What's my excuse? Well, since you asked

Let me tell you something about that photo. You know the one — the fitness influencer with the spray tan, the perfectly coordinated children, and the chiselled abdominals front and centre. She looks radiant. She looks effortless. She looks like she woke up that way, assembled her family like a colour-coded mood board, and stepped into a golden-hour beam of light specifically designed for her.

Good for her. She earned it. She has her opinion, her body, her life — and I have mine. I'm not here to tear her down. I'm here to tell you what my photo would have looked like at the same stage, so that anyone reading this who has ever felt inadequate next to an image like that can take a breath and keep reading.

My photo? Unshowered. Covered in spit-up. Thirty pounds heavier than my pre-baby weight, eating the goldfish crackers my kids didn't want while wearing one of eight identical A-line tops specifically chosen to camouflage a postpartum belly. There would be a front carrier, a stroller, a three-year-old sprinting in the wrong direction, and my pale, unmade-up face blurred in the background, chasing after him like a loving maniac.

The Early Years: Being 'Just a Mum' Was Enough

In those first years of motherhood, my primary identity was simple: I was a mum. Not a fitness mum. Not a business-owner mum. Not a blogger mum. Just a mum — doing her absolute best every single day with two small, demanding, extraordinary little boys who needed me in ways no job description could fully capture.

I tried to exercise during nap times. On the days that didn't happen — and there were many — my children and I went on trail walks or laps around the shopping centre, which counts, absolutely counts, as movement. I experimented with quick, kid-friendly meals that hid carrot puree in places no toddler would ever suspect. I drank coffee and had real conversations with other ordinary, wonderful mums. I chose sleep over reading, and I don't regret a single missed chapter.

I put some of my hobbies on a shelf — not forever, just for a season. I knew they would still be there when my children started sleeping through the night, and they were. Life has seasons, and the season of early motherhood is one that asks almost everything of you.

There is nothing wrong with that. There never was.

Why Do We Need to Justify Ourselves at All?

Here is the question I keep coming back to: what exactly is wrong with being a woman doing her best as a mother? Why have we collectively decided that the days need to be certified by how we look, what we accomplish, or how much we can simultaneously manage before 9 AM?

Even now, with older children and a business of my own, people expect me to have everything together all the time. The reality is more honest than that. Just when I carve out an entire day for myself, a child gets sick. Someone needs a hug at school. Yes, I still drop everything when they genuinely need me, and I always will. That is not failure. That is motherhood.

My business does not need to appear on the Forbes list. I do not need to write for major publications before I turn 40. I do not need to justify myself — not to social media, not to the perfectly lit influencer in my feed, and not to anyone who has never spent a Tuesday morning chasing a three-year-old through a shopping centre in spit-up-stained activewear.

As a Fitness Professional, I Don't Have to Prove It Either

Here is something that might surprise you coming from a fitness professional: I do not need to run a marathon. I do not need to complete 40 consecutive burpees or flex my abdominals for a camera to validate my expertise or my health.

My health markers are excellent. I can do jumping jacks without issue. I can lift weights with proper form. I love the way my body feels after a yoga class — that particular sense of quiet strength, of everything working as it should. I am healthy. I am happy. I am not performing fitness for an audience. I am living it, in my own way, on my own timeline.

That is my favourite phrase and my personal philosophy: I am not a doer. I am a me-er. A person who shows up as herself, consistently, without apology and without the pressure to perform a version of health that looks good in a photograph.

Life Throws Curve Balls — and That's Completely Fine

As someone who works in fitness, I hear excuses every single day. And here is my honest response to all of them: I understand, completely. I know that life sometimes delivers a curve ball — or another baby, or a family emergency, or a season where sleep matters more than a gym session.

My goal has never been to guilt anyone into exercise. My goal is to help mothers and ordinary, busy people find ways to fit movement into their real lives — not the idealised version of their lives that exists in a wellbeing app, but the actual Tuesday-at-6pm version, with dinner on the stove and a child who has just had a meltdown about the colour of their cup.

I want fitness to feel joyful and achievable. Not punishing. Not performative. Not something you do to look a certain way, but something you do because it makes you feel better — stronger, calmer, more yourself.

When life pulls you away from fitness, that is not failure. That is life. Pick it back up when you can. Do your best. Your best is always enough.

Practical Steps for Real Moms Who Want to Move More

Forget the image of perfection. Here is what actually works, lived and tested by real mothers in real circumstances:

Final Thought: It Is Your Life, Not a Photo Shoot

The image that started this conversation — the tanned, toned, perfectly coordinated fitness mum — is a real person living her real life. She is allowed to be proud of it. But so are you. So am I. And our version does not need to look like hers to count.

Instead of making excuses for not fitting a certain picture, try fitting in a walk. Try one push-up instead of none. Try a vegetable alongside something you actually enjoy eating. Try being kind to yourself on the days when everything went sideways, because those days are not detours from your journey — they are part of it.

It is not a perfect-looking life. It is your life. And your life — messy, imperfect, spit-up-stained and gloriously yours — is worth showing up for exactly as it is.