A handful of years ago, I pulled up to an 8:00 AM breakfast with a Democratic Senator with sopping wet hair slicked back into a bun (before Hailey Beiber made it a thing). In a city of suits, I stood out. For the (impossibly few) tech lobbyists who are reading this, you’ll be familiar with the breakfast staples that marked these gatherings at Charlie Palmer’s - eggs, button mushrooms, orange juice, and coffee. Where most would nudge their food around as gestures of politeness, I made haste with all of it.
My day hadn’t started then - I’d already had one. Logging miles along the bends of the Potomac River, watching the sun peek over the horizon line, peering between Washington and Lincoln, dancing dappled light along the cherry blossom trees. I’d greeted the bald eagles who found home on Roosevelt Island, contended with the current’s churning beside the Kennedy Center, and smiled over boathouse coffee with the other rowers who toiled away at that one big impossible dream.
I revere that time in my life - I loved the pursuit, I loved the work, I loved the packed days and endless weeks. Paradoxically, I felt powerful in my exhaustion. In order to ascend professionally and athletically, I’d wake at 4:30 every day, guzzle coffee and toast on my way into the boathouse, practice from 5:30 to 7:30, shower, commute to the office, work (in office, or meetings around D.C.), and either go for a run or other workout during my lunch break (optimally) or after work (often).
I never made the Olympics, and in writing this, I don’t want to diminish the work and talent of those who made that impossible dream their reality. But I tried - as best as my body would allow. And it was that pursuit, that journey, all the while working full time that is guiding me today. Being an Olympic hopeful has made me a better mom. That sounds like the beginning of an insufferable Twitter thread, but stay with me. When I returned to work two weeks ago - balancing the best job in the world (mom) with my all encompassing second shift (work), attempting to find time to continue the search for who I am inclusive of and outside of both felt like a new, impossible dream.
In my first few days back, I contended with the familiar list of dilemmas most moms face:
What fits? (no, you don’t count anymore Lululemon)
What fits that also allows me to pump accessibly?
How will I transport my pump parts (oh boy do I need to buy new pumps that are sleeker or more discrete)?
Where will I pump?
When will I pump?
Where will I get the ice I need to place into the snazzy new container I bought for expressed milk on the go?
Will I have time to go from this meeting to that meeting to pump, to find said ice, and to prepare for the meeting that the meetings are about?
What is she doing? Does she need me?
Oh the messages … a lot of messages … I need to respond and make sure they know what to do while I’m not there.
I forfeited other needs - like lunch - because I didn’t have time to think of that while trying to keep pace with those. I ended the first few days depleted and demoralised. The substantive transition back to work wasn’t the hard part. I jumped right into conversation, advised and guided those smarter and wiser than me on a few important matters. I was so excited about the prospect of a few upcoming endeavours that I … forgot to pump, missed the evening feed, and was late for bath time. Days 1 and 2 and I’d already failed - my body, my baby, and my village.
As I sunk into the weekend, I had space to think about all of life’s facets and who I used to be. The wife, the adventurer, the athlete, the entrepreneur, the friend. How could I reclaim even a fraction of that if I couldn’t balance even the most basic elements of being a working mom?
Then I saw a clip circulating on the internet - of the outstanding men’s 4- rowing team that had won Olympic Gold in Paris. Historic and monumental in and of itself, and mind bogglingly impressive when you realize that these chaps also had jobs. A lot has changed since my days as an elite rower and policy pro in DC - namely COVID granted companies and employees the flexibility to accommodate new work arrangements. And, often in the final year of the quadrennial, elite rowers who are working do take a slight step back in hours. Still, it served as small a reminder of all I’m capable of, and in the ways I’ve made it work in the past.
It’s only been a few days since this reset, but I feel I’ve found the key to something special, and something essential to my happiness, to ours, to hers.
I tapped into who I’ve been to become who I want to be.
For us, that meant setting my alarm to 5:00AM. Simple. Challenging. Earth shattering. Those still moments on rivers and roads over the years always charged me up - so much so that they became the life force for who I am. When I get up (yes, pump) and get out the door in the dark, I’m able to get back to her and the rest of the day with a semblance of me - the best version of me. The workouts are simpler, the goals are humbler, and the late night calls make that alarm daunting. But what an unlock it’s been.
When you start that way - with time for yourself, doing what lights you up - everything else follows. You flow with the cascading day as opposed to getting buried in the avalanche of the unexpected. And then, day by day, you become more confident and more organised, and establish a rhythm. Much like rowing, you’re able to maintain calm in the current’s churn and forge ahead - with a combination of grace, and power, and patience, and poise.
All those mornings and all those miles didn’t make me an Olympian, but they offered all I needed in who I ultimately became: a mom.