Miranda Frank Facebook ad: “mommy pooch? read this”

About this ad

Meta Ad Library ID

1569707587845810

Platforms

Facebook, Instagram, Audience Network, Messenger and Threads

Relaunches

0

How we count

Ad text

STOP trying to lose your mom pooch by cutting snacks or starving yourself below 1400 calories. I know that sounds stupid, but all those "diet hacks" are just ignoring the real problem and blocking your tummy from going back to the way it was. I realized this two months ago in the women's locker room at Planet Fitness. I was 8 months postpartum after my first baby. About to turn 36 years old. Had been breastfeeding 3-4 times a day until a month prior when I finally stopped. I know everyone warned me your body never goes back to the way it was after giving birth. But I was determined to get my body back. So I started exercising 4-5 times a week. Eating healthier than I ever had before. Cut out all the snacks. Swapped escalators for stairs and my Venti Shaken Espresso for Iced Americanos. But no matter what I did I could NOT seem to shed the mom pooch. I tried to love my body for what it is and given how miraculous it is that I created life, but damn it was hard looking in the mirror some days. Every day I'd come into the locker room and get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Same pooch. Same soft midsection. Same body that didn't look like mine anymore. I'd put on my gym clothes, suck it in, and go work out for an hour. Come back sweating. Exhausted. Feeling like I earned something. Then I'd catch my reflection again on the way out. Nothing. I started avoiding that mirror. Not just at the gym. At home too. Getting dressed with my back to the bathroom mirror. Changing in the closet. Pulling on the same three oversized t-shirts because at least they didn't show anything. My husband told me I looked great. I wanted to scream. Not because he was lying. Because even if he meant it, it didn't change what I saw. And what I saw was a stranger. I missed my body. Not in a vain way. In a "who even am I anymore" way. I used to feel strong. Athletic. Comfortable. I had clothes I loved and a reflection I recognized. Now I had a closet full of things that didn't fit and a body that didn't feel like mine. And the worst part? I was doing everything right. Gym 4-5 times a week. Check. Eating clean. Check. Not snacking. Check. Walking every day with the stroller. Check. I even tried cutting to 1400 calories. Lost one pound in two months. ONE. And my mood was so bad my husband asked if I was okay. So I went back to 1500. Which meant I was basically maintaining. Stuck. I tried a postnatal fitness class. Showed up and every other mum looked like they'd bounced back already. I stuck out. Went home and cried in the shower. Tried intermittent fasting. Lasted about nine days before I was so hungry and irritable I snapped at my husband for breathing too loud. Tried higher protein, lower carbs, more walking, home workouts during nap time, Jillian Michaels videos I hated. Nothing moved. The scale just sat there. And the mirror kept showing me the same pooch every single morning. I started dreading getting dressed. Not because I'd given up. But because every morning was just more proof that none of this was working. Like I was putting in all this effort for a body that had decided it was done listening to me. The breaking point came in a Target dressing room. I just needed jeans. That's it. My daughter was in the cart making those little babbling sounds and I had maybe twenty minutes before she'd lose it. I grabbed three pairs. All one size up from what I used to wear. Told myself it was fine. Just a number. I pulled the first pair on. They buttoned. But the midsection... the pooch just sat there on top of the waistband. Like a shelf. I turned sideways and it was all I could see. Tried the next pair. Higher rise. Same thing. The pooch just relocated. Still there. Still visible. Still not my body. Third pair. Same. I stood in that dressing room under those horrible fluorescent lights, staring at myself in a mirror that showed everything, and my daughter started fussing in the cart. And I just thought: this is it. This is what I look like now. I put my leggings back on. Left all three pairs on the hook. Picked up my daughter and walked out without buying anything. Cried in the car for ten minutes before I could drive home. That night I lay in bed at 1am doing what every desperate person does. Googling. "Why can't I lose belly fat postpartum" "Stomach won't flatten after baby" "Mom pooch won't go away no matter what I do" "Is postpartum belly permanent" Every article said the same things. Eat in a deficit. I was. Still fat. Do core exercises. I was. Still soft. Give it time. It had been 8 months. How much time? Be patient with your body. I was so tired of hearing that. All the advice assumed the problem was that I wasn't working hard enough. Or eating little enough. Or waiting long enough. Nobody addressed WHY my stomach specifically wasn't responding when the rest of my effort was real. Then I found something buried in a study from the Journal of Sport Rehabilitation. A researcher had studied what happens to abdominal muscles after pregnancy. Not weight. Not fat. The actual muscles underneath. And she wrote something that made me sit up in bed: During pregnancy and extended periods of inactivity, the deep abdominal muscles — especially the transverse abdominis — essentially go dormant. The neural connection between brain and muscle weakens. And without that connection, voluntary exercise can't fully activate them. I read it three times. She went on to explain that the transverse abdominis is the deep "corset" muscle that wraps around your midsection. It's what pulls everything in. What holds your organs tight. What gives your waist its shape. And after pregnancy, that muscle literally falls asleep. The signal from your brain gets disrupted. You can crunch and plank all day long, but if the muscle isn't receiving the message to fire, it's like texting someone whose phone is dead. I thought about all my workouts. All those planks. All those crunches. All that effort. I wasn't failing because I wasn't trying hard enough. I was failing because I was exercising muscles that couldn't hear me. My brain was sending the signal. But my deep core muscles had gone dormant after nine months of pregnancy and months of sedentary recovery. The connection was broken. This wasn't a calorie problem. It wasn't a willpower problem. It wasn't a "you need to try harder" problem. It was a muscle activation problem. And no amount of dieting, cardio, or calorie cutting was going to fix a muscle that had stopped responding. That's when everything clicked. If the problem was that my deep core muscles couldn't receive signals from my brain anymore... Then I didn't need to work harder. I didn't need to eat less. I didn't need another fitness class where I felt like the only one who hadn't bounced back. I needed something that could send the signal FOR me. Something that could bypass my brain entirely and force those dormant muscles to fire again. The next morning I told my husband what I'd read. "My abs aren't weak," I said. "They're asleep. Like, the actual nerve connection is broken. That's why nothing's been working." He looked skeptical. "So what, you just... wake them up?" "That's what I'm trying to figure out." I went back down the research rabbit hole. And that's when I found the second study. Published in a sports medicine journal, researchers had tested electrical muscle stimulation — small electrical impulses sent directly to the muscle through pads on the skin. Bypassing the brain completely. The results stopped me cold. After 8 weeks, subjects had measurably increased the cross-sectional area of both the rectus abdominis and the transverse abdominis. The deep corset muscle. The one that had gone dormant. But what really got me was this: EMS preferentially activates type II muscle fibers. Fast-twitch fibers. The ones responsible for visible muscle definition and tone. The exact fibers that are hardest to recruit with basic crunches and planks. Basically, electrical stimulation was doing what my brain couldn't — forcing the dormant muscles to contract at intensities I physically couldn't achieve on my own. No calorie deficit required. No supply risk. No hour at the gym. Just the signal my muscles had stopped receiving. I found the Fit Mama belt that same night. Not a gym machine. A belt. Something I could wear at home. During nap time. While folding laundry. While watching TV after the baby went down. 20 minutes. Twice a day. I ordered it without telling my husband. It arrived two days later. That Thursday, instead of going to the gym, I put it on during my daughter's afternoon nap. The first sensation was weird. Like my abs were twitching on their own. Because they were. For the first time in months, those muscles were actually contracting. Not because I was telling them to. Because the signal was being sent directly. I didn't expect much. Honestly, I expected to return it. The first week, nothing visible changed. But something felt different. When I stood up, my core felt... engaged. Like something had switched back on that I didn't realize had been off. By week two, I noticed my posture was different. I was standing straighter without thinking about it. My lower back didn't ache at the end of the day the way it had since giving birth. By week three, I put on one of my pre-pregnancy shirts. Not to test anything. Just grabbed it without thinking. It fit different. Not perfect. But different. The midsection wasn't pulling the same way. Something underneath had shifted. I stood in front of that bathroom mirror. The same one I'd been avoiding for months. And for the first time since my daughter was born, I didn't look away. My husband came up behind me. "You look good," he said. Same words as before. But this time I didn't want to scream. Because this time, I could see it too. It's been seven weeks now. I still use it every day. 20 minutes during nap time. Sometimes while I'm answering emails. Sometimes while I'm just sitting on the couch after bedtime. I went back to Target two weekends ago. Same dressing room. Same fluorescent lights. Pulled on a pair of jeans one size down from the ones I couldn't even buy last time. They fit. Nobody said anything about my body. Nobody had to. I just felt like me again. My mum called last week asking how I was doing. "I stopped killing myself at the gym," I told her. "Oh no. Everything okay?" "Better," I said. "I stopped trying to exercise away a problem that exercise couldn't fix." She went quiet. "What do you mean?" "My core muscles went dormant after pregnancy. The connection between my brain and my abs was basically broken. No amount of crunches was going to fix that. I needed something that could send the signal my brain couldn't." "And that worked?" "In seven weeks I've seen more change than eight months of gym and dieting." She laughed. "That sounds too easy." "It's not easy," I said. "It's just... the right problem. I spent eight months trying to fix a calorie problem I didn't have. The real problem was that my muscles were asleep. Once I woke them up, everything started shifting." I think about all those mornings in the Planet Fitness locker room. All those hours I spent on a treadmill trying to outrun a problem that had nothing to do with cardio. All those calories I cut that just made me miserable and didn't change anything. All that time I spent hating my reflection when the real issue was happening underneath the surface. In muscles I couldn't see and couldn't voluntarily control. I can't get those months back. But I'm not wasting any more. If you're doing everything right and your midsection still won't change... If you're cutting calories until you're miserable and the scale still won't move... If you're showing up to the gym and putting in the work but your stomach looks the same as it did three months ago... The problem isn't effort. It isn't discipline. It isn't willpower. It's that your deep core muscles went dormant after pregnancy. And you can't exercise a muscle that can't hear you. You don't need another diet. You don't need another fitness class. You don't need to cut your calories any lower. You need to wake your muscles up. 20 minutes a day. At home. During nap time. No gym. No childcare. No calorie counting. For less than the cost of one month of that gym membership that wasn't working anyway, you could finally fix the actual problem. Don't wait eight months like I did. Don't keep punishing a body that just needs to be woken up. My husband asked if I was using the belt again tonight. Eight months ago, I was avoiding mirrors. Now he's noticing. That's how I know this actually works. I stopped trying to starve away my mom pooch. And started fixing the real reason it was there. They offer a 30-day money back guarantee. Which means you can try it for a full month, and if you don't see the difference, you get every penny back. I'll leave the link below. P.S. Every crunch you're doing on a muscle that can't hear you is effort you'll never get back. And worse — it's not even working. Your core doesn't need more punishment. It needs to be reactivated. And that starts with 20 minutes and a signal your brain can't send on its own.

Where the ad sends people

fit-mama.store

mommy pooch? read this ☝️

The first ab trainer built specifically for postpartum moms. Postpartum weight loss isn't regular weight loss. And you already know that — because you've been doing everything right and nothing is changing. You can't just cut calories because your supply drops. You can't get to the gym because the...