In Survival Mode
I’ve always been a perfectionist. A people-pleaser. The kind of person who didn’t just want to do it all—but wanted to do it perfectly, and keep everyone else happy while doing it.
Then I became a mom.
And suddenly, that pressure multiplied. I tried to keep the house clean, answer every text, juggle working from home, “bounce back”, show up, smile—and somehow still have energy left at the end of the day. I wore myself out trying to be everything to everyone… while slowly losing the parts of me that made me feel whole.
What made it even harder was that I’m a personal trainer. I teach women how to build sustainable habits. I constantly remind them to say yes to themselves, to create space for movement, to build realistic routines that support their life—not drain it. But somewhere along the way, I stopped listening to my own words. I was going through the motions, completely disconnected from the habits I used to feel grounded in.
That’s when I knew something had to shift.
I started tuning in to what I actually needed—not what I thought I “should” be doing. I began moving my body in our garage gym again, even if it was just 10 minutes of foam rolling. I got honest with my husband about how overwhelmed I felt and asked for one hour a day—just for me. Sometimes that hour was spent cleaning. Other times, it was getting a haircut, walking the dog, going to the grocery store alone, or simply grabbing a coffee in peace.
It didn’t look fancy. But it was mine.
Little by little, I began saying yes to myself again—no matter how small or simple it seemed. And that tiny habit? It became the foundation for everything else. Saying yes to my health led to deeper things: better communication in my relationship, a stronger sense of self, and clarity in my role as a working mom.
The habit that saved my sanity:
Learning to choose myself.
What It Looked Like Before
Before I started choosing myself, everything felt like too much—but I kept pushing through it anyway.
I’d wake up already overwhelmed. From the moment I opened my eyes, my brain was juggling nap schedules, the pressure to get back to work, dishes in the sink, laundry that never ended, and a to-do list that somehow reset itself every day. I was constantly “on.” Answering messages. Responding to needs. Filling everyone else’s cup while mine stayed empty.
I also felt this deep, unspoken pressure to be back. Back to who I was physically, emotionally, and professionally before I ever got pregnant. I thought I had to “bounce back” in every area of life, as if nothing had changed—even though everything had. I wanted to prove I could still be strong, productive, capable, driven… all while navigating sleep deprivation and hormones and learning to care for a brand-new human.
In a lot of ways, I felt like I had something to prove—not just to others, but to myself. That I could handle it. That I could figure it all out on my own. So when things didn’t go as planned, it felt like I had failed—even though this was my first experience of motherhood. Even though I was learning everything from scratch. Even though nothing about this season was supposed to be easy.
Things like breastfeeding felt like a daunting task—not just physically, but mentally. There were so many expectations and opinions around it that it started to feel like another thing I had to “do right” or “get perfect,” instead of an experience I could own and shape in my own way.
And then there was the guilt of not showing up fully for my clients. I knew they were understanding—many of them moms themselves—but I still felt like I was letting them down. I wasn’t delivering the same energy, consistency, or support I had always prided myself on. I felt like I owed them more, even though I had nothing left to give. And the guilt only added to the pressure I was already carrying: if I couldn’t show up 100% for everyone, was I failing in all directions?
On top of all of that, I was trying to stay connected to my husband—but even that felt like a juggling act. We were both adjusting to parenthood in our own ways, and our time together often got buried under the weight of the day. Conversations turned into quick updates. Intimacy was replaced by exhaustion. I missed the ease we used to have, but I didn’t know how to ask for more without feeling like I was asking for too much.
And the hardest part? I didn’t know how to ask for help. I thought needing space made me selfish. I thought slowing down meant I wasn’t doing enough. And because I’m naturally someone who wants to be seen as reliable and capable, I kept saying “yes” when I should’ve said “not right now.”
There were days where I barely moved my body. Not because I didn’t want to—but because I didn’t feel like I was allowed to prioritize that. I’d sit at my desk to work, then jump into mom mode, and somehow the day would end without me ever stopping to breathe.
And even though I’m in the business of teaching other women how to create space for themselves, I wasn’t giving myself that same grace. I knew better—but I wasn’t doing better.
I didn’t need a huge transformation. I just needed to give myself permission to matter, too.
What Choosing Myself Started to Look Like
Choosing myself didn’t happen all at once. It wasn’t some big, dramatic turning point—it was a quiet decision I made over and over again.
It looked like walking out to the garage gym, even if it was just to foam roll for ten minutes. It looked like asking my husband for one uninterrupted hour each day—not to do anything fancy, but to have space. Maybe I used that time to clean the house. Maybe I walked our dog, got a coffee, or went to the grocery store by myself. Sometimes I did nothing at all.
It also looked like letting go of the need to do it all. Giving myself permission to pause. To ask for help. To respond to a client a little later than I normally would, without spiraling into guilt. To choose my peace over perfection.
There wasn’t a single moment when everything suddenly felt better. But slowly—through consistency—I started to feel lighter. The more I showed up for myself in small ways, the more grounded I became. My energy shifted. My mindset softened. I could breathe again.
It was around month eight or nine postpartum that I started to feel more like me. Not the exact version of who I was before—but a version that felt strong, steady, and real. That kind of shift doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time. Often more than we expect—or want.
Looking back, I wish I would’ve taken my own advice sooner. I spend so much time encouraging my clients to be kind to themselves, to show up imperfectly, to build small, realistic habits that add up. I even have clients who joke that they hear my voice in their head—asking, “What would Shelby do?”
But the truth is, I needed to ask myself that same question. I needed to be the client for a moment. I needed to believe I was just as worthy of the grace, patience, and encouragement I offer everyone else.
It turns out, taking my own advice was the most powerful shift of all.
The Impact
Choosing myself in small, consistent ways didn’t just help me feel better—it changed how I showed up for everything else.
I became a more present mom. Not because I suddenly had more time or energy, but because I wasn’t running on empty. I had moments to breathe, to move my body, to process my thoughts instead of just reacting to everything around me. I stopped feeling like I was constantly chasing the day.
This shift directly supports one of my biggest goals: to show up in the healthiest way possible for my daughter. Even before becoming a mom, it was always important to me to lead by example and be a role model for my kids. I wanted to be viewed as a confident, intelligent, and happy mom—not just someone who does everything, but someone who is whole and grounded.
My relationship with my husband grew stronger. The more honest I was about my needs, the more connected we became. We were able to have real conversations again—not just about schedules or to-dos, but about how we were really doing. Creating space for myself helped create space for us.
And in my work, I began showing up with more clarity and authenticity. I stopped trying to prove myself and started leading from a place of lived experience. I knew what it felt like to lose your footing. I knew how hard it was to choose yourself when everything around you demanded otherwise. And that made me a better coach. More human. More real.
But maybe the biggest impact was internal.
I felt proud of the way I started showing up for myself. Not perfectly—but intentionally. Consistently. Honestly. I stopped chasing the version of me I used to be, and started embracing who I was becoming. And that shift changed everything.
Final Reflections
Learning to choose myself has been the most challenging and rewarding habit I’ve built since becoming a mom. It’s messy, imperfect, and ongoing. Some days I nail it, and some days I fall right back into old patterns.
But the important thing is that I keep coming back to it—choosing myself, even when it feels uncomfortable or undeserved. Because when I do, I’m not just taking care of me. I’m showing my daughter what it means to value yourself, to set boundaries, and to live with intention.
And while this journey has been shaped by motherhood, this habit isn’t just for moms.
If you’re a woman who pours into everyone else before yourself… who says yes when you’re already stretched thin… who ties your worth to productivity or pleasing others—you’re not alone. Choosing yourself applies to you, too. No matter what season you’re in.
This isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about coming home to yourself again.
So today, I invite you to ask yourself:
Where can I choose myself—even just a little bit?
Maybe it’s five quiet minutes to breathe. Saying no to something that drains you. Reaching out for help. Prioritizing movement. Resting without guilt. Whatever it looks like—big or small—it matters.
Your well-being is worth it. Your sanity is worth it. And the habit of choosing yourself might just be the thing that brings you back to life.
To Choosing Yourself,
-Shelby
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