Embrace Your Body: Healing from disordered exercise
I battled with disordered exercise for 12 years of my life. Trigger warning: in this post, I describe my disordered thought patterns and behaviors and my journey to healing my relationship with exercise.
Hi, Unicorn Community!
I finally feel ready to get back to blogging on a semi-regular basis. I took the last 7 months to transition into motherhood, and I have settled into my new normal (cue COVID-19 to shake that “normalcy” up!). Thanks to the baby sleeping 11+ hours/night, I am rested and firing on (nearly) all brain cylinders. My goal with blog post writing: just get it down on paper. Avoid perfectionism. Just write. So here I go…mind dump with minimal editing just to get the words out there.
Today, I want to talk about disordered exercise.
From the time I was 18 until I was 30, I had a disordered relationship with exercise. It started well before I was 18, though, when I was a little girl. I watched my mom do workout videos with her leotards and high scrunchy socks in the 90s. My mom had a disordered relationship with exercise too. How could she not? How could anyone not? I would go so far to say that it’s inevitable that most people would develop a disordered relationship with exercise living in our fatphobic, misogynistic, and image-focused culture.
Maybe it would help to define what I consider “disordered exercise.” Holland et al. (2014) organize “unhealthy exercise” features into three categories:
Excessive: exercise characterized by excessive frequency, duration, and intensity
Compulsive: exercise to prevent or reduce feelings of distress, exercise despite illness or injury, and preoccupation with exercise
Compensatory: exercise to compensate for the effects of food intake on weight or shape
I started working out at our local gym when I was 16, the minimum age required to enter the gym. I did the Stair Master while perusing People magazine (fueling body dysmorphia.). I copied my mom’s weight-lifting routine. Things really hit the fan in high school. I played varsity tennis and was required to condition year-round. I compared my body to the other (very skinny) girls on the team. We wore SKIRTS or DRESSES when competing. What the hell, right? Gross.
My freshman year of college, I started exercising more than I ever had. I was determined to avoid the “Freshman 15.” During my 20s, I exercised with the main goal of changing (or maintaining) the way my body looked. Of course I appreciated the health benefits that went along with a good cardio session, but that wasn't my main motivator. I worked out to be toned. To shrink my waist line. Pop my booty. To look a certain way...the way that society deemed attractive and worthy.
So what did this look like? I exercised 3-5x/week, 1-2 hours/session. I did intense cardio sessions that left me dripping sweat. I was militant and regimented with my lifting. I did Body Pump classes religiously (I even considered becoming an instructor at one point.) I signed up for races to inspire me to run faster, harder. I ran a half marathon. I ran 6 miles in 19 degree weather until my hair frosted. I worked out with a personal trainer every so often to optimize my exercise routines. I went to the gym when I didn't feel like it...when fatigued after a long day of work...when coming down with a cold. I needed to push through it. I needed to get in my work outs. I worked out so hard that I even started having back problems. I lifted heavy weights but didn’t strengthen my core enough, so right around age 28, I started consistently throwing out my back and requiring intense physical therapy.
I "body-checked" in the mirror constantly at the gym. I took selfies and logged exercise into fitness apps to track progress. I usually was unhappy with my body, always striving for thinner...more toned...less fat. As a part of my healing, my counselor asked me to go through my camera roll and delete all of these selfies. I did this, but every so often I still stumble upon one I missed, and I am shocked by how skinny I was - when I thought I was fat (like the picture below from my 30th birthday four years ago.)
Celebrating my birthday at work four years ago. I thought I was fat. What?!
I feel like I need to pause and say that I’m not anti-exercise in general. I’m not against people running races or attending exercise classes. There’s nothing inherently bad about personal trainers. Moving your body can be really good for your mental health, when you’re in the right head space. Endorphins feel amazing! Our bodies need to move, I get that. I have a problem with exercise when it’s used to alter the natural state of your body to more closely conform to societal standards of beauty. When it’s done in excess or compulsively.
For the first two years of my healing from disordered eating/exercise, I continued to work out but at an extremely modified pace. I walked instead of ran. I lifted lighter weights. I tried to honor my need to rest and not work out from time to time. But I still found myself body checking. Trying to change my body by exercising. In order to truly heal my relationship with exercise, I needed to halt all exercise completely for a chunk of time.
Two years ago, right around the start of our infertility journey and IVF adventure, I significantly decreased my exercise. When I was pregnant last year, I was put on modified bed rest and was ordered by my doctor to stop any physical movement, even including short walks around the neighborhood, due to my incompetent cervix and high risk pregnancy. At first, I was really anxious about not being able to exercise. Getting out for a walk after work was helpful for my mental health. And even though I had healed my relationship with my body for the most part, I found myself worried that I would gain “too much” weight during pregnancy if I was unable to exercise.
(It was also during this time that I learned that healing my body was not a destination but a journey that would last throughout my entire life. This sounds super corny. Hallmark card worthy. Slap it on a mug worthy. But it’s the truth.)
Being placed on modified bedrest was a blessing in disguise. I was given the opportunity to get the space I desperately needed from exercise. I read books about mindful, joyful movement and moving my body because it felt good and I liked it. I learned to accept my new body shape, one without much muscle tone and more fat.
When the baby was born, I started to walk again. Little 15 minute walks around the neighborhood. After my 2+ years of healing, I finally was at a place where I wasn’t using these walks to lose weight. In fact, I have never tried to lose weight postpartum. I have not dieted. I have not exercised with the goal of burning calories. I am extremely proud that I’m at this point in my journey. It’s been a hell of a lot of work.
Yesterday, I started a weight-training routine for the first time in a couple years. My motivation? Build muscle to get stronger so that I can carry the baby when he’s in his body cast in a couple months following his hip surgery (side note: baby has bilateral dislocated hips. He’ll be getting these corrected as soon as COVID-19 restrictions are lifted). I heard from another hip dysplasia mama that she threw her back out carrying her son when he was in his body cast. I am now motivated to exercise because I want to be able to hold my son without injuring my body. I am focused on function…not form or beauty!
I’m still afraid that my old disordered thought patterns will re-enter my mind now that I’m starting to exercise more regularly. I’m going to keep monitoring what I’m thinking and how I’m feeling about exercise and my body. Like yesterday when I was exercising and felt down about how weak I had become. Acknowledge the thought. Breathe. Compassion. Let go.
Or like last week when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror wearing a more form-fitting t-shirt, and I had the brief thought that my arms and belly looked “fat.” Acknowledge the thought. Breathe. Compassion. Let go.
Later, I called my sister, who is also healing from disordered eating/exercise, to process it. Having a buddy to call in times like these has been really helpful…necessary. And now I’m processing it here in this blog post.
Healing from disordered exercise will be a life-long journey as long as our culture rewards skinny/toned bodies and discriminates against fat bodies. For now, I want to celebrate how far I’ve come. From the 16-year-old Kristen on the Stair Master, comparing her body to Jennifer Aniston’s, wishing she didn’t have such a large butt or thick thighs. To the 28-year-old Kristen who purged last night’s happy hour cocktails with an 8-mile run around Denver with her (also suffering) younger sister. To the 34-year-old Kristen who now goes on leisurely walks around the neighborhood and who did 15 minutes of ab exercises on her living room floor yesterday before she was interrupted by her son and husband.
15 minutes is enough. I am enough.
To start or continue your journey from disordered exercise, check out:
Food Psych #140: How to heal from over-exercise and find joyful movement with Jessi Haggerty
Incorporating Joyful Movement Into Your Life
References
Holland, L. A., Brown, T. A., Keel, P. K. (2014). Defining Features of Unhealthy Exercise Associated with Disordered Eating and Eating Disorder Diagnoses. Psychol
Sport Exerc. 15 (1). https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3876288/