A year after I got married, I started avoiding videos and photos of gym girlies on social media because it made me so sad to see them killing it at the gym while I had to stop going.
Before my wedding, everyone knew I loved strength training. I wasn’t obsessed or anything. I just genuinely enjoyed it. It made me feel strong, grounded, healthy. I even met my husband at a fitness retreat. He used to say he loved how committed I was. Yes, his mum made a few offhand comments during our dating period. “Hope you won’t start looking like a man”, “hope you won’t beat my son.” But I brushed them off and tried to educate her as politely as I could. I was used to hearing all these myths about women lifting weights. Or so I thought.
A year into the marriage and we hadn’t conceived was when the pressure started. Subtle at first, then louder. My mother-in-law began to suggest that maybe the gym was the problem. That all the lifting and sweating was “making my womb too hard for a baby”. My husband, surprisingly, started to agree with her.
I tried to explain. I wasn’t overtraining or starving myself. I ate well, rested, and my workouts were designed to support my body, not punish it. Strength training actually helps with hormonal balance and fertility. But they wouldn’t hear it. It became a source of constant arguments and emotional tension in our home. Eventually, I gave in. What if she was right? So that’s how I stopped going to the gym. Just like that.
Then another year passed. We were tracking cycles, taking supplements, timing everything. Still no pregnancy. That’s when we finally went for a full fertility check-up. And guess what? The issue was with him.
I won’t lie. I was livid. I felt robbed. I gave up something I loved for nothing. I sat in the car after that appointment and cried. Then I wiped my face, told him to drive me straight to my gym to reactivate my membership.
I went back, and it felt like coming home. I didn’t give a damn about anyone’s approval this time. My husband started his treatment, and a few months later, we conceived. I kept training through pregnancy, at a pace that felt so good, so healing. Labour was smooth. Recovery was gentle.
Our baby is seven months old now, and I still lift weights and feel even powerful.
This story isn’t about blaming anyone. It’s about reminding people that they need to stop feeding women fear over taking care of their bodies. That they need to stop and educate themselves better.
The gym wasn’t the problem. The real problem was the way people are so quick to demonise strength training for women. As if being strong, physically and mentally, makes you less of a woman. As if lifting weights somehow pushes femininity further away.
Strength training isn’t just about muscles. It supports hormonal balance, improves mood, builds bone density, reduces the risk of gestational diabetes, and prepares your body for labour and recovery. It’s one of the best things a woman can do for her health.
I’m still lifting. I’m still mothering. And I’ve never felt more like myself. Strength training didn’t stop me from becoming a mum and it’s even helped me be a better one. So to every woman out there who loves the gym: don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for it. You don’t have to trade your strength for your womanhood. You’re allowed to be both.
