What the heck am I doing here?!
If I’m really honest about my transition into coaching and opening my training space, I have to admit there is some MAJOR imposter syndrome living rent free in this old brain of mine.
Starting a business is a huge step for anyone, and Birth&Beyond Fitness, while a dream of mine for many years, has become reality during a period of upheaval and uncertainty in my life. I am still battling doubts even as I actively begin working with athletes. Here are four major mental roadblocks as well as what I’m doing to combat them:
I’m Jumping into a new profession and I’m worried people won’t take me seriously or accept me in this role.
Hi, I’m new here. I love fitness and I’ve seen firsthand how building strength over the last decade+ has positively impacted my health. The idea to become a trainer first took root around 2018 after I began to think about wanting to impact peoples’ lives in ways beyond the stage (without taking my final bow as a musician!). Working my way through my pregnancies and the births of our Daughter and Son while remaining active showed me the need for both normalizing strength training during this stage of life in the general population AND the lack of knowledgable coaches/resources in fitness for people who are trying to conceive, pregnant, or postpartum.
I’m also a career musician with over two decades of performing and teaching behind me, a path requiring years of highly specific training that on the outside appears to have little in common with the grunts over in the locker room, so what business did I have throwing my hat into the fitness ring?
I’ve never been the fastest, the strongest, or the fittest, and I only began strength training through Crossfit at 33, but even early on, the parallels between training and learning a musical instrument were apparent. Musicians and athletes require consistent application of skills, repetition over time, and analyzing performance and technique in order to make improvements. Understanding how our bodies work to play an instrument or move a barbell is critical as is knowing how we need to recover from practicing or training. If I am working with a student in a percussion lesson, I am observing that musician’s physical approach to the instrument and assessing whether the stance, setup, stroke, etc. are helping or hindering the music being played. I am making adjustments to the student’s playing, one at a time, over many weeks and months of lessons in order to achieve musical progress and advance the individual’s playing. I am celebrating a student’s wins and acknowledging progress with them. And most importantly, I am training the student to be able to listen and assess their own playing so that additional progress can take place during practice sessions outside of lessons. It turns out that my experience teaching lessons transfers beautifully to coaching an athlete. I am observing work undertaken by an athlete and making adjustments in order to make the movements safer, more efficient, and more proficient one step at a time. While I am new to being on the coach side of training, it turns out that my background in music made me more prepared for this role than I realized. Recognizing this gives me the internal feedback and confidence to know I am not starting entirely from scratch and that I can apply a bank of experience to a new modality.
I’m still processing my job loss from my school in 2024. Being fired from a job I know I did well shattered my confidence.
Why can’t I just get over it?! And wait! Didn’t I just say having teaching experience GAVE me confidence to begin coaching? The most significant event allowing me to embark on obtaining credentials in order to coach and take meaningful steps toward launching Birth&Beyond Fitness was being cruelly fired from my band directing job at a parochial school in January 2024. I was brought on board to revitalize their instrumental music program that had been dormant for eighteen months during the pandemic, but the Principal, okay with the news that we were expecting in 2022, was enraged to learn we were again pregnant. I had grown the program and set the foundation for successful intrumental ensembles, I cared about the students, and I worked well with my colleagues. But having our Son was a sin too great, and the school’s religious affiliation provided a legal loophole for her to get rid of me, which she did ten days before my maternity leave was to end. I, with three music degrees and over two decades’ successful teaching experience on top of a positive record at this school, was replaced in my part time role by two young men, at least one of whom had not completed undergrad.
It was a vulnerable point in my life, and maybe had I not been three months postpartum at the time, I might have weathered the news more heroically, but being fired in the near postpartum stage when I knew I had done my work well, had the support of colleagues, parents, and students, was a huge blow that left me questioning my value and abilities within a profession I had previously felt confident contributing to. I wondered if I had been deluding myself for decades, I doubted my capabilities, and I questioned whether I was employable in the first place.
As I licked my wounds and tried to think about what direction I might like to go next, I discovered Crossfit was hosting an L-1 seminar in San Diego. Receiving my L-1 would give me the coaching certification needed to enroll in Birthfit’s coach training program. It was my one shot to obtain the required credential before enrollment opened up last year with Birthfit and the intrusive thoughts were swirling. I had just been fired from a position within my area of expertise, how the hell would I even pass the test, three months postpartum, barely back in the gym for a month, it seemed like such a crapshoot. Emboldened by encouragement from my Husband, Sister, and Brother in Law, I decided to try.
The L-1 seminar took place over a weekend down in San Diego. I brought a cooler and my pumping equipment and inquired with the gym owner about a place to hide myself away at a few intervals throughout each day. I printed the L-1 manual and had it bound. And I told almost no one, less to explain if I failed.
The seminar staff were fantastic and the weekend was transformative for me. I remembered how much I loved learning and lecture style formats. I saw the sheer elegance and beauty of Crossfit’s methodology laid out before me as the staff addressed each topic and then was humbled by my own limitations in a recovering body as we put movements into action. The weekend sparked something in me that I thought had fizzled. I started to think about how I might address these foundational movements and points of performance with a newer athlete, or a rusty one, or a seasoned one in a new phase of life like pregnancy or early postpartum stages. I nerded out hard on the entire thing, knowing all sorts of random trivia thrown at us by the staff to the point that a few other attendees joked that they should sit next to me during the test. Oh. S*&%. The TEST.
Normally, I love a good test. Hand me a number two pencil and a scantron and let me loose. But in that low place of doubt with scrambled eggs for brains thanks to life with a toddler and a baby barely past newborn stage, I wasn’t sure I could pass. We had 60 minutes to answer 55 questions, and I handed my paper in with only about 4 minutes to spare, totally uncertain about how I did. A couple weeks later when I got the email congratulating me on passing, I almost didn’t believe it at first, then relief flooded over me as I realized I could still be successful. It was the first time since losing my position I dared to hope again as I locked in the first critical step in being able to start my own business and a new career, and I was so damn happy. It took such a leap of faith during a deeply troubled and dark time, and looking back, I am so proud of myself for letting go of the fear, distrust, and sadness in that moment. Now, nearly a year and a half after being fired from my school, I am still angry, but I refuse to let the Principal win. I am capable. I am accomplished. I am embarking on something entirely new after taking things into my own hands and learning to believe in myself again.
I was never a “stand out” athlete, and I didn’t study traditional subjects coaches and trainers pursue in school.
I didn’t dedicate my life to becoming a standout athlete or coach in school, so why would anyone want to train with me? I was focused on the opposite side of the yearbook, if you will. I chose music as my path. In order to become a musician, a person must dedicate much time and effort towards refining those skills, and in the case of an orchestral musician like me, formal schooling is an essential part of that equation. Orchestral players commit to their craft before college because we need to be accepted through a rigorous audition process in order to be invited to study our instruments at the college level. Music school, while housed within a university or performing arts conservatory, is essentially a trade school. We are tested at points throughout the terms on our playing in additional auditions, juries (performance exams), and recitals. Ours days are spent practicing our instruments rather than researching in the library. During the summer, we attend music training festivals that are by invitation after passing yet another successful audition, and in order to win work with a professional ensemble as a core member of a section or an extra player, you got, it, more auditions. It is highly competitive with very few positions offered at each stage. Lots of talented performers fall by the wayside, opting for more reliable, easier to obtain work. I lost count of how many professional and festival auditions I have taken, but I would estimate the total to be near 100. In short, I’ve put some serious miles into training to be successful as an orchestral percussionist, but in the pursuit of fitness, I’ve been what I might consider a “try hard enthusiast” for most of the last thirteen years.
Forgive the pun, but there’s a certain rhythm to operating within the orchestra that at this point is second nature to me. I walk on stage and I know how to interact with other musicians, I know the etiquette, the protocols, and I know how to interpret my role within the music and make adjustments to the sounds that shape a performance. Even a skilled solo performer might struggle here not knowing ensemble culture, and I think this is true for any workplace. It takes time and training, and a willingness from more seasoned musicians to accept the new player before they too can learn the traditions and methods that make an orchestral player part of the trusted team. Knowing this, and knowing I never studied human movement or anatomy or performed sports at high levels growing up, I leaned into places I where I knew I could learn the ropes, so to speak. I began observing how coaches spoke to athletes in class closely. I looked at what they were pointing out about a movement regardless if it was directed at me, and I allowed myself to continue being a student with the lens of someone who wanted to work with people in a training capacity. I got curious. I listened when I was being coached in class and took the suggestions seriously. I asked questions. I applied the parallels from the process of studying music to physical activity and strength skills. I’m still early in this, but I’m already seeing things from a different perspective and figuring out how things work from programming workouts that will challenge and benefit a range of athletes to considering the nuance and specific movements that will fortify and empower people as they prepare for birth and the months and years afterwards. When I am working with an athlete now, I am watching their movement intently, making incremental changes, and encouraging when I see they need it. I’m working to lay a foundation for a training space that people will want to turn to as a trusted place where they can get stronger and receive skilled feedback, where they can feel empowered to step into their lives with more confidence and physical strength and stamina to live their best existence.
I don’t “look” like a coach (translation: I’m not jacked)
If you saw me walking down the street, you would see an entirely average adult female. I’m not jacked, and if anything, I’m in a place of softness where my current physique is concerned. My body has taken many forms over the last couple decades, but I am not what one might think of when the words strength coach comes to mind. This might be the most visibly obvious manifestation of imposter syndrome simply because we are all such visual creatures and we have visual generalizations about what a “fit” person looks like.
Added to this insecurity is the fact that since 2020, I have been pregnant four times, experienced a challenging recovery immediately following our Daughter’s birth in 2022, and learned we were expecting our Son just nine or ten months later when my body was still not fully healed. At present, I am currently 19 months postpartum following our Son’s arrival and am only six months out from our baby feeding days. People always say things like “you can’t understand unless you’ve been through it” where having a baby is concerned. I have mixed feelings about this statement, BUT in terms of understanding the physiological changes that take place across pregnancy and postpartum, I do think it is a valid assertion.
I feel like I’ve been getting to know my body all over again, and again, and again, and again for the better part of five years. I’m surprised by things like once dependable closet staples that no longer fit my body correctly even if they “fit.” I have had to build back strength and endurance to play certain percussion parts with my orchestras that, prior to giving birth, would have been in my back pocket ready to go. I get in the gym and don’t know where my body is in space, squats were until VERY recently infuriatingly disorienting from my foot placement to adjusting to yet another new center of gravity. A friend described feeling like her joints were no longer about to fall out after completing her baby feeding journey, and I can agree that everything feels much more stable on the other side of that experience now that the hormones helping to relax and encourage supply have cycled out of my system. So stepping into a space in which people size you up and have a specific expectation of what a trainer “should” look like is unnerving because I’m still getting to know this evolving postpartum me.
But I set out with the goal of helping others work through this transition and find their strength during a vulnerable, if incredible, period on their lives. In this light, I think it more important than ever to show up as I am, softer me, reduced mobility me, still-recovering postpartum me, because people need to see that being strong and capable doesn’t come in one, well-muscled, lean and mean, neatly packaged body type. When I look back on what I was able to do with my body, to conceive and lose and recover from consecutive losses, then conceive and carry and bring not only our beautiful Daughter, but our wee delight of a surprise Son into the world, I am awestruck. Birthfit argues that Birth is the most athletic event of your life, and I did it in my 40s, twice. When I think back on that journey, I wanna high five myself until my hands sting.
I recently read a post from JK McLeod, a trainer I respect and who hosts the “Help me Understand” podcast. He writes, “as you’re navigating the sea of fitness and nutrition information out there… remember that credentials don’t automatically come with a sense of ethics and values… and vice versa.” It’s an important statement applicable across a broad variety of specialties. Not every doctor is going to be an ethical one in spite of passing the board, nor every businessperson for that matter. You can also replace “credentials” with “physique,” and the statement is equally true and in my case, critical to remembering that I have the skilled expertise and built in care and desire to help people in their strength and fitness journeys. I try to live my life ethically and based upon a firm set of values and I try to interact with others with this at the forefront. What I look like and what I can contribute are not intertwined, and untangling the two is difficult, (the comparison trap is real, y’all), but I am continually working to do this. It took the physical transformations I experienced to discover real value and worth in my own body. It might still feel a bit foreign at times, and I might be a little intimidated by the leaner, meaner, more obviously muscled people in this space, but when I look at myself, I see a person I would want to train with, and I’m bringing that mindset to my athletes.
This is not the sum and total of my doubts, but these four are the most significant and the ones that require regular attention as things ramp up with athletes walking in the door. Doubts are a normal part of starting something new, and fear of failure or not being accepted is a real barrier for a lot of us. I think it’s important to understand our doubts and examine why they exist, then think about how we can put them to rest and step into our new space. For me, the anticipation of launching my training space allowed my doubts to cycle more prominently, causing me much stress and anxiety. Now that I have begun working with athletes, I am finding that I am able to rise to this new challenge. Even better, I have been enjoying every aspect of this new work from programming to actual training. Former Crossfit Games athlete Cole Sager has a quote on his garage gym wall from Abraham Lincoln, “I will prepare and someday my chance will come.” In some ways, I’ve been preparing for this work all along, in others, my training is still setting in, but I prepared, nonetheless, and I love that my chance is here and now.
