Underbelly

Underbelly

Dear MommaStrong,

As most lasting love stories go, I met you exactly when I needed you.  I wasn’t looking for you.  In fact, I had completely given up on fitness in general.  Because of my incredibly suffocating back pain and my invisible autoimmune diseases, it became clear to me that I ought to just give up.  I didn’t want to spend another penny on golden carrots dangled in front of me by well-meaning healers, doctors, and trainers.  So, right before I met you, I decided that that was that.  I was just going to quit.

The W Word

The W Word

Let me ask you this:  How many times have you started something for your health?  How many times have you gone to bed saying tomorrow was the day you were going to do the thing for yourself that you know you needed to do?  And then you don’t do that thing and you maybe do exactly the opposite?  And maybe you keep doing exactly the opposite until things get bad enough again.  Then you hang your head, yell at yourself for being ________, and go to bed promising yourself that tomorrow is the day, again.

Argh, the pain of the cycle.  It happens over and over and over and over again,

I get to nerd out with Esther Gokhale (and you can join me) (for free)

I get to nerd out with Esther Gokhale (and you can join me) (for free)

Just after my second child was born, my body felt entirely broken.  I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong and I was filled with shame about the whole thing.  BIG SHAME.

You see, I had spent my entire adult life as a Pilates teacher, a core specialist, and a corrective exercise specialist.  But, there I was, left not only with extreme back pain, but a giant postpartum “pooch” and a sticky-outie belly button that was clearly herniated.  And no matter how much I applied all the skills and tricks I had earned over the years of my education, NOTHING worked.  Nothing.

Forgiving Us Moms

Forgiving Us Moms

Dear daughters of mine:

You don’t know this, but I end every day glancing at you after you fall asleep, wishing I had done it all better. Wishing I had hugged you more, been more patient when you lost your noggin over the love bugs that were uncatchable, said yes to playing tag one more time, looked you in the eyes when you asked me questions instead of being lost in my adulting brain, ignored my phone in the afternoons when you need me most, and cooked the sort of meals that you’ll talk about with homesickness, instead of always grumpily making the same old stuff in rotation like a side order chef in a washed up greasy restaurant …