Thoughts from the Waiting Room
The one about a fear of failure, teaching barre, and what's next.
*TW: pregnancy, parenthood in second half of essay*
Five years ago, I started training to become a barre teacher at a popular studio where I was living in Los Angeles. I had taken classes at that franchise for years, after the early aughts ushered in the era of boutique fitness. I had toyed with the idea of becoming an instructor for a couple of years and finally decided to go for it and audition. I was working full-time at a desk job in corporate America, and I was already a vinyasa yoga teacher, teaching around town. I had really enjoyed teaching yoga, and frankly I just loved teaching, so becoming certified to also teach barre made total sense in my head. Like a lot of millennials, this overlapped into a perfect Venn diagram with a period of toying with the idea of quitting my traditional office job to freelance write full-time, supplementing my income with potential new fitness instruction gigs. Hustle culture, baby! It was the late 2010s and it seemed like everyone had some sort of side job or Etsy shop or freelance biz.
I passed my audition and traveled out of state to a several day training. I had a blast, and even though I found teaching barre far more intimidating than yoga, I was excited to get back home and see what was next. I ended up passing my certification test on the first try, which to be honest I was shocked at. I was starting to get some anxiety about memorizing all the choreography and keeping time with the beat, which was an integral part of that particular barre studio’s programming. When I started actually teaching at the studio, I found myself studying like I was back in school, and yet still never feeling like it was all jiving. I was a good 5-10 years older than most of the other instructors, and I was more than a little embarrassed that I, someone who had always excelled at everything else I’d done and mastered other things throughout my life that I had naively thought were much more difficult than barre programming, couldn’t seem to do this one thing, even when I felt like I was giving it my all — trying the most.
Eventually, I started to get pretty bad insomnia, and already had brewing anxiety leftover from my previous office job that popped its head back up. If you ask my husband, I was probably not the most delightful to be around either. For several months, I tried again and again, but couldn’t for the life of me seem to get it to feel natural or even enjoyable really. It was stressful, and suddenly became a thing I both dreaded and was self-conscious of. “I am not this person,” I’d think to myself. I was the one who worked hard but was generally a high performer in all aspects of my life, sort of as second nature. An A+ student, the person around the office who was known for consistently excellent work. Teaching barre was different, though; it became the thing I felt like I was always failing at, the thing that even when I thought I’d done well, I would get negative feedback on from students or hear about new ways I should be improving. The role I had to work incredibly hard at daily, weekly, just to be considered adequate and barely passing muster.
Being an instructor sucked the joy of doing the thing — barre — out of the thing itself. Ultimately, I made the decision that despite the time and the effort and the money I had sunk into the quest, I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to do it anymore, that is. It was either keep going and hope that it eventually clicked with more time, more effort, more classes under my belt as an instructor (like maybe I was just a slow learner when it came to this particular skillet and just needed more dedicated practice time — and, in hindsight, that was probably the case), or determine that the effort was not worth the payoff for me at that time in my life and I didn’t want to give it any more of my energy. I went with the latter, and shortly before the pandemic really sunk its teeth into the U.S. in mid March 2020, I quit.
I had a lot of shame and guilt over this. For most of my life, quitting because I couldn’t hack something was absolutely not a thing I did. It didn’t help that admitting I couldn’t do the barre role came on the heels of having left a full-time job a year or so prior — a leadership role that had left me feeling like a burned out mess due to some of the elements of that particular role and where I was in my life at the time. I’d had some negative self-talk leaving that particular role — the narrative that I couldn’t hack it, that I wasn’t good enough at it and that’s why I found it so stressful that it prompted me to voluntarily seek a different job that was not in management. Quitting the barre studio was almost like reliving that moment, only maybe worse — more shameful, it felt — because at least at the full-time job, I’d known clearly that regardless of how I felt, I’d still done well and was moving on only of my own volition, with my head held high and a clearer perspective on what I wanted out of the next step in my career journey. Leaving barre, though, I could almost imagine the studio leadership (who had shown me nothing but kindness and patience) breathing out a sigh of relief, because I’d been the weakest link on the schedule. I told only a handful of people, including my mom, and instead mostly buried that chapter of my life deep underground, like it had never happened at all.
That was…..a long time ago. And yet, it’s been on my mind lately — the quitting, the failing, the shame. And an interest in forgiving myself for not living up to my own expectations.
I’m writing to you here from a waiting room of sorts. A lobby, with a broken clock and fairly uncomfortable chairs, nestled in between the life I’ve had for the last 20+ years and my next act. Waiting for what will be the start of the rest of my life, I suppose you could say. Or, at least, some would say. I’m on maternity leave, and in a sort of purgatory where it’s impossible to make concrete plans or really assemble a normal schedule because I have entered the point in this 3D-printing-a-human journey where said human could show up at any time. Heck, it could be later today — I have no idea. (Hopefully not, though — I have concert tickets.🙃)
While this new chapter I’m waiting for isn’t akin to teaching group fitness by any means, it is a thing that I don’t know I’ll be any good at. And probably a lot of people get in this boat feeling similarly, but I imagine others feel confident right away, probably the same ones who have known in their bones that they wanted to be a parent for as long as they’ve been alive. As I’ve mentioned before, I was never that person. I’m not that person, currently. I’m, obviously, interested in this mom role, curious about what this chapter will hold, but I’m also scared. Nervous for what this next portion of my life will end up looking like, and mostly about whether or not I’ll be decent at it or not. Or… if I’ll even enjoy it, I guess. There, I said it.
There is so much chatter online about becoming a mom, particularly recently — articles released back to back, for example, that seemingly contradict one another (here and here) about how becoming a mother impacts women. Is *Motherhood,* with a capital ‘m,’ going to change me completely, like so many have said? Will I feel transformed? Do I even want to be transformed? I’ll know soon enough, surely, and no hot take from a momfluencer or even a friend is going to change what will inevitably be a personal and unique experience. The waiting, though, leaves a lot of space for reflection and wondering, impatiently. But even here, less than two weeks til my due date and down to less than a handful of shirts I can still comfortably/appropriately wear in public, I have a lingering aftertaste about the flavor of motherhood that’s particularly captured in the media or even that I’ve witnessed IRL that I frankly still don’t resonate with. It’s only served to egg on the tiny whisper in the back of my head asking if this will be a lot like trying to become a barre teacher: something I thought I could — would — soar at, that would just click instantly, but that I’ll actually struggle to get the hang of or enjoy. That won’t come naturally to me, or that will make me feel once more like I’m failing.
As Florence Welch would say, is this a bad thing to say in a song [newsletter]? Maybe.
[This feels like a good time to add that while I LOVE hearing from you all, I am not looking for any messages about how awesome I may be at mom-ing. I appreciate you all so much, but this essay is not a cry for external affirmation.💛]
Nothing in life is black and white, or a one size fits all experience, and that’s the mindset I’m subscribing to for whatever is next. I’m feeling more optimistic than perhaps this newsletter would leave anyone to believe, and more ready than I suppose I expected (probably fueled by how over it I am of being laughably awful at attempting to tie my shoes anymore or get off the couch). One step at a time, and trying to remind myself that failing isn’t necessarily a bad thing should it happen, and neither is not being automatically gifted at something. It’s also valuable, it’s all important, and honestly, what does it even mean to fail after all? It’s not really a negative if you’ve gleamed something about yourself or this life in the process. I mean, with barre, I learned I liked being a student better, and there’s nothing wrong with that (and that not everything has to become a money-making hustle). At least you tried, and if something is important, if it’s worth doing it, then it’s worth giving it a shot and continuing to do your best. To keep getting up and believing it’ll all work out.
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It probably deserves to be said, this uncertainty doesn’t diminish the fact that I still feel irrevocably lucky and grateful to be having this opportunity. It’s a gift, no matter what doubt or nervous energy I may or may not have. Whenenever I talk about pregnancy or becoming a parent, I imagine people reading and rolling their eyes, either because they dislike or are sensitive to this type of content (which I completely get — I low-key hated every time someone I followed online or knew in person got pregnant/became a parent and then became unable to talk about literally anything else), or because they’ve already entered a similar life stage and now reserve a whole lot of judgement for those who don’t yet know what they know yet. (There are, it turns out, a lot of people like that, and boooooy, they are vocal.) But, I need to write to process, and to know how I feel, and if you read all the way through — thank you. I appreciate you being here.
I hope you’re enjoying the start of summer. Got any plans for the longest day of the year coming up this Thursday? Letting more light in is never a bad thing.
Thanks for reading,
Joelle
I think my biggest surprise was my priorities changing. I thought I would be the same person, just with a baby. But that wasn’t the case. It’s definitely an adjustment. I hope you give yourself time and grace for it. I’m excited for your new adventure (all the ups and downs 😅😊)
Although I always knew I wanted to be a mom, I was truly shocked at how much actually being a mom did not come natural to me. In the early days, I struggled with breastfeeding and was utterly exhausted - I couldn't understand why anyone would want to have a child more than once.
But, things got better and better. I fell deeply in love with my first baby and pushed through several miscarriages to have a second. We definitely did not anticipate that our second child would have significant special needs.
Some days can be really hard, but what I will say is I've long since given up on trying to excel at motherhood. I try my best and try to soak up moments of joy wherever I can find them. My girls have given me peace and purpose beyond anything I'd ever experienced before. I wish the same for you my friend <3.