I laid on my chiropractor’s assessment table and laughed as I tried to perform a dead bug, which I’ve done hundreds of times before, but felt like an elephant was sitting on my midsection. I exhaled, flexed my abdominal muscles, closed the space between my lumbar spine and the table, and slowly brought my heel down. Tap. I did it. But not without my entire body shaking.
Diastasis recti, abdominal rectus diastasis or abdominal separation is a condition where “the abdominal muscles are separated by an abnormal distance due to widening of the linea alba causing the abdominal content to bulge. It is commonly acquired in pregnancies and with larger weight gains.”1 Put simply, as your uterus expands during pregnancy, the abdominal muscles are stretched and the linea alba thins and pulls apart. After birth, the linea alba should heal, retract and come back together. But when the tissue loses elasticity from being overstretched, the gap in the centre of the abdominal wall will not close as much as it should. That space left open is called diastasis recti and causes a multitude of symptoms that can really affect a mother’s posture, wellbeing, body image and livelihood as some postpartum aches and pains are related to abdominal separation.
I always had a strong core. When I was a certified personal trainer and taught fitness classes multiple days a week, I was in the best shape of my life. One class was a P90X-style ab workout which I would not only teach to attendees but completed with them while talking in a microphone headset. Thinking back to how easy it was for me then makes today-me want to punch the instructor in the face. I expected to lose core strength after pregnancy, but this was a setback I had never faced before. When training for a fitness competition, core day was my favourite day. My peers taught me so much as they were stronger than me in legs, arms or chest — core was my area. And there I was, reaching a hand out to my husband so he could help me get up from a laying position; something I never needed help to do before. Weeks after, my chiropractor assessed the space between my abdominals and measured a gap of about two-fingers wide, one-nail-bed deep over the navel, and one-knuckle deep below the navel. When I feel around my belly button from a crunch position, it feels like poking through warm jelly. Where there was a strong wall, there is now a mushy hole. What to do?
My honest desire was to do nothing. I grew a human and pushed it out of my body, there is plenty of reason to have gaps and holes and weak areas in my body. Back when I trained everyday, I was hyper-focused on my appearance and performance which affected my self-image. The fitter I looked the more insecure I became and the more critical I was of tiny areas I never would have noticed before. I stopped training so intensely and so obsessively and found a healthy middle. I valued my health and only trained for results that had nothing to do with my physical appearance. I trained for fun, and whatever my body would end up looking like as a by-product would be of no interest or focus. I started running because I loved to hate it. The way my body looked due to running was out of my control. My it-is-what-it-is attitude around my body quickly became the healthiest relationship I ever had with it. I loved seeing improvement in performance. I loved being able to run faster, longer and be stronger. I didn’t care that my body slimmed down and toned up. It came with the job. Setting a goal of repairing diastasis recti sounded a lot like a body-focused goal, which my mind and nervous system work hard to make sure I stay away from. One of the main symptoms of abdominal separation is “a visible bulge or ‘pooch’ that protrudes just above or below the belly button.” I have the pooch. But the pooch does not concern me. I don’t want to train to eliminate the pooch. I know all too well that eliminating the pooch opens the door up to the next poochy thing I’ll want to get rid of, make smaller or make disappear. I can’t just jump into physical exercise like someone who never had an eating disorder and body image issues, because I did. So like with every other mystery or problem that presents itself in my life, I decided the only way to get past it was by going through it. So I went through it. I unpacked it by sitting down and asking all the questions. What I found was that I have an entire new reason why I do everything I do, a new purpose, a new ‘‘why’’. My ‘‘why’’ is my daughter. I don’t want to fix my core to appear slimmer, to get rid of the pooch, to stop feeling jelly. I couldn’t care less about these very human things that society once convinced me were the worst thing in the world. I want to fix my core so my daughter will have a strong mom. I train to be mom strong.
Mom strong is something new for me and I am just starting to explore it. Becoming mom strong is going from needing my husband’s arm to get out of bed to going up and down the stairs two at a time, multiple times a day, on my own, with a basket full of baby laundry. It’s becoming able to carry the carseat through the aisles of a store and not having to go back home if I forget the stroller, because I am capable. It’s carrying a full diaper bag on my back and a baby on my front with ease. It’s walking around for an hour shushing my sleepy baby without feeling like my back will give out. It’s about survival; being able to walk any distance with my child. It’s being able to run while carrying them should I ever need to. It’s being able to swim while carrying them if I ever have to. It’s developing the stamina, the strength and the confidence in my abilities to save us if I ever need to. It’s seeing my daughter in my husband’s arms at the finish line when I race this summer knowing she sees her mom do hard things alone and succeed. It’s knowing she sees her mom practice hobbies, passions, prioritize her health and accomplish things that mean a lot to her. It’s knowing my daughter will never see her mom tear herself apart in the mirror, grab that pooch and wish she had a different body instead of the one that grew, carried and birthed her. It’s knowing she feels proud when someone tells her she looks like her mom because her mom doesn’t criticize her own appearance constantly. It’s being able to load and unload the jogger stroller from the car. It’s being able to carry all the bags while daddy gets extra snuggles with her. It’s knowing mommy can handle it when we’re alone. It’s about independence, self-sufficiency, confidence and health. It’s being able to carry the deadweight of a sleeping toddler on the way back from a day full of activities and memories. It’s knowing my daughter will value her interests and will explore hobbies to find the ones that make time slow down and give life meaning because our identity doesn’t die when we fall in love, become a parent or get the job. It’s modelling to her that she can do anything she wants and is capable to achieve anything she sets her mind to. It’s leading by example because she will never believe me if I tell her that moving her body is important but never do it myself. It’s knowing she will never have to run alone if she doesn’t want to. That she will never have to climb a mountain for me because I’m not strong enough to do it myself. That she will never have to face a storm that is not hers to face because I can’t handle it. It’s being the healthiest and most capable version of myself for her, and knowing she will never get crushed under the pile of things I cannot carry myself. It’s a literal and figurative need to be strong and stand on my own so my daughter never has to overcompensate for my weaknesses.
Being mom strong is the reason I train, now, and the results will not be in the way I look but in the example I set for my daughter. She is why I do everything that I do.
Treatment Options for Abdominal Rectus Diastasis - National Library of Medecine - Frontiers In Surgery.