Today it’s been nine months since Mom died and I have so many swirling thoughts that surround this milestone.
I miss her so much.
I think a lot about all that I learned from her in my 48 of her 80 years on this earth.
I am inspired by how committed Mom was to living a healthy life — from how she chose to fuel her body to the emphasis she placed on regular exercise.
I am also heartbroken by how, in spite of doing so many “right things,” Mom experienced a lot of bad luck (especially Type 2 Diabetes and Parkinson’s disease) which significantly impacted her ability to live a longer and less painful life.
After Mom died on Thursday, July 13th last year, our family left Evanston Hospital and returned to Three Crowns Park to clean out the room in skilled nursing where she had been living temporarily. Mom ended up there to recover and receive a higher level of care after she was released from a hospital stay in June, related to a fall in her assisted living apartment. One of the things we found on the table in between her bed and chair (where she kept items she wanted to be within arms reach) was a small hot pink one pound weight. I was struck by the reminder that, even with everything she was going through physically and emotionally, towards the end of her life, Mom was still prioritizing exercise, which may’ve been part of her “homework” in between physical and occupational therapy sessions.
Sometime in recent months we came across Mom’s one pound weight, which we’d saved, and I decided to put it on a shelf in our workout space, where I can see it when I exercise there most mornings. Especially during difficult moments in a routine, when I am lifting heavy or struggling do all the reps of a challenging core move, I’ll look at Mom’s weight and tell myself, “If she could do that, I can do this!”
Next month my American Council on Exercise Group Fitness Instructor certification, which I have maintained for 18 years, is due to expire. Every two years since I passed the exam and got certified in May 2006 I have managed to complete 20 hours of related continuing education. This is something I am proud of and yet, I haven’t taught a group fitness class in over four years (since before the pandemic) in early 2020.
I’ve told myself during those four years that it made sense to keep up my certification “just in case” I ever wanted or needed to teach again. That said, it is a time consuming and somewhat expensive process, for little return these days. I’ve been on the fence about whether to spend my time and money on this over the next six weeks or so. In many ways it makes sense for me to let it go and, yet, it also feels hard for me to do.
I am reminded of the Sunk Cost Fallacy, when I think about the effort I put in to train and study to get certified between May 2005 – May 2006, as well as the many years of continuing education, and the overwhelming idea of having to study and retake the exam if I wanted to teach again as a certified instructor in the future. I also recognize that letting go of things is something I really struggle with — both figuratively and literally.
I decided to bring this topic to a recent therapy session to process. My therapist suggested we look at the theme of letting go as a metaphor for seasons of life. She said if we don’t let go of the things that aren’t working for us, we can’t make room for new experiences. My therapist also pointed out how we can put a lot of energy into an idea of something (the possibility I might want or need to teach group fitness in the future as a certified instructor) versus what we actually want (more time to pursue what is meaningful in my life now), which can get us stuck.
My therapist spoke of Marie Kondo’s idea of “thanking things,” acknowledging what they gave us, and how that can help us let go, which I appreciate. When I consider thanking what teaching group fitness gave me for 14 years of my life, it takes me back to when I first started going to Beverly Bodyworks (located in one of our neighborhood church social halls) to participate in group fitness classes in the Winter of 2005. Sean was about 15 months old and had given up their morning nap. It was an opportunity for Sean to socialize in a childcare room there with other toddlers. I was also grieving our first miscarriage in December 2004 and found the daily group fitness classes with fellow young moms and older women (many of whom were retired) to be a healthy outlet.
Soon after I started attending classes at Beverly Bodyworks (BBW) regularly, with a friend/fellow stay at home mom (who found it/invited me to go) from the playgroup Sean and I were in, the owners/instructors noticed I had good form and picked up the moves quickly. One of the owners/instructors commented on that and invited me to train to become an instructor, which included modest pay and free classes. I jumped at the chance and in the year to come trained, began to teach and studied for the certification exam. Within a year I had passed the exam (on my first try, I knew someone who hadn’t passed the first time they took it), subbing often for various group fitness classes, and eventually taught one – two regular classes each week.
As I’ve shared here on my blog over the years, we went on to have another miscarriage in August 2005 and an interstitial ectopic pregnancy in November 2005. Working out and teaching at BBW during that time was a lifeline for me and I managed to get into the best shape of my life prior to that point.
As we moved forward with infertility treatments/assisted reproductive technology/IVF in 2007, around the time I began blogging, everyone who knew about our struggle with secondary infertility at BBW was very supportive. The owners/instructors were awesome when I needed to tag in and out related to our trying to conceive/sustain future pregnancies, especially when I was carrying Molly and Gail, as well as when I was recovering after they were born.
Teaching group fitness also was one of the first outlets I had as a stay at home mom that gave me an identity outside of wife, mom, and homemaker, which it didn’t take me long to crave. I liked being able to say that I was more than *just* at SAHM during those years that I didn’t work in the traditional workforce. It also led me to feel more qualified to become a health and fitness coach 10 years ago, in 2014, when I got involved with Beachbody/BODi.
As my therapist and I were wrapping up our discussion focused on whether or not I will maintain my group fitness instructor certification, she said “this can all be true and (you) can still let it go.” I continue to appreciate the idea that more than one thing can be true at the same time, especially when it comes to grief and loss (which reminds me of the dual processing model, that Mary-Frances O’Connor explains so well in her incredible book The Grieving Brian). My therapist also shared that often it feels really good on the other side, once we’ve made our choice to let something go and make room for other things in our life to take root and grow.
I decided to let my group fitness instructor certification go.
Though it feels bittersweet, I also feel lighter, as if a load has been lifted off of me.
Circling back to today being the nine month milestone since Mom died… In addition to showing me the importance of staying active and eating healthy throughout adulthood, including during one’s “Golden Years,” Mom modeled letting go and making room throughout her life, which I admire and continue to reflect on. Especially in her retirement years, Mom was constantly reading/learning, allowing herself to form new perspectives, and she thrived being involved with social justice movements. Interestingly, I have found myself drawn two both, even more meaningfully, since Mom died.
I intended to work on my annual blog post in honor and memory of Molly this morning, with the 16th anniversary her birth and death approaching on Wednesday. However, this post came pouring out of me instead and that’s okay.
I hope wherever this find you, that you are able to let go and make room when it works for you in the days to come, as well as to find inspiration to help you keep going in the those moments that feel especially heavy/hard.
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