Running Back to Myself

by Emily Scardigli

When I was 16 years old, I wrote a bucket list. The list consisted of about 20 miscellaneous experiences, most of which involved an athletic base and ample free time; two things all teenagers have an abundance of. The first on the list was to run a marathon. Throughout my life, running has always been a constant. The further the distance, the better. It was the perfect escapism to quiet the noise and hone in on my breath. In a lot of ways, it was therapy. As I wrote it down, I believed it’d be checked off in a year, two at most.

Losing Myself in Pregnancy and Postpartum Depression

As life does, my days became fuller, and the time I had to aimlessly run around (literally and figuratively) became less and less. Long trail runs got swapped out for treadmill runs, and treadmill warm-ups got phased out as life piled up. Before I knew it, I was 26 years old and I rediscovered the bucket list I made 10 years prior. Staring back at me read, “Run a marathon.” I went on my first run in years the next day. I kept it up for 4 weeks until I got pregnant with my oldest, my daughter. At 5 weeks pregnant onwards, I was spending morning to night in bed, and at 12 weeks, I was diagnosed with perinatal depression.

A very wanted pregnancy, yet I had an immovable black cloud looming over me. I carried that guilt throughout all 9 months and beyond. After the initial postpartum adrenaline rush of labor and delivery subsided, I found my psyche in uncharted territory. There was no wading in the waters of my postpartum depression; it was all-consuming like a ship being swallowed by the sea. I shouldered immense guilt surrounding how I felt, which perpetuated further shame and isolation. It manifested in ways I never expected. Anger, resentment, a thirst for control, which fed an insatiable need to be constantly in service of my daughter. I knew I had postpartum depression. I didn’t realize I also had postpartum OCD and anxiety.

My brain’s chemical imbalance from the hormonal hurricane of postpartum forced me to believe if I wasn’t an arm’s reach away, something horrible would happen to her or me. My mind turned blue skies into thunderstorms. I perceived everything as a threat and convinced myself danger was lurking around every corner. It was a full-time job trying to protect her from the horrors my imagination fabricated.

From the outside looking in, I had it together. I never opened up about my internal anguish, so the door was shut to anyone who could have made my experience more palatable. I appeared as a hands-on, attentive mother fully enmeshed in the experience of new motherhood, but on the inside, I was in a constant state of fight or flight. I was incapable of existing outside of my newfound role due to the crippling fear that being Emily, if even just for a second, would cause the world as I knew it to dissolve. As I inched further from postpartum and closer to my daughter’s first birthday, I patiently waited to miraculously wake up regulated and hormonally sound. As time ticked on, the lines between postpartum depression and depression blurred as I experienced recurrent miscarriages. My hormones continued to yo-yo, and I continued to fall further from the grasp of myself.

A Different Pregnancy and Postpartum Experience

In the last days of 2024, I found out I was pregnant with my son. I was 5 weeks pregnant. Each week I held my breath, and each week I felt myself falling deeper and deeper into bliss. By week 12, the same week I was diagnosed with perinatal depression with my daughter, my jaw unclenched, my shoulders relaxed, and I was high on the delicious sensation of happiness and gratitude. The first glimpse of myself returning before that black cloud stationed itself over my head years prior. Spoiler alert, I’ve stayed in that blissed-out state ever since.

After my son’s birth, I was gifted with the experience of a postpartum completely different than with my first. The hormonal high proved permanent. I was relieved to discover that I wasn’t doomed in subsequent pregnancies. My prior experience was my body’s reaction to the most drastic hormonal shift a mammal is capable of going through. I was doing what I believed I had to, and for the first time in years, I realized I wasn’t broken. The fearful, anxious woman I was in my first postpartum was nothing more than survival. It wasn’t a new me; it was an unfortunate reaction to the drop.

Life felt lighter throughout pregnancy, and once my son arrived, I was floating. Breathing was easier. Sleeping wasn’t terrifying. The outdoors were calling my name and not shouting at me to stay inside because I was convinced a tree would fall on me. The same way I valued secure attachment, I realized demonstrating the importance of SELF is an equally vital part of mothering. Maintaining my individuality was a pillar on which my confidence blossomed prior to losing grip on who I was. When I got cleared 6 weeks postpartum, I was eager to jump back into myself and return to the capable adventure girl I once was. I knew what needed to be done; I had to run that damn marathon!

Marathon Training at Six Weeks Postpartum

At 6 weeks postpartum, I signed up for a 5k, 10k, 15k, half marathon, and a full marathon in the span of 10 minutes. I’ve always loved running for its accessibility. When it comes down to it, all you need is to say yes and go. I said yes by signing up. All I had to do was lace up my shoes and do it. The going proved harder than expected due to the whispers of postpartum past telling me it was selfish to do something for myself. I’m glad I didn’t let those whispers win. My yes was louder. Admittedly, it didn’t come easy. My entire identity as a mother was in service of my daughter and being constantly there. I had to rewire my brain’s idea of what’s allowed and what’s safe.

Marathon training consists of long hours and a lot of time clocked out of mothering. Giving myself permission to be selfish was harder mentally for me than showing up and putting in the miles. I fought back tears of guilt and tears of pride for doing something that made me tremendously uncomfortable. Eventually, the hard and uncomfortable became easy and nonnegotiable. Every race I checked off as I approached the big one, I felt like an individual again. Chasing a goal gave me an immeasurable sense of accomplishment knowing I fought demons to get there. Each mile I ran, I was running back to myself.

Finding Myself and My Village Again

I was returning to myself physically, spiritually, and socially. By opening myself up to possibilities and saying yes to life, I found myself building back a community I previously withdrew from. I found the village I desperately needed. I built my training around my life and not the other way around. By doing so, I regained my individuality by getting outside in every capacity I could. This is my one and only life. I owe it to myself to participate in my hobbies and remember my life matters too. My cup was so full, I was able to pour back into my relationships and all aspects of my life. I never knew mothering could feel so abundant and free.

“If you want to go on a run, run a mile. If you want to change your life, run a marathon.”

There are many lessons from training for a marathon that lend themselves seamlessly to motherhood. Patience. Time management. Trying despite risk of failure. Participating despite your skill. Managing expectations. Resilience. Dedication. But perhaps the most important of all, consistency. To be in pursuit of acquiring these attributes was valuable for my training but, more importantly, my children’s nervous systems. By stepping away from being only a mom, I learned how to become a better one.

What Running a Marathon Taught Me About Motherhood

Training for the marathon reshaped my once-damaged psyche. But running it, oof, running it altered me in the most profound way. The births of my two children are the greatest, hardest, most beautiful, and rewarding days of my life. Running my first marathon is a close second.

When I was enveloped by the dark cloud of postpartum depression, something that held me back from life, the outdoors, and putting myself out there was the belief that the world was scary and people were bad. Running a marathon with 30,000 strangers, in a metropolitan city where nearly one million people live, that sees anywhere from 30,000-40,000 visitors each day was a feat I wouldn’t have considered possible years prior. Lining up to start amidst the magnetic energy of a bustling city with like-minded individuals in pursuit of something bigger than us was the most impactful display of humanity I’ve ever experienced. The sportsmanship, camaraderie, and oneness I witnessed left me awestruck and inspired.

Strangers lifting up one another both physically and emotionally.

Onlookers cheered for us as if they came specifically for each and every runner.

Spectators tossing us beers, donuts, soda, and snacks out of the goodness of their hearts.

My childhood best friend surprised me at mile 20 when I felt like the world was crumbling beneath me and my body was going to give out.

I trained hard, but my skill set only got me so far; it was the intoxicating reflection of community that carried me to the finish line. Humanity is alive and well. People are inherently good. I refuse to believe any other narrative. Life is magic when you choose to do the hard thing and SEND IT.

Running Back to Yourself After Motherhood

Beyond accomplishing something gargantuan, I’ve been left with a permanent reminder that doing something that scares you is as therapeutic as every adrenaline junkie warns. Life’s most tasty experiences begin where comfortability ends. The scary and unknown can quickly become the place that makes you feel most alive. Teaching my children that having hobbies, no matter the skill level, is always worth pursuing. There’s no goal too big, no race too long, or achievement too far out of reach. There’s no expiration on goals. There’s no expiration on running back to yourself.

I share my story for every mother who is experiencing a postpartum mood disorder that is out of their hands. Your experience isn’t a life sentence to a box of discomfort and disconnection. The outdoor enthusiast, tits to the sun, bad-ass-adventure-babe before the hormonal gut punch of pregnancy and/or postpartum is still within you. I promise you will find your village, take up space, and run your own marathon in whatever capacity brings you home. Get out there, when you’re ready, adventure girl. <3