Learning To Take Up Space

A mom’s journey through shame, strength, and self-care

I woke up at 5:19am, one minute before my alarm was scheduled to go off. I scramble to turn off my alarm before it goes off, hoping to not wake my exhausted husband. I stumble into the bathroom where I laid out my gym clothes. I don’t love the early wake ups, but it’s the only time I can make it to the gym and I have to prioritize taking care of myself or I’ll burnout (more than I already am).

I’m proud of myself for even making it to the gym. It’s weird to say that after 5+ years of my life were spent in the CrossFit world, 4 of which I spent as the owner and coach. I shake off the shame of how far I have gotten from that fit version of me and remind myself that the old version of me may have been physically stronger, but she was a shell of herself. The me today? She is the kind of strong that only comes from wrestling with your demons and the demons of those you once trusted implicitly.

The whiplash that comes from the music switching from Taylor Swift to Five Finger Death Punch snaps me back to the musty YMCA gym. I still have 5 more minutes on my treadmill workout, but I’m cutting it close. We need to leave by 6:40 to take the teenager to high school, which is 45 minutes away. Otherwise, I won’t be back in time to see the toddler before her dad takes her to preschool.

I hit the stop workout button without a second thought.

And isn’t that what we always do? We hit stop on our workouts, our hobbies, our rest, our needs – without a second thought. Even when we have the most loving, supportive, amazing partners who encourage us to take up space. But that internal programming runs so deep.

Having a supportive partner is a gift, but it also means having to face the fact that the limitations aren’t external anymore – they’re internal. And while having the power to change my circumstances should feel like a relief, the shame is suffocating.

Shame tells us we should be further along than we are, but trauma responses don’t operate on our timelines. The truth is, I’m still learning how to take up space, even when that space is offered freely.

So when I hit stop on that treadmill, it wasn’t really about making it home in time. It was about the deep belief that everyone else’s needs matter more than mine.

Here’s what I know professionally but am still learning personally: our trauma responses weren’t designed to distinguish between real threats and perceived inadequacy.

The truth is, managing a teenager and a toddler in different school districts while juggling a high demand career and working on my PhD dissertation isn’t just a logistics challenge – it’s triggering every belief I’ve ever held about not being enough. I never feel fully anywhere, I’m always everywhere.

I’m learning that presence isn’t about being physically everywhere—it’s about being emotionally available when I am somewhere. I “know” these feelings are echoes of old wounds from being an eldest daughter, from purity culture, from high-control religion, from a decade-long toxic relationship. But knowing that doesn’t stop them from feeling like fresh wounds sometimes.

I don’t have this figured out. I’m still learning to take up space, still catching myself hitting ‘stop’ on my own needs, but I’m getting better at recognizing it.

If you’re navigating your own version of this – different challenges but the same scattered feeling, the same ‘not enough’ programming – you’re not alone. The recognition is the beginning.

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What resonated most with you in this post? I’d love to hear about your own ‘hitting stop’ moments in the comments below. If this resonated with something you’re facing this back-to-school season, share it with another mom. She might need to hear that she’s not alone in feeling scattered while trying to hold it all together.