What Time Teaches Us About Strength

Now that I’m coming out of my winter slump and finding a little more motivation, I’ve been thinking less about what I haven’t done these past few months—and more about everything that has been quietly accumulating over the years.

Because the truth is, progress doesn’t just come from the season you’re in right now. It comes from all the seasons that came before it.

Here’s a question to ponder:

Ever see someone on the internet? Maybe someone fit? Maybe someone fit who’s promising you the perfect exercise that delivers results fast?

How long do you think she has been working on her physique? How many seasons?

The truth is, when you see someone with visibly lean muscle, great posture, and very little body fat—on the internet or in your gym, for that matter—most likely they have been building and trimming, and building and trimming, and building and trimming… for over a decade.

A lot of hard work and focus (and yes—lighting and tanning) goes into those results.

So… that sucks. I can’t have it by June? July? August?

Nope.

But what if you spent a minute visualizing a version of you who is a decade older….

A decade more laugh lines, a decade less collagen, a decade more gray hairs…

…and a decade of layered muscle that wasn’t there before.

You can have that.

And year after year you feel just a little stronger, just a little more balanced and confident—and you stop caring about the scale and start caring about your quality of movement.

Because whether you like it or not,

you are training for something. 

And you get to choose what you are training for.  Will it be quick fixes and comfort?  Or can you step up to resilience and adaptability?  

So as we begin reevaluating what we want and when we want it, let’s keep the long game in mind.

Where have I been?    Where am I going?  Was I as patient then? Did I have the same self-acceptance I have now?

How am I using—and honoring—all the hard work I’ve put in over the past decade?

Ten years ago, I was 32 years old.  I had a toddler and a newborn, and the ease with which I used to move through the world was starting to crack (along with my knees).

I was bending over all the time, holding heavy, squirming little bodies on one side, and wondering why a simple jog made me feel worse than it used to.

I thought I would never feel at home in my body again.

After a few years postpartum, sticking with the usual yoga and cardio routines that had sustained me in the past, I grabbed my husband’s dumbbells and searched for a workout on YouTube.

I struggled through a 30-minute full-body workout.

Struggled.

But for the first time in years, I felt connected to my body.

Not in a metaphorical way—I felt connected to her as the machine that she is.

The way a machine has a purpose.

Movement can give us that. It can connect us to our purpose. It reminds us that we create purpose.

I did that exact same workout multiple times a week for months, feeling stronger with each passing week. Up until then, I had only really experienced maintenance—keeping up, getting by. 

Nothing like this kind of progression.

Years later, I became a personal trainer—something that had truly never been on my radar.

While movement took on a very literal purpose in my life, the truth is:

Movement can support anyone’s purpose.

It creates ease so we can connect, guide, empathize, hold, receive, and plan.

Think about the mental and emotional bandwidth you have when your “machine” is functioning just a little bit better.

And maybe that’s what time gives us—perspective.

The ability to zoom out and see that nothing we’ve done was wasted. 

That every season, even the slower or harder ones, played a role in building what we have now.

Because strength isn’t built in a single moment, or even a single season. 

It’s layered—over years of showing up, stepping back, starting again, and continuing on.

So instead of asking, “What have I done lately?” maybe this time we ask:

“What have I been building over time?”

And maybe that’s where the real shift happens—when we stop measuring our worth by what’s happening right now,because when you really zoom out, you might realize—

you’ve been building strength all along.

xoxo,

   Amy