When I was growing up, every morning before school you’d find me in my family’s garage doing my pliés (knee bends in ballet) at my little barre. I could easily dance and move for hours. That feeling of joy and energy from being active led me to become a professional dancer, dancing around the world, doing the cancan at casinos and performing in chorus lines on cruise ships.
Life took an unexpected turn in 2008. Despite my love for movement, I found myself unable to engage in the very activity that had always brought me happiness. I had a beautiful baby and a delightful toddler, but I had become trapped in a state of despair, consumed by guilt and shame. My mind was haunted by dark and truly terrifying thoughts that only added to the weight I carried. The positive, action-oriented person I once knew had been lost.
I knew deep down that I should prioritise exercise and physical activity, but my exhaustion and demanding schedule were barriers that seemed insurmountable. The motivation I once possessed dwindled to an all-time low. Everything, especially exercise, felt way too hard.
I found myself waiting – waiting for a solution that would magically fix everything. Of course, that didn’t arrive. As my emotions spiralled and I hurtled towards rock bottom, I finally sought help from my doctor. She diagnosed me with postnatal depression, presented me with treatment options and, as I was about to leave her office, said one last thing: “When you get on a plane, they tell you that in an emergency you have to put on your oxygen mask before assisting others. That’s what you have to do.”
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