From Looking Out to Leaning In

By Ellie Perry

My husband and I found out I was pregnant on Valentine’s Day, which happened to be a powder day. We excitedly packed up our stuff and set out for a ski tour on one of our favorite West Shore peaks on Lake Tahoe. I remember walking up the mountain, thinking about our future and trying to tune into the many subtle changes that I knew were already happening within me. I knew that I was going to be “the most active pregnant woman” and that I wasn’t going to “let pregnancy slow me down.” I have spent the last 15 years living in Tahoe—mountain biking, skiing, hiking, teaching yoga, and, most recently, becoming a mental health therapist. I was sure that I had all of the tools to do pregnancy “right.” These feelings lasted a whole week before I was hit smack in the belly with the humble bus.

Around week 5 of pregnancy, I began experiencing daily nausea and vomiting, frequent migraines, and soon after, perinatal depression. The energy that I had planned to have throughout pregnancy completely evaporated. When not putting makeup on to cover up my green face for work, I could be found lying on the couch or the floor in disappointment with myself. I had visions of my baby growing in a cocoon of meditation, yoga, and whimsical magic. Instead, he was being fed old seasons of Bravo reality shows, shame-inspiring Instagram reels, and sour Skittle gummies. The exercise program that I had so fervently clung to quickly slipped away from me. I lived off of quesadillas, ramen noodles, and ice cream. I watched in horror as I rapidly put on 5, 10, 15, 20 pounds. “This baby is as big as a poppy seed,” I thought. “Why is this happening?! How is this happening?!”

I found myself diving into Instagram, buried in comparison while searching for women who were at the same stage of pregnancy as I was—checking their body size, then mine, then theirs again. My algorithm became overrun by pregnant fitness influencers sharing how they kept their bodies in shape and weight gain at bay throughout pregnancy. I felt as if I was in a haunted house of horrors, being taunted by the ghosts of body dysmorphia I thought I had previously laid to rest. I opened many of the beautifully gifted pregnancy books to find phrases like, “Move well and move often,” “Make sure you are eating lots of leafy greens and nutritious meals,” and “If you can’t work out, walk as much as you can!” I felt ashamed. I was looking everywhere but inside myself for some type of validation around what I was experiencing. I was angry. I was depressed. I felt robbed. I felt like a shell of myself—once being lit up by social interactions, now avoiding them like the plague. Who am I, if not her anymore?

I had imagined this being a blissful time of expansion, creativity, and groundedness. Contrarily, I was overwhelmed with resentment, grief, sadness, and confusion. I felt angry with myself for not being able to handle it better. I wanted this, after all. I have a well-rounded and trusty toolbox of coping skills, and for some reason, it had been misplaced, lost, or even destroyed in the move from non-pregnant person to pregnant one. I clung to people’s encouragements that I would “turn a corner” at week 14, or maybe 16, or 17, or 20. At a certain point, I stopped counting.

The weight of the “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts” became too heavy to bear, and something finally clicked. I had been so incredibly gripped to the idea of what pregnancy could look like for me, I had abandoned myself and my very real (and normal) experience in the process. See, I had always thought that pregnancy was this universal thing that follows some type of guideline—and that even if it became challenging, I would have the grit and strength to persevere and stick to the “plan.” What I didn’t realize is that, while yes, pregnancy is a vaguely universal experience, it is so uniquely different for each body, spirit, mind, and heart at each moment in time. Putting this experience into a box only stops us from really feeling it—from letting it move us, change us, and blossom into the next stage—even if that requires some darkness in between.

My husband and I had planned a trip to Mexico for a wedding prior to getting pregnant. As we contemplated whether or not to go, we worried about Zika and noroviruses, other illnesses, and the very real chance of my own pregnancy woes inhibiting our ability to enjoy a vacation. I sifted through the risks, tuned out the opinions of others, and listened to what my system was craving—something different. With a fresh prescription of Zofran in hand, we hopped on the plane and headed down to Punta de Mita. Upon arrival, I was finally able to simply relax, to soften, and to contact the fresh perspective of life beyond what I felt as misery. While beach hangs were briefly interrupted by vomiting in the bushes, I was grounded by the sounds of the waves, the warmth of the sun, and the subtle magic that was constantly happening both within and around me.

This trip reminded me of the impermanence of everything, of embracing the both/and, and the dialectic reality that suffering and magic can be dancing effortlessly beside one another—perhaps even engaging with each other from time to time.

This trip helped me welcome the idea of surrender. In the moments of illness and exhaustion, I allowed myself to be just that. I began to offer myself grace and softness, something that had previously felt challenging. I returned to walking, biking, and working out with a gentle curiosity that embraced—rather than resisted— inhibiting factors. I went on my first pack rafting river trip and was able to do so with relaxed expectations of how I was going to feel or perform. I stepped into presence and tuned into the many other happenings beyond my ailments. The complexities of this transformation into motherhood became clear to me, and I realized that both discomfort and a sense of home in myself were important pieces to the process. More importantly, I learned to let go of rigidity around what this should look like and adopt adaptation and flexibility around what it does look like.

If I can leave you with any pieces of wisdom that I have found so far on this journey, it’s this:
Fuck the plan.
Lean into what is.
Give yourself room to grow—like, as big as you need to get—and without the expectation of bouncing back. There is no back. Old pieces of you may still fit, just differently now, and that’s okay—in fact, it’s wonderful. Hold onto what works; loosen the grip around what doesn’t. And let yourself surprise yourself.

The guidelines of pregnancy should be to trust your body. Listen. Allow. Witness what is unfolding before you. Know that you don’t need to do anything—the magic is already happening within you, even if it feels like dark, nauseating, and at times, unbearable voodoo. It’s not.

The experiences shared here are personal, not medical advice. Every body and every pregnancy is different. Please consult your healthcare provider before beginning or continuing any physical activity while pregnant. We encourage you to listen to your body and do what feels right for you.