Today we’d like to introduce you to Dianne Singleton.
Dianne, we appreciate you taking the time to share your story with us today. Where does your story begin?
I left upstate New York to come to Utah for school in 1982. I married in 1987, and like everyone else, I’ve faced my share of challenges in life.
The first major one came when I was nine months pregnant with my first child while my mom back home was dying. No airline would let me fly that late in pregnancy. I remember dropping to my knees and praying for answers. What happened after that felt like nothing short of a miracle.
Elizabeth’s due date was April 14. I asked my doctor what the chances were that she would be born exactly on her due date because I had found one airline that would allow me to fly with an infant as young as seven days old. His response was, “About 4%.” I took the chance anyway and bought a ticket for April 21.
And somehow, everything worked out. I was on that flight—with my baby. I made it home, my mom got to meet her namesake, and I got to see my mom one last time. My mom passed away not long after, and I will always be grateful for that opportunity.
That experience taught me what 100 percent faith really means.
Let’s talk about more miracles (I promise we’ll move on from this theme soon).
In January 1998, I had five children, and my youngest was just 16 months old. One night I finally got home from work and everyone was already asleep. I sat on the sofa for a few minutes to relax before going to bed and started absentmindedly massaging my arms and shoulders.
Suddenly—there it was. A lump near my left armpit. My heart started racing. My mom had died at age 52 from breast cancer, and I was only 34. I woke my husband and we talked about it. It was Friday night, and I assumed there was no way I could get in to see a doctor on a Saturday for something that wasn’t technically an emergency. Still, I called the office. Amazingly, my doctor’s nurse answered the phone. My doctor happened to be on call and told me to come in right away. He knew my family history and had always been concerned about my health. He did a quick procedure to determine the next step. When he inserted the needle and no fluid came out, the look on his face told me everything before he even said a word. I’ll keep this part short: it was stage 3B breast cancer.
The fact that I am alive today is nothing short of miracles that occurred. (If anyone ever wants the full story, I’m happy to share it.) Again—100 percent faith.
Since then, whenever I face a challenge, I try to ask myself, “What am I supposed to learn from this?”
Last May, at the Masters Invitational (yes, I’m a competitive powerlifter), I failed every attempt in my first lift. Without making one of the first three attempts, I was disqualified. My coach asked what I wanted to do. Even though I knew I wouldn’t make the board, I finished the remaining lifts anyway. I needed to get back on the platform and finish. So I did. I walked onto that platform a total of nine times. Inside I felt humiliated, frustrated, embarrassed, and broken—but I walked off each time with my head held high.
When I got home, I didn’t want to go back to powerlifting. At 62 years old, I kept asking myself, What’s the point? It was hard even to get out of bed and go to the gym. But I did! The first thing my coach said to me was that she was proud of me. Then she said, “You’re a winner. You came back. A loser wouldn’t come back.” She also told me I needed to get back on the platform and compete again. Many people reminded me that the Masters competition didn’t define me. What defined me was my character and the example I set. People told me they were proud of me—but honestly, I still felt terrible about myself.
Eventually, I found a local sanctioned competition and trained for a few months. When the day came, I competed again. I didn’t do anything spectacular or headline-worthy. But I did accomplish something important: I gained back the confidence I had lost at Masters. I made the board. And I set a new state record in my division.
People sometimes tell me that I inspire them—that I never give up. Maybe that’s just the stubborn Italian New Yorker in me. I simply try to be the best I can each day. And yes—I fail. A lot. But every morning I get out of bed and try again.
Alright, so let’s dig a little deeper into the story – has it been an easy path overall and if not, what were the challenges you’ve had to overcome?
I don’t think any road is every complelty smooth. It appears to be until you start to travel. Because of breast cancer, I’ve had several surgeries—one of them quite major. I had reconstruction that left me without my pectoral muscles and a significant abdominal muscle. As you can imagine, that makes lifting a real challenge. I can’t do a sit-up because of the missing abdominal muscle, and bench pressing is always a struggle. But I still try. I dont like to let barriers get in my way.
There’s another challenge that’s often hard for people to understand: I walk every day on a broken foot. I’ve had two foot surgeries that both failed, and for now I’ve decided not to attempt a third. So yes—it’s definitely challenging. To explain how that happened, the foot issue was caused by overuse. Earlier in my life I used to compete in sprint triathlons. That was quite a journey—and a lot of fun while it lasted.
And here I am, beginning a new journey—one I never expected: divorce. After 38 years of marriage, my husband told me it was over. We’ve agreed that we will still remain friends. That matters a lot to me, but I think it matters even more for our six children and twelve grandchildren.
Am I scared? Absolutely. Starting over at this stage in life feels overwhelming. I know I have to move forward, and I will. Right now, I’m just trying to figure out what the next step looks like and how to take it.
As you know, we’re big fans of you and your work. For our readers who might not be as familiar what can you tell them about what you do?
I’m an accountant, and my specialty is payroll processing. I wake up every day excited to work. When people say accounting is boring, I just laugh—they clearly don’t know accounting! I’ve worked part-time at Foote Insurance for 17 years, and I also serve as the Controller for Splash Summit Water Park.
In my free time—well, I laugh when I say “free time”—I freelance. I own a small company that specializes in payroll processing, and I’ve been doing that for about 30 years. I also provide full accounting services. Since it’s just me running the business, I’m able to tailor my services to what each client actually needs. Payroll isn’t a one-size-fits-all situation. Every client has different circumstances, and my goal is to meet those needs rather than force them into a rigid system.
That’s one thing that makes me different from the large payroll companies. They tend to operate with strict policies and standardized processes. I work much more personally and flexibly. I also don’t keep strict 8–5 hours. What matters most to me is that my clients are taken care of—and every single one of them will tell you the same thing: their payroll is always done on time.
Risk taking is a topic that people have widely differing views on – we’d love to hear your thoughts.
One of my biggest risks was moving to Utah in 1982. I had no family there—just one friend, Elaine. I had no idea where that journey would take me. But I truly believe that risks are stepping stones, whether they help you discover more about yourself or lead you to someone who was meant to be in your life.
Another big risk for me was diving into family history. That might sound a little unusual, but once you start uncovering the truth, there’s really no turning back. At the age of 58, I discovered that I was actually the product of a love affair. Through that process, I also learned that I had five additional siblings—two of whom were still alive. Brothers! And what was even more amazing was realizing that I actually looked like them. Along with the answers came some heartache. I grew up with three siblings—two sisters and one brother—and the discovery was difficult for some family members. My brother didn’t speak to me for nearly a year.
A few years ago, I even went skydiving and paragliding. If that isn’t a risk, I don’t know what is. I actually fell in love with paragliding. Skydiving, though… not so much.
Powerlifting competitions are also a risk for me every time I step onto the platform. Really, anytime I start something new, I’m pushing beyond what feels comfortable.
So yes—with an emphatic YES—I would absolutely say that I am a risk taker. I believe that anytime you step outside of your comfort zone, you’re taking a risk—and sometimes that’s exactly where the most meaningful experiences begin.
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