Back in the Saddle

Note: this is part 2, here's part 1 in case you missed it.

I was just getting the hang of being an adult when I got pregnant. I was 28, one-year post-graduate school, and more ambitious than just about anyone I knew.

Everyone told me how things would change. I didn’t know what to believe, but I knew I’d have to work. At the time, my husband was a pro decathlete with long training hours. His income was based on performance, and as any track athlete knows, decathletes are too injury prone to have predictable performance. It was his dream, and I didn’t figure I was the stay-at-home type, anyway. At that point, I only knew two life speeds–sprint or stop. I planned to keep sprinting. I’d find work-life balance, too, because if anyone could, I could.

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As a kid, I came alive around horses. They were everything to me, one of my true passions. Until one day, I had a freak accident and gave up riding altogether. I didn’t know how to articulate it then, but at 10 years old, a piece of what made me come alive faded away. 

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Like many young adults, I’d spent my twenties figuring out who I was. I was intelligent, ambitious, and capable. I ran marathons and triathlons, I could score a goal from midfield. I was a loyal, albeit sometimes flakey, friend. I needed a lot of alone time. I liked to climb mountains and run on the beach. I loved a good sunrise and always knew what phase the moon was in.

The day I became a mom, things changed. The love and responsibility I felt was nothing like I’d imagined. Instead, my commitment to raise a human took center stage. My universe shifted, and I’d spend most days scrambling for even a few minutes to myself, standing to eat dinner and choking down discarded bread crusts. That 28-year-old nature-loving, kind-hearted dreamer all but vanished. 

—

For those responsibility-soaked 10 years, I often felt numb. Working myself to the bone, I collapsed into bed most nights. I grew my career the best I could, often feeling how being a parent lowered my corporate pedigree. There was always too much to do, too much to account for. Too much to maintain. Too many commitments. Then, I had a second baby.

I created systems to help me scale, brought in support, found efficiencies (ask me about laundry, for real), yet still, I couldn’t catch a breath. I’d burned out enough times to realize something was missing, and without it, I was going to fail everywhere. I was living a shell of a life. Why was I working so damn hard for a shell of a life?

I scaled up my self-care, which wasn’t about myself per se. It was about not letting a lynchpin in the machine break. We constructed a household operational model we were afraid to deviate from. It was so delicate, we rarely vacationed, went out to dinner, or had any fun. But, for the most part, the duct tape held, and we survived. People who knew me before kids saw my light had faded away. Those that judged it didn’t get the kindest response.

I started to see glimpses of my 28-year old self the more self-care I introduced and the older my kids got. She was still there, somewhere.

—

During the pandemic, my daughter started riding horses. Watching her ride, I was taken back in time. It took months, but one night I put on my brave face and asked if I could ride, too. A few weeks later, I saddled up a beautiful bay with the personality of a golden retriever. I was thrilled and terrified, but there she was, 10-year-old me. I barely recognized her or the pure joy. But I wasn’t giving that up again–I’ve ridden horses every week for the last year.

-–

I knew I needed a break–a reset, a rest. I knew there was a way to bring that shell of a person back to life. I hadn’t given up on her. I found my way back, but how did I let go of her for so long and not even realize it? She had no air to breathe.

Like so many people during this great resignation, my next chapter is about living a whole life with intention. I no longer only know two speeds. And even if my ambition can be a lot to wrangle, there are paths forward that don’t include abandoning what makes me come alive. 

I tried to schedule her in. I wanted to visit her. I simply had to let go of my overly constructed life for a while and stop trying so damn hard, and there she was.

Sitting squarely back in the saddle. 

Thanks for reading,

J