Changing my relationship with fitness

I’ve always been what one would classically call ‘skinny.” Whatever the fuck that means. For most of my life, I had the privilege of not thinking about what I ate. Sure, like most people, I’ve had times when my weight would fluctuate. When I was a freshman in college, studying for my Bachelor’s degree, or when I was in graduate school. I’m actually sensing a theme there. I’ve always been active and athletic in track and field, yoga, and strength training. Before the 2020 lockdown (and my pregnancy), I went to the gym four times a week with a personal trainer to help me reach my fitness goals.

Anyway, that changed after I gave birth to my son. The change deepened six months after my sister died when I took the term “comfort food” literally. I didn’t recognize myself after birth or death. I’d see myself in the mirror and photos and feel confused AF. My son hadn’t even turned one yet, so those close to me reminded me to give myself grace. 

And then, one day, it seemed I’d used up all my grace. It was a seemingly “innocent” comment, like most offensive or hurtful ones. I’d been photographing my postpartum progress as I returned to my fitness routine. I showed someone a slightly older photo, and their reaction was disgust. Nah, for real, they responded with, “Ugh, oh my God!” It’s one thing not to think you look good; it’s another to have someone else confirm it. The private disdain I had for myself felt public.

My efforts to eat well and move my body morphed into a “fuck you” to them and myself. I poured my energy and attention into my fitness until it started to feel borderline unhealthy. Yes, I lost the 55 lbs, which is nothing to scoff at. I put incredible work into feeling and looking like myself again. But I wish that depression, anxiety, and shame didn’t seep into much of that journey.

I had to change my relationship with fitness and started with my “why.”

Before this, I worked out because I loved moving my body. I’m an Aries Sun and Moon and a Generator - my energy has to go somewhere! I worked out because it helped me cope with my anxiety and depression. Moving my body ironically helps with my chronic pain. I worked out because it felt good. 

I decided to start going to the gym because I deserve to care for my body and give it what it needs. “I have to work out” became “I get to work out.” 

I look in the mirror and name things I love. It’s not always easy, but it has gotten easier. I practice appreciating things that aren’t based on my appearance. I learned to do it during my first MS attack when my self-esteem was at its lowest.

I used working out to strengthen my discipline, which I’ve also applied to my business. It was a testament to my ability to set an intention and have my actions be in alignment.

I reminded myself that my self-worth isn’t tied to a number on a scale. I was just as fire as I was 55 lbs heavier. Even if I couldn’t see it. Even when I let someone’s opinion amplify my insecurities. 

What I won’t do anymore? Is to exercise because I hate myself. I also remembered that while I look good at any weight (fuck you very much), I get to choose what my body looks like. Others’ opinions on my fitness goals ain’t none of my business. I share snapshots of myself postworkout on my Instagram stories. Not just because I look amazing (because I do!). But to remind me on the days that I feel like quitting, I can do anything. And in case anyone else needs that reminder.