I woke up just before 5 a.m., brushed my teeth, got dressed, and sipped a cup of coffee while checking my emails. After a quick bathroom break, I headed to my workout class, arriving a few minutes early.
The class took place in an open-air pavilion, an outdoor gym with a ceiling but no walls. The January weather was pleasantly mild for the South. The sky was pitch black, with dawn still two hours away. A gentle breeze stirred the clouds above. Fluorescent lights reflected off the wet floor, remnants of the rain that had fallen during the night. I greeted a fellow mom from my son’s preschool, exchanged smiles with the instructor, and found a spot between two puddles at the back.
As the class began, we kicked off with the classic boot camp exercise: jumping rope. In my pre-kid days, these classes were a staple in my routine, but between diaper changes and school runs, I had lost that regularity. I felt a bit clumsy swinging the rope under my feet, behind my back, and over my head. My body had changed, but I was determined to get back into the swing of things.
As I counted my jumps and focused on my form, it happened. I paused at the bottom of a jump and, mortifyingly, I was certain everyone in the class knew what had just occurred. A quick glance around revealed that no one seemed to be paying attention to me. I took a deep breath and resumed jumping, trying to shake the incident from my mind.
But thoughts kept creeping back: Did that really just happen? Thankfully, I was wearing black leggings… I was sweaty anyway… The gym floor was wet… No one would ever have to know…
In that moment, I imagined a scene from a courtroom drama:
“Did you have an accident during your workout?”
“You don’t have to answer that!”
“I’ll answer the question. You want answers?”
“I want the truth!”
“You can’t handle the truth! We live in a world where women give their bodies to create life. We nurture tiny beings, and in the process, we endure changes and challenges that most will never understand.”
Amusing myself with this mental exchange, I continued my workout, but then it happened again—just a bit of pressure, a slight leak. This time, instead of feeling embarrassed, I recalled another mother who had slipped away to the bathroom mid-class. I realized then that my experience was likely not unique; many of us share these little secrets.
When we hide our struggles—whether it be with bladder control, postpartum changes, or the marks left by motherhood—we inadvertently perpetuate shame about the extraordinary things our bodies accomplish. The act of bringing life into this world is fueled by unconditional love, a profound sacrifice that’s often shrouded in silence.
We make adjustments to our diets, habits, and routines to support the life we’re nurturing. This journey is an incredible transformation, one that should be celebrated rather than hidden. The challenges we face during and after childbirth are not sources of shame; they are badges of honor, testaments to the remarkable things our bodies can do.
Is a little mishap the price of bringing three children into the world? To me, it seems a small price to pay.
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Summary:
In this candid reflection, Lila Adams shares an experience of an embarrassing moment during a workout class, exploring the societal pressures and shame surrounding postpartum changes. She emphasizes the importance of embracing the realities of motherhood and celebrating the incredible journey of bringing life into the world, rather than hiding behind shame.