Finding Strength in the Struggle: My First Day Back at the Gym

Today was my first day back at the gym since my miscarriage, well, really since I started having complications around 8 weeks pregnant. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hard. Physically, my body felt different—more fragile and unfamiliar. Mentally, I was battling a storm of emotions. Grief has a way of weighing you down, not just in your heart but in every fiber of your being.

Before finding out I was pregnant, I was very active in the gym (see photo above). I was a 5:00am gym goer, usually 6 days a week. Actually, I was training for bodybuilding, pushing myself to reach new fitness goals. It was an exciting chapter of my life, and I’m sure I’ll share more about that journey later. Fitness and health has been a huge part of who I am, and it’s something I’m excited about starting up again but it's been over 3 months since I have been consistent. Yikes.

I almost didn’t go. The thought of facing the weights, the mirrors, and the memories of what my body was capable of just a few months ago felt overwhelming. It was so helpful to have Wes by my side. He didn’t push; he encouraged. Just seeing him work out reminds me that the gym is not just a place for physical strength but also for mental resilience—a place where I’ve always felt capable and powerful.

Walking through those gym doors today felt like stepping into a battlefield. Every exercise reminded me of how much my body has been through. How much my mind and heart has been through. I struggled to lift, not even close to what I used to, and I had to take more breaks than I expected. But each time I wanted to quit, I pushed a little harder. 

Wes didn’t say much during our work out, but his actions spoke volumes—spotting me on lifts, giving me an encouraging nod or pat when I hesitated, and reminding me to breathe through the tough moments. When I felt tears well up during a set, he didn’t rush me. He let me take my time. I'm so thankful to have a partner like him. 

Grief doesn’t come with a roadmap. There’s no clear path to healing, and some days it feels like you’re walking blindfolded. But what I’ve learned today is that moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting or pretending everything is fine. It means taking one shaky step at a time, even when you’re scared. It means showing up for yourself, even when it feels impossible.

The gym today wasn’t about PRs or being happy with my body. It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone else. It was about reclaiming a small part of myself—about reminding myself that even in the face of loss, there is strength left within me.

Having Wes by my side and seeing my gym family made all the difference. Their quiet support (and all the hugs) reminded me that I’m not in this alone. While grief is a personal journey, it doesn’t have to be a lonely one.

For anyone else navigating the messy, painful, and often confusing path of grief, know this: It’s okay to struggle. It’s okay to feel weak. But don’t be afraid to lean on the people who love you. They want to help carry the weight when it feels too heavy.

Today was hard, but it was also a step forward. And for now, that’s enough.