“To the mama who struggled through a challenging pregnancy and knows the depths of postpartum depression, my hope in sharing this story is to remind you that life will happen, and not always in the way that we plan. Challenges are an inherent part of the great gift of life and when the light at the end of the tunnel burns dim, it is up to us to rekindle the flame. We deal, we conquer, and with a little love, and a lot of nature, we can overcome anything.”
It was December of 2013, when a little pink plus sign appeared on a pregnancy test. It was one of the most exhilarating and wonderful moments of my life. I was finally going to be a mother! In my early twenties, I was told that having kids might be a challenge for me. At that point, I had not yet met my husband, but had been suffering through many complications with my wonderful uterus. Many days were spent at the hospital having surgical procedures performed that would, hopefully, ensure my chance to conceive one day. And it had finally happened for us. My dream of being a mother was going to come true.
I dreamed about being that pregnant woman who would remain incredibly active: I’d hit the trails, go to the gym, pretty much continue my life as it was. And once that little miracle came into the world, I’d be the happiest, most thankful woman alive. But God had another plan.
At twenty weeks pregnant I was rushed to the ER with immense pain in my lower abdomen. Upon spending four grueling days being tested and pumped with pain meds, the doctors found not one, but ten large fibroid tumors growing in my uterus. My pregnancy was going to be a rough one from there on out.
The decision made by the doctors was bed rest: no hiking, no exercise, no travel—all of the things that brought me my greatest joy. Over the course of the next twenty weeks, my life changed completely. There were numerous visits to the ER. Three times I went into preterm labor. My head and heart had reached the most vulnerable point they had ever been in my thirty-one years of life. I kept thinking, “If I lose this child, I may lose my chance at motherhood…” something that I had been dreaming about all of my life. My psyche took a hard hit during those months, and soon thereafter, I was diagnosed with severe pregnancy depression.
My dream of experiencing a vibrant, active pregnancy was abruptly altered. I spent my days on the couch or in my bedroom, only getting up to answer the call of nature and to shower (where I still had to sit as I bathed). I lost touch with friends, and my zest for life. It was the hardest time of my life. I felt an ever-looming sense of darkness and anxiety, desperately hoping that my fragile body would cooperate and offer me the chance that I had been praying for since I was a little girl.
Fate was on my side. On August 29th, 2014, I gave birth via scheduled c-section to a perfectly healthy baby boy. When I heard those first cries as they placed his little, warm body on my chest, I made him a promise to be the most loving and devoted mother I could be, and kissed him as he was whisked away to be cleaned.
My husband, son and I spent a week in the hospital after his birth, my fibroids were causing extreme pain again as well as the aftermath of the surgery. I was so weak and filled with painkillers that I could barely hold my newborn son. I was overtaken with guilt and a profound sadness.
When we were finally cleared to go home, I wasn’t filled with joy, but with fear and uncertainty. The four long months of bed rest had taken their toll. The depression worsened. I wasn’t the woman I had been the day I found out I was pregnant, but rather, a fragile, anxious version of that hopeful person.
After a few weeks, my body was beginning to recover from the c-section. My mind, however, was in a delicate state. I was constantly on edge, exhausted from long, sleepless nights with a newborn, and angry at myself for not being able to pull myself out of the purgatory I was in.
Then one day, I broke. It was a Thursday afternoon in early winter. I had just laid my son down for a nap and collapsed outside his nursery. My heart was overwhelmed with grief. I called my husband who rushed home to my aid. It was then, after my loving and patient partner in life took me in his arms that I decided I had to change, not just for my son, but for myself. In my heart, I knew I needed the catharsis of nature. We made plans to get me back to the wilderness, something that had drifted away from me during those long, horrible months on bed rest. I begged my husband, no matter how much I protested, to not let me give up; to force me onto the trails.
He kept his word and within a week, we were in the woods. I can’t explain why or what happened to me out there, but breathing in the fresh air, feeling the dirt beneath my feet, and most of all seeing my precious two-month-old son completely at peace, sleeping in his carrier in the great outdoors, changed something inside of me. I immediately began to recognize my soul again. The adventurous, positive spirit that I had always been so proud of, began to re-emerge from the depths where it had been dormant for months. I was home.
Since then I have become involved in numerous hiking groups and outdoor organizations. I spend every free moment I have writing for these organizations and getting myself, my son and husband outside. Once again, I have joy and laughter. I have enthusiasm and energy. I have amazing friends. I love my life with a passion so fierce that at times I feel as though I could burst.
Our latest challenge was finding out this past February that I would need to have a hysterectomy. It appeared that my body finally had had enough. The news was devastating at first. I had always imagined having a large family, like the one I was brought up in, but this isn’t going to be the case for us, and that is okay. I am now about one week post surgery, and while I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling twinges of depression here and there on top of battling physical pain, I have chosen to fight the negative feelings. I have chosen to focus on the many, many positives of the situation. Had I not gone through, and conquered, the aforementioned hardships, and most importantly, had I not had a profound and undying love for nature, I don’t know if I would be in a place of such peace. I have a beautiful son who is healthy and happy, an incredible husband who has proven to love me through thick and thin, a beautiful home in a beautiful part of the United States, and am constantly surrounded by love. For all of these reasons, I am forever thankful.
About Mary Beth
Mary Beth grew up in the mountains of Southern California and now lives in beautiful Minnesota with her husband and son. She works full-time as the Weddings and Events Manager for a historic hotel and event venue in beautiful downtown Stillwater. Mary Beth is also an avid outdoors-woman and talented writer, and has merged her passions into a personal blog where she recounts her adventures and inspires others to get outside. Three years ago, while pregnant with her son, Mary Beth’s doctors presented some hard news– they’d uncovered nearly a dozen uterine fibroids and ultimately decided she would need to be on bed rest for the remaining 20 weeks of her pregnancy. Here she shares her story about the cold, hard depression that ensued and her fight to find peace again by rekindling her passion for the outdoors, with her family in tow.
Having conquered the half-marathon, marathon, and half-ironman races, I decided I wanted to up the ante this year and take on my first ultra-marathon. This July, I will be running the Capitol Reef 50k and I couldn’t be more psyched. I find such solace in trail running and the redrock landscapes bring me peace. This race will give me an opportunity to push myself harder than ever before, and it will be in an environment that feels like home to me.
I started running to get healthy and lose weight and have since lost 80 pounds; I’ve never felt better. But it wasn’t until I really started getting out, trying new things, and pushing my personal boundaries that I started to feel truly alive. I adventure because it feeds my soul and reminds me that life is so much more than the daily grind. Through my own life, I hope to teach my son that with some determination and hard work, you can accomplish great things.
Steph’s first climb, Big Cottonwood Canyon, UT; not a bad start!
Justine and Steph packing for their first extended backpacking trip, there have been many gear explosions since.
Most memorable trip you’ve been on? 
How do you find the balance of adventuring, being a mama, and fulfilling all of your other roles? 
Adventure Mamas Initiative 