I rode my mountain bike to the top of a black trail near my house the other day, without stopping once.
It may not sound like much. But it’s something I haven’t been able to do since before I had children. And as I hit the top, breathless and burning, tears poured down my face. Not from pain or exhaustion—but from joy. From pride. From a powerful sense of I’m back.
It happened the day after my youngest turned two. And I don’t think that’s a coincidence.
I’ve heard it from so many moms over the years—that it takes about two years to really start feeling like yourself again after having a baby. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. Like your body may technically belong to you again, but your identity? That takes longer to find.
With my first daughter, that timeline hit me like a train. I didn’t recognize myself for a long time. With my second, it wasn’t as dramatic—but the slow, subtle loss of me still crept in. Somewhere between diapers and daycare forms, between the bedtime routines and the mental load, I faded a little.
That’s why this ride meant so much. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t just feel capable. I felt powerful. I felt strong. I felt…me.
And not just any version of me—I felt hot pink.
If you follow Lindsey Gurk, you might already know where I’m going with this. She created a brand and message called Get Your Pink Back, and I’ve carried it with me through these early years of motherhood. She talks about how mama flamingos actually lose their pink coloring when they’re depleted from giving so much to their babies. But when they begin to care for themselves again—when they recover, refuel, and reclaim their space—the color comes back.
It’s the most beautiful metaphor for what motherhood can feel like.
I’ve been soft pink for a while now. Slowly warming up again. Flickers of energy, little glimpses of old parts of myself peeking through. But on that ride? I was hot pink. Fully charged. Fully lit up. Fully alive.
And it wasn’t just the physical strength—it was the symbolism.
This past year has been the hardest of my teaching career. The kind of year where you cry in your car before school, and then again after bedtime. The kind of year that demands everything from you, and then asks for more. It stretched me so far, I wasn’t sure I’d snap back.
But somewhere in that stretch, I grew stronger.
This year taught me how to sit with discomfort. How to keep going when I wanted to give up. How to find beauty in the mess, and strength in the struggle. It gave me deeper friendships, greater resilience, and a stronger voice. It made me a more grounded teacher. A more patient mom. A more capable woman.
That climb up the mountain wasn’t just about fitness. It was a full-circle moment. A quiet, breath-stealing reminder that I’m still in here. That I didn’t lose her. That I can come back stronger, even after years of pouring so much of myself into everyone else.
I got my pink back.
And I’m going to fight to keep it.
So if you’re a mom in the thick of it—if you feel pale, drained, invisible—I just want you to know: your color will return. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But it’s coming. You’re still in there. You’re still strong. You’re still worthy of climbing back to yourself.
And when you do—when you feel that fire again—you’ll know.
You’ll feel hot pink too.
by Jacie Kendrew 
by Holly Dignen 
by Nicole Hastings 
