Instagram and pinterest have a bunch of obnoxious ~inspirational~ quotes floating around, but one that I have always tried to abide by is to not compare myself to other people — a sure-fire way to cripple my self-esteem — and instead use my own previous bests as benchmarks to meet or pass. “Comparison is the thief of joy” is not only an eye-rolling, trite sentiment; it also happens to be kind of true.
So imagine my levels of WTF when I realized that, after six months of actually trying to get back into some semblance of being physically fit, I am still nowhere near as strong as I was before being pregnant. I’m not even close to being as strong as I was during my FINAL MONTH of pregnancy.
There are a lot of reasons for this, and I could list a lot of excuses, and in the grand scheme of things, is this the worst thing in the world? Of course not. But it’s a hard pill to swallow when you realize that even when you are only comparing your current self to your former self, your joy is being thiefed (as it were).