Here’s to rediscovering strength, one cautious step at a time.
Six months ago, my life took a significant turn when I underwent a hysterectomy. As someone deeply rooted in strength training and competition, I thought I knew my body well. But recovering from this major surgery has introduced me to a version of myself that feels foreign, fragile, and new. It’s been a whirlwind of emotions—fear, frustration, and self-discovery—all rolled into one.
The past six months haven’t been a straight line to recovery. I dealt with not just the surgery but also two separate illnesses that derailed my progress. It’s only been the last three months that I’ve felt able to train consistently. Even then, the strength and endurance I once relied on feel like distant memories. My body is different now—not just in how it looks, but in how it performs and how it feels to inhabit.
For someone who thrives on goals and pushing limits, deciding to compete again so soon after these challenges might seem impulsive or even reckless. But for me, it’s about more than the competition itself. It’s about reconnecting with something I love, dipping my toes back into a world that feels like home, and proving to myself that I’m still capable—even if things look different this time around.
This isn’t a "comeback" in the traditional sense. It’s more like a cautious reentry. I’ve learned to temper my expectations, to listen to my body in ways I never have before, and to be kind to myself on the days when things feel harder than they used to. That kindness doesn’t come naturally. As someone who’s always prided herself on grit and determination, it’s been humbling to acknowledge that rest and recovery are as much a part of strength as lifting the weight itself.
Preparing for this competition is less about hitting personal bests and more about finding joy in the process again. It’s about celebrating what my body can do, not lamenting what it currently can’t. I’ve set smaller, more realistic goals for this competition—not just for my performance but for how I approach it mentally.
I’m also hyper-aware of the need to be cautious. This isn’t the time to push through pain or ignore warning signs. My plan is rooted in balance: pushing myself just enough to feel challenged but not so much that I risk setbacks.
This journey has been one of rediscovery—learning how to navigate a body that’s changed, both in its capabilities and its limits. It’s been scary and frustrating, but also strangely empowering. Competing isn’t about proving anything to anyone else. It’s about reclaiming a piece of myself and reminding myself why I fell in love with this sport in the first place.
If you’re facing a similar journey—whether it’s returning to competition, fitness, or simply a daily routine after a major life event—know that it’s okay to move forward cautiously. Give yourself grace. Celebrate the small victories. And most importantly, hold onto the joy of doing something you love, even if it looks a little different than before.
