Mother’s Day All May: My Mothering Style Includes Discomfort

by Heather Reed

It’s Mother’s Day All May, an essay series for May that explores the intersection of parenting and running. Enjoy!

My mother was, by most accounts, raised by her grandparents. Elma and Lloyd Hansen were some of the kindest, Iowan Presbyterians you can imagine. Grandma Elma sewed for seemingly every baby born in Estherville for 60+ years and Grandpa Lloyd proved to be an ineffective business man, giving too many IOUs to customers at his Phillips 66 gas station.

Inevitably, due to the difficult nature of my mom needing their care coupled with both of their generous spirits, these grandparents-turned-parents meant they showered my mom with all the love they could. This was just what mom needed, but when it came time to rear her only child (me), my mom would follow Elma and Lloyd’s parenting style.

I was raised with all the comforts the ‘80s could offer: Pop tarts, Captain Crunch, hours of Saturday morning cartoons, Cabbage Patch Kids—and Garbage Pail Kids for that matter. You name it, I had it. My mother oozes with maternal energy, and with only one child to give it to, I was spoiled. 

Material comforts were only part of my upbringing, I was in physical comfort most of the time too. My mom was raised as a tomboy; to this day, she truly enjoys physical exertion and the outdoors. My dad? Not so much. He loves sitting on a couch, watching TV. If movement doesn’t equal a paycheck, he’s not really interested. My dad has what I jokingly call “the slug gene.” I inherited it—and my mom’s efforts to get me moving and into fresh air didn’t work. 

In fact, relatives would joke that I was a “bubble girl” since my parents were always worried I’d get hurt or dirty. 

Fortunately, I was challenged by discomfort as I launched into the world. College was difficult, thankfully. When I met my husband, who has little aversion to discomfort, love created space for me to try new things like learning to snowboard and climbing Mt. Fuji. 

While I’d stepped out of my comfort zone some, when I was pregnant with my first child, Owen, I was nervous. Rumor had it that giving birth was uncomfortable. Like REALLY uncomfortable. My parents and members of my extended family voiced their doubts. They weren’t so sure how weak, little Heather was going to be able to manage childbirth. 

Talk about feeling uncomfortable: People were doubtful in my ability to do something as natural as having a baby? I had to do something. 

A friend introduced me to The Bradley Method of childbirth, and while it lacked videos shot after 1977 (if you’ve gone through the program, you know), it educated and empowered me. The program encouraged tracking nutrition for baby and mother, doing birth-related exercises, and practicing how to relax. The program likened childbirth to a marathon: if you prepare, you will succeed!  Three successful vaginal births later, my faith in my body had never been stronger.

When my third child was 16 months old, a friend’s simple suggestion of beginning to train for a 10k changed my life. One June evening in 2016, I went for my first run. I became a runner.  

One of the best parts of becoming a runner was that my kids were all there to watch me transform into a person who deeply believed in the power of her body. My youngest, Andrew, would meet me at the door after every run and say, “Mommy, did you win your race?” My oldest, Owen, would bike alongside me for long runs. My whole family came to Mankato, MN to watch me cross that 10K finish line. The power of showing my children that it’s ok—and actually, quite fulfilling—to be uncomfortable was on full display.

My husband started running as well, and we became a hiking family. In our annual trips to the Black Hills of South Dakota, instead of visiting tourist destinations, we now tackle a trail or two a day. Last year we hiked up Black Elk Peak (elevation of 7,244 feet). I can say with honesty that all three kids enjoy these adventures and rarely grumble. (And yes, I pack plenty of snacks to keep them going.)

Last summer my middle son, James, decided he wanted to be a runner too. He and I used the Love the Run You’re With Kids program and he completed his first 5K in July. It was amazing to run beside him and listen to him huffing and mumbling words of encouragement to himself as he pushed through the tough parts of the race. Ready for bigger things, he and I recently began training for an August 10k. 

My oldest, Owen, has inherited the slug gene most strongly. This winter, all the boys started American ninja warrior classes and Owen in particular has really put himself in serious discomfort, “ripping” his hands to build calluses so he can move more easily through obstacles. Meanwhile, Andrew, my youngest, loves all things physical. I can’t help wondering if seeing his parents moving since he can remember is why he so naturally pushes himself.

The “bubble girl” is now a badass mother runner with badass kids who, whether they know it or not, value discomfort. I’m proud of my transformation—and so grateful my children will reap the benefits for their entire lives. 

Heather has previously written here on how running has helped her embrace her thighs, added strength to her marriage during the pandemic, and kept a friendship afloat after a move.

How have you encouraged your loved ones to lean into discomfort?