This morning, for the third day in a row, my daughter got ready for school wearing roller skates.
The first time it happened, I honestly thought she was joking. We were eating breakfast and she asked, “Do you think I could wear my roller skates to school?”
And I said, “Yeah, yeah. Totally. Wear your roller skates to school.”
Because in what world does that make sense?
Apparently this one.
A few minutes later I found her by the front door with roller skates on her feet, no shoes packed, teeth unbrushed, and absolutely committed to this plan.
I was like, “What are you doing?”
And she looked at me completely confused. “You said I could.”
Fair point.
I explained that while roller skates are excellent for roller skating, they are objectively terrible for navigating stairs, getting into cars, walking into her classroom, and basically every other part of a school day.
Fast forward to yesterday morning and again for the 3rd time this morning. Roller skates.
Only after the first time I was ready for it. I woke her up early because I had a suspicion this might happen again. She's obsessed with her roller skates right now.
And honestly? Once I got over my need to get her out the door efficiently, I found the whole thing hilarious. Because she’s falling all over the place. Everything takes longer. She needs help with things she normally does independently. The roller skates are objectively making her life harder.
And she’s having the absolute time of her life.
At one point she looked at me and asked: “Mama, why is wearing roller skates so fun?”
And that question kind of stopped me. Because she’s learning something new. She’s terrible at it. She’s slower than usual, making mistakes, falling down, asking me to do things for her...and none of that matters.
She’s too busy enjoying herself.
Meanwhile, adult me is standing there trying not to loose my cool as I calculate how many minutes we are going to be late to school. Which feels like a pretty good summary of adulthood in general.
And maybe that’s why this made me think about the clients I work with.
So many of us become obsessed with efficiency. We want the shortest and safest path. The path with the fewest mistakes and guarantees.
We want to know the workout will work. We want to know the recovery plan will work. We want to know the strength program will work.
Blah. Blah. Blah. Humans want certainty.
And if there’s a chance we might struggle, look silly, feel weak, flare up, or fail…we often don’t try at all.
But bodies don’t learn that way. A body learns the same way my daughter is learning to roller skate. By wobbling, experimenting, and making mistakes. You have to have some trial and error to discover what’s possible.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because I’ve had several clients recently make huge progress after doing things they previously thought they couldn’t do.
One of my clients with chronic back pain stopped obsessing over perfect core activation and started moving in ways that simply felt good. His pain improved. Not because we found the perfect exercise. Because we stopped trying to force the perfect outcome.
The answer often isn’t more effort- it’s more curiosity. Sometimes the best think you can do is give your body permission to try something new.
And yes, occasionally that means you’re metaphorically wearing roller skates to school. The entire process is awkward, completely inefficient, and a little (or a lot) ridiculous.
But maybe exactly what you need.
If you’ve been feeling stuck lately, here's list of questions to ask yourself:
Where am I trying so hard to avoid mistakes that I’ve stopped learning?
Where am I prioritizing efficiency over growth?
And what might happen if I gave myself permission to wobble a little?
The answer might surprise you.
And if you’re not sure where to start, that’s where I come in.
—Corrective Exercise Specialist, women’s wellness coach, and your go-to guide through every phase of womanhood. Because fitness, hormones, and real life aren’t always neat and tidy. Sign up for my weekly checks ins of expert tips, laugh-out-loud truths, and the kind of coaching that reminds you you’re not alone in this stage of life.
