As I drive past, I spot her: a ponytail dancing in rhythm with her strides. Her hand steadies the jogging stroller as she bravely tackles the incline, pushing herself and a 50-pound bundle of toddler energy up the hill. The little one is snuggled under a blanket, clutching a sippy cup destined to be launched from the stroller at least 15 times during their outing. Her face is a blend of determination and fatigue, drenched in sweat, conveying the effort it took to carve out just 30 minutes for herself amid the chaos of motherhood.
I recognize her well because not long ago, I was in her shoes. During those early years with my own children, I felt overwhelmed by the monotony of nap times, endless laundry, and tantrums. As the stay-at-home parent, I bore the brunt of daily child-rearing. My husband helped when he could, but I often collapsed onto the couch, brain fogged with exhaustion and a throbbing headache. TV became my mindless escape until he nudged me, signaling it was bedtime. The next day would begin the same way, leaving little room for my own needs.
Yoga classes were a distant dream, and while chasing after a toddler was tiring, it didn’t quite slim my mom hips or erase the C-section scars. At that time, I felt much older than my late twenties. Tasks like climbing stairs or playing in the park left me breathless. Yet, I accepted that self-sacrifice was part of being a mom.
Then, a friend intervened. She encouraged me to join her one warm summer evening for a run through our peaceful suburban streets. I hesitated but agreed, motivated by her promise of post-run wine. The experience was comical; I gasped for breath, lagging far behind her. When we finished, she celebrated, flushed and ecstatic, exclaiming, “Wasn’t that invigorating?” I rolled my eyes, limping home to find my husband had managed bedtime solo.
That summer, I decided to prioritize myself. I morphed into the mom with the ponytail bouncing behind her as I jogged with a stroller. I became the mom who packed snacks, sippy cups, and energy gels alongside water bottles for our excursions. I learned to pause for tantrums, dropped toys, and lost cups, often standing at busy intersections, questioning the lack of driver consideration for a mom on a mission. I grew to loathe hills, pouring every ounce of energy into climbing them while my toddler screamed to go home “now.”
Most importantly, I became the mom who understood that taking time for my own well-being didn’t mean neglecting my children.
So, as I drive by the mom hustling along the road in her vibrant running tights and snug cap, I want to acknowledge her struggle. I see the effort it takes to dress her protesting toddler, to wrangle him into the stroller while he demands to take the reins. I feel the weight of that first mile, where the stroller feels heavier than anticipated and the couch beckons enticingly. I can sense the soft grip of the stroller handle and the way it bounces over uneven terrain.
Downhill stretches are a welcomed relief, as gravity lightens her load. But mostly, I see the fierce determination in her eyes, and I smile as I drive on. In my rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of her satisfied expression — a look that acknowledges her strength and resilience. She’s a badass, and she knows it.
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In summary, whether you’re running with a stroller or navigating the challenges of motherhood, remember that prioritizing your well-being is essential. Every mom deserves to feel empowered, and taking time for oneself is not only beneficial — it’s necessary.