fresh air. It calms down. It opens up. It stops fighting.

And when your body stops fighting — when it stops operating from stress and survival — that's when the reprogramming actually works. You're not trying to force a new thought into a brain that's in panic mode. You're planting seeds in calm soil.

Lovify is the only platform in the world creating personalized music tuned to 432Hz. Your dreams, your name, your vision — delivered at the frequency your body was designed to receive.

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So What Does It Mean to Reprogram Your Mind?

It means who you are right now is not permanent. It never was. You've been changing your whole life — shaped by everything you've experienced, everything you've been told, everything you've repeated to yourself.

The only question is: are you running a program someone else installed, or one you chose?

When you start choosing, everything shifts. You wake up one morning and the knot in your stomach isn't there anymore. You're laughing at something your kid said instead of staring through them. You take a risk you've been putting off for years — and it works.

Your partner looks at you across the dinner table and says, "You seem different. What happened?"

What happened is you stopped being the person your programs told you to be. And you started being who you actually are.

That's what Lovify does. Not fix you — because you're not broken. Just help you remember who you were before everyone else's programming buried it.

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"I created a vision of myself living by the ocean, working for myself, happy. Three weeks of pressing play every morning — I quit the job I'd been complaining about for two years. I just… stopped being afraid." — Linda P., 58

"The first time I heard my name in the song, I laughed. By the end of the week I was crying every morning — good crying. Like something I'd been holding onto for years was finally letting go." — DeShawn K., 31

"My granddaughter showed me how to use it. I play it every morning and I swear the world looks different after. People keep telling me I look younger. I just feel like me again." — Dorothy H., 74

"Two months in. Got the promotion. Started working out again. My wife said I'm radiating something different." — Mike S., 42

Individual experiences may vary.

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Two Paths From Here

Therapy costs $7,800 a year. Meditation apps run $70–100 — and most people quit within a week. Life coaching is $200–500 per session.

Lovify is free to start. And the music goes where you go — in your car, on a walk, lying in bed before you fall asleep.

Anything is possible. But you have to believe in possibility. And you have nothing to lose.

I had everything to lose. But if you've tried other things and they haven't worked, don't discount how powerful music is. If anything, you'll have fun doing it. But at best, it will change your life in some meaningful way. And everything I've gone through will have been worth it.

You can close this page and go back to the same loop. Same thoughts. Same feelings. Same program running the same life. Nothing changes because nothing changed.

Or you can press play and see who you become when you stop running someone else's program and start living yours.

Make your first song now. And please — if this helps you and you're excited about it, share it with somebody that is hurting. Share it with somebody that is sad. Let this be a tool for them to change their life too.

That's Lovify.