The Night I Realized I Needed to Get Strong — Not Skinny

It was late in the evening, and I was running on the kind of empty only mothers know.

You know what I mean — that bone-deep, soul-sagging kind of exhaustion that doesn’t care if you’ve had coffee or a nap (because, let’s be honest, you’ve had neither). Our youngest had been sick for days. Red rashes bloomed across his chubby cheeks, and his tiny body was burning with fever. He just wanted me. Only me.

So off we went — my husband and I — to the nearest clinic. He dropped us off while he went to park the car. I slid out, opened the door, and scooped our toddler into my arms. Thirteen kilos of warm, fussy, clingy baby. I braced my core like I’d seen fitness girls do on Instagram (spoiler: I had no core), hoisted him up, and turned around to help my two older boys out of the car.

One hand held the baby. The other reached for the boys. And just like that, we shuffled into the clinic — a mama duck and her row of ducklings.

From the outside? I probably looked like any other tired mom. But inside? Something snapped.

As we waited, I sat down, breathless. My arms throbbed. My back was stiff. My heart pounded — not from emotion, but from sheer physical strain.

And then, this little voice in my head — part angel, part sass — whispered, “Go weigh yourself. Look, there’s a scale right there.”

So I did.

58 kg.

I’m only 143 cm tall — which meant, according to the cold-hearted BMI chart... I was officially overweight.

And suddenly, it all made sense: the back pain, the breathlessness, the constant fatigue. I wasn’t weak because I was tired. I was weak because I wasn’t strong. And that realization hit me harder than anything.

What if my husband wasn’t there next time? What if I had to carry all three kids by myself? What if I couldn’t?

That night, I made a promise — not for abs or a bikini body — but for my kids.

Just ten minutes a day.

A stretch. A walk. A few squats if I was feeling dramatic.

Not for vanity. But for stamina. For presence. For survival.

---

Fast forward two years...

Do I have abs?

Nope. Still squishy. Still snack-loving.

But—I can carry my toddler and a grocery bag and not die. I can chase my kids at the park without pulling something. I can hold space for my family and for myself.

That is strong. And I’m getting stronger every day.

Because strong moms aren’t born. They’re built.

In clinic waiting rooms. At 10pm on yoga mats. In quiet promises whispered over sleeping kids.

So if you’re a tired mom reading this — just know: it’s not about looking good. It’s about feeling capable. Being ready for the next unexpected moment.

To strength, sweat, and showing up every day —

Finding power in motherhood and muscle

p/s : Now, try reading this again—this time with Stacie Orrico’s ‘Strong Enough’ playing in the background. Let the music carry the weight of the moment. Feel the tension, the questions, the quiet breaking point 😃