Motherhood Made Me Stronger
Words by Jacey Rogel
I walk over to my children to give kisses goodbye.
“Where are you going, mommy?” My four-year-old daughter asks.
“You know where I’m going,” I tell her as we lock eyes.
“You’re going for a run,” she squeals.
“That’s right.”
“Why?” She asks.
“Because it’s good for me. I’ll be back soon,” I give another round of kisses and walk out the door.
What I don’t tell them are all of the reasons I go walking every morning:
Because I have gained a lot of weight recently due to a hormonal IUD.
Because I look at myself in the mirror, look down at my body, and I don’t recognize the person I see.
Because I’m tired of feeling like I don’t belong in this body.
Because I feel weak, insignificant, and afraid.
I don’t let my negative thoughts about my body leave the confines of my mind. I have two girls and a son, and I don’t want toxic words seeping into their fragile minds. I don’t want my daughters to doubt just how beautiful and strong they are. I don’t want my son to think that a woman’s worth is found in her appearance.
//
I’ve never felt comfortable in my skin. I spend most of my time in my head, dreaming and letting words float around. Inside my mind is my safe space. But right now, I need to feel connected to every part of myself, to remember just how much my body does for me, regardless of what it looks like or how much weight it carries. So I’m running— and I use that word loosely; I’m walking and slowly jogging when I can muster the strength and energy.
//
I grew three children. I was cut open in order to save one of them. I fed them from my body for a collective two and a half years. I wrapped myself around them on hospital beds and cribs and toddler beds. I carried them in my womb, on my chest, and in my arms. I have done incredible things with this body. Still, the negative thoughts about my changing and aging body fester and grow like mold. Toxic, not only to me but those around me.
And I’m tired of it. So, I’m running.
//
I connect with my core; my hand finds the flab sucked into my compression leggings, the bump that will never house another child but won’t go away, and I offer gratitude.
I remember my breath, deep inhales and slow exhales, filling my lungs and my mind with the strength to go on. I find the places that ache, that burn, that hurt and breathe into them.
//
Before I was a mother, I was at my strongest, physically and mentally. I found yoga in college and after I developed a consistent practice, I was able to wean myself off of anti-depressants. I found the mind, body, spirit connection to be healing. I took as many classes as I could physically handle in a day, signed up to become a certified instructor. Since becoming a mother, however, I lost the solid practice I loved so much. Time, money, and distance has kept me from the studios where I came into myself.
I may not be in the studio three times a day, sweating and stretching, but I am taking care of three children, sweating and stretching in different ways. Yoga is more than just a physical practice of putting yourself into postures. It’s about breath, awareness, connection.
//
I’m tempted every morning when I get ready to step onto the scale. I know the number is not what is important; how I feel inside of my body is. The temptation is there because my mind tells me that once I reach the desired number, I’ll be worthy. Worthy of what? I don’t even know.
Destroying these lies is one of the reasons I started running. The number may not change all that much, but I know my body will. It will be stronger and healthier. That is my goal at this stage in my life.
There is a certain stretch of the path I run that is my favorite. There is an open field to my right, trees beginning to bloom line the middle of the street and add their sweet fragrance to the mild breeze, they hide the houses on the other side of the median, giving me the impression that I am somewhere else. The sun blares down on me, the heat radiating through my body. I slow down during this stretch, close my eyes, and bring my face up to the sun. I slow my breathing and calm myself as much as I can. This is the last five minutes of my walk and I’ll soon be met by the cacophony of my children and all of the responsibility that comes with loving them.
It is in these quiet moments that I try to come back to every sensation in my body, give gratitude for making it two or three miles. I never realized how important a connection with my body truly is, even when I was practicing yoga consistently; I didn’t have as much fighting for my attention as I do now. I am stretched by this life, often losing my breath.
The years and circumstances of my motherhood journey have worn me down; there have been moments where I have faded away. Lies seep through, telling me that I don’t matter. I try to make myself small, to better hide how vulnerable motherhood has made me. I only see weakness.
I often forget how strong motherhood has made me. It takes me out of my comfort zone, it pushes me to my edge. On the days I don’t think I am going to make it, whether running or raising children, I know my body will carry me through. My body is not the enemy. It is my strength. It has never let me down before.
About the Author:
Jacey is a wife to her husband of eight years and together, they have three children. She finds solace in words and between the pages of a good book. Her writing has been featured on Coffee + Crumbs among others. You can find her on Instagram or jaceywrites.com
👇 Share this post and help other women who need to hear they’re not alone. 👇