About 3.5 years ago I became a mom. For the first time. Funny because I thought I was prepared and quickly learned there is no such thing. You learn as you go. What I *thought* was going to be never was.

So I read. I went to support groups, I called my girlfriends. I cried. I cried some more.

My routine type A personality was being handed something fierce.

Sometimes I think it’s a good thing we don’t really know how hard motherhood is or we might not do it. Once you are “in” you get it but those first few months just might not be what you expect. And that’s ok.

The one thing no one prepared me for was the expectation I was going place on myself to have my body back.  Sure I could blame society and social media but when it comes down to it, I thought or *expected* that I needed to be back to my pre baby weight and size within a few months.


The pressure I placed on myself was something I was not expecting.  


As a woman who finally had her “ah-ha” moment during pregnancy after spending over a decade of my life on diets, struggling with eating disorders and exercising obsessively, this hit hard.


The idea that I needed to quickly shrink back to me “pre baby” size took over me.

The “I just had a baby” comment didn’t seem to do justice.  That was the “easy way” out, I kept telling myself.

I needed to prove it.

I needed to be back running and lifting despite peeing all over myself. This is normal I told myself. All moms do this.

I needed to spend Sunday’s meal prepping and portioning food into tupperwares (vomit) because dammit I needed to shrink.

I needed to take “progress photos” of my stomach because how else would I know *it* was working?

Every Damn Sunday.

Every Damn Sunday.


Being tired was an excuse.
Being overwhelmed was an excuse.

I saw all of these other moms on social media with abs popping. They were back in their jeans. And smiling like everything was perfectly balanced.


Clearly I was doing something wrong.

I would try on the same pair of pants day after day. I would cry as I tried desperately to button them.  They never freaking buttoned.

I would leave the house in stretch pants and an over-sized t shirt because I felt ashamed. I felt fat. How could I possibly return to the gym?  I wasn’t back in shape yet?  So I did home workout DVD’s for hours.  

But I just had a baby.  Didn’t I just have a baby?

The one thing I didn’t realize then was that I was missing out.  Life was STILL happening.  I was consumed with getting my body back and my daughter was hitting milestones.

NO ONE TOLD me that when you lose the baby weight NOTHING happens.  Seriously.  Not a damn thing changed in my life.

I was still up at night.  

I was still lonely.  

I was still stubborn and refused help.  

I was still unorganized.  

My nipples were still sore and bleeding.

I was still crying when my husband got home.  

I felt like shit. 

My body hurt.  


Typical. 2 months postpartum. Full of pee after running on the treadmill at nap :(

Typical. 2 months postpartum. Full of pee after running on the treadmill at nap 🙁

See I’ve missed out on a lot of “things” in life because of my obsession with my body but this was different.

This was an entire stage of my daughter’s life.  My baby.  My first child.  

I won’t ever get that back.

I won’t ever get those first few months back.

The snuggles. The sleepless nights. The sounds. That SMELL.

None of it.

Because dammit I was too busy trying to shrink my body.

I was too busy trying to get my body back because for some reason that meant life was going to be less overwhelming.

That meant I would “appear” to have it all together.

I could motivate and inspire other moms (or so I thought).

Truth be told, it wasn’t worth it. None of it.

I won’t get that time back.  I will NEVER get it back.


For what?  A freaking pair of jeans?  

Was it really that important?

Some days I look at pictures and think WHY?


Since then I have learned alot.  I have had another child and took a completely different approach.  

I slept.  I rested.  I snuggled.  I took care of my body. I healed.  I recovered.  I nursed exclusively even though I know my body tends to hold more body fat. I worked out WITH my kids.

I saw my body as capable AF regardless of how much weight I was still carrying.  

Because mamas, our bodies are so much more.

The shape, the weight, the size of our pants, the jiggle in our thighs, the stretch marks.

None of it matters.  

What matters is that we love ourselves and treat our bodies with respect.  The respect it deserves because after all, doesn’t our body do some freaking amazing things?  

Don’t wait.  Show up.  As is.  Unapologectically.  

Don’t miss out because you are too busy thinking you need to *there* to be present.

9 months postpartum with 2. Different story.

9 months postpartum with 2. Different story.


Don’t for one second think that your ability to be a good woman and mom depends on a number. Or a size.  Or a look.

Trust me.  They don’t care.  They need you right now.  You won’t get the time back.  

If you are a mom who is where I was, and want a sustainable way to workout and LIVE with your kids’ busy lives, join my online coaching club where we talk food, exercise, hormones and LIFESTYLE.