“I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m being honest.”

That night, after he fell asleep, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried as quietly as possible.

Our daughter moved in the bedroom and immediately covered my mouth.

For the first time since I married Ryan, I really thought I could leave myself.

The next morning, before I could change my mind, I put on my shoes, tied my daughter to her stroller and started walking.

At first, I could only hold twenty minutes.

My legs were hurting and, some days, my daughter started crying

halfway through the activity. He ran home with the feeling of having failed in something shamefully simple.

But every morning he went out again.

After a few weeks, I added short exercise sessions while she was napping: squats by the couch, exercises on the living room carpet, anything that could interrupt the moment she woke up.

I also started to pay more attention to what I ate. It’s not like I was starving. I just planned meals instead of surviving on cookies and what Ryan had in the refrigerator.

Progress was painfully slow.