How am I doing on exercise hiatus?

Just fine, actually.

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

It’s been 3 weeks since I last exercised and I feel fine.

This statement probably doesn’t sound all that shocking but to anyone who has suffered with a compulsive exercise disorder, it’s kind of a big deal.

Not un-ironically, the knee surgery that has recently taken me away from movement is in part due to the fact that years of overexercise has left me with severe joint damage (to anyone who questions the seriousness of exercise disorders, this is just one of the many consequences).

During the second week of my surgical recovery, I noticed I was missing my cycling classes. As I sit in bed right now writing this I can feel the absence and the longing for movement in my body. However I am not in cataclysmic withdrawal from it. My nervous system isn’t collapsing, my insides are not vibrating in a state of panic. I am no longer terrified of losing fitness or gaining weight and this is what it feels like to be in right relationship to movement. You can miss it and crave it but it doesn’t ruin you to be away from it.

It’s been 3 weeks since I last exercised and I feel fine.

Back when I was in my twenties and smack dab in the messiest part of my illness, I severely injured my ankle playing volleyball. I knew immediately it was a grade 3 sprain, as close to a fracture as you can get without the break. As my foot began to balloon and turn a dark shade of purple, the reality of my predicament hit me. How was I going to exercise?

At the time, my main stay workout activities were running, volleyball, weight lifting and aerobics, all of which required a functional foot. As the weeks wore on and I remained trapped at home, hobbling around on crutches to complete the most rudimentary self care, my mental health began to nose dive.

I was already walking a tight rope with my body. Not naturally thin, I also went through regular cycles of binge eating. My body was always on the cusp of being bigger, battling me at every turn to try and gain weight. I needed those multiple hour a day workouts to keep what I felt like was a monster, at bay.

In retrospect I understand the reason it felt like my body was constantly fighting me is because it was. I was never meant to be the size I was so desperately trying to be and the fact that it took 4 hours of exercise a day for me to even get close should have been a clue.

Almost 12 years into recovery, I’m really not surprised at how peaceful I’m currently feeling. I knew going into surgery that I would miss movement sessions and the way they make me feel AND I was 100% confident I would be ok without them. When I was finally able to stop chasing false approval through fitness and my body, liberation was my reward. Fear, panic and self-loathing moved out of my nervous system and paved the way for peace, knowing and trust to move in and for that I am deeply grateful.

I am at peace with my exercise hiatus however long it ends up being because it is only one small part of an expansive and vibrant life.

I know without any doubt that I will get back to movement when it feels right and when I am able to do so comfortably because the desire to move is something that lives inside me.

I trust my body to lead me back to what feels good and to take care of what is most important in this moment.

It’s been 3 weeks since I last exercised and I feel fine.