It’s taken me 17 years in this industry to learn and be able to say with confidence the following: Working your abs to fix your body problems is like giving a teenager life advice.
Aka, not effective.
Aka, lose lose.
Aka, NOT GONNA WORK.
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.
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 …
I lost my way a bit.
Edit: I lost my way a lot.
The wheels fell off the vehicle I’ve been driving and that vehicle was a giant monster truck of expectation, grandiosity, pressure, shoulds, and strategy. Honestly, it’s fucking great that that vehicle is no longer usable, but damn ... I thought I needed it to get through this weird endless freeway of life.
You see, when you’re in business, the world will tell you to get bigger …