By Hannah Bock, Recovery Warrior and fabulous guest blogger
I was sitting in my dietitian’s office, listening to her telling me for the thousandth (at least) time that something had to change. I’d been in active recovery for about 11 years, and in that time I could reach a point of stability in recovery, but I could never actually call myself “Recovered”. What was I missing? What was I doing wrong?
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks: I had to cut out exercise.
I’d been struggling with compulsive exercise for years, almost the entire duration of my illness. During that time, I would eat any meal plan that I was given, do all of the journaling and self-care prescribed to me, and participate actively in individual and group therapy sessions. The one thing that I was unwilling to let go of? Exercise.
I always had a reason to continue to hit the gym. Despite repeated suggestions from my treatment team to quit, I couldn’t stop. Working out was my drug of choice. It made me feel great about myself, it was a way for me to relieve stress, and I loved my identity as “The Healthy Girl”. I never felt like I was going to the gym too much, and I never felt like exercise was negatively impacting my life. After all, how could something that society says is so good for you possibly be bad for me?
First, I had to understand and accept the difference between over exercise and compulsive exercise. According to my justification, I wasn’t spending hours and hours every day at the gym, so I was fine, right? Wrong. Although the time I was spending exercising wasn’t considered extreme, it was still disrupting my daily life. Accept an invitation to go out with co-workers in the evening? Sorry, I have to work out. Birthday dinner with my fiancé? Have to make sure I get my run in that morning. Spend the day at my friend’s house because she just had a baby and can’t really go anywhere? Maybe for a while, but then I have to make sure I can get to my 4:00 class at the gym.
My compulsive workout schedule didn’t stop at dictating my social calendar. It constructed my food rules, too. What I consumed in a day depended completely on whether or not I had “earned” it at the gym. My workouts even dictated which outfits I was allowed to wear in a day. I did not trust my body to tell me that it was hungry or full. I did not trust that my body was fine in whichever outfit I chose that day. Exercise was the control that I thought I needed over my body.
After I made the realization that I was indeed exercising compulsively, I did something that was terrifying and seemingly impossible. I made the decision to try something that I had never tried in recovery before. With the support of my therapist, dietician, and fiancé, I surrendered all of my sneakers and my gym tag. I gave up my workouts indefinitely.
The First Week
The first week was loud. The eating disorder voice in my head was relentless. Strains of “Why would you do this? You’re going to get so fat! You’re going to get so out of shape! You’re not even going to be able to walk up a flight of stairs! What are people going to think? The healthy girl, the runner? Can you even call yourself those things now that you’ve just given up?” were constantly scrolling through my head, making it very difficult to focus on anything else. I am incredibly fortunate to have a strong support system. As I voiced my thoughts, I always had someone there to help me debunk my ED’s hurtful accusations and reshape my thoughts. The first week was by far the hardest, but with help from my amazing supports (and a lot of crying, arguing, and attempted bargaining), I got through it.
One Month In
After about 4 weeks of discovering new ways to cope with stress (some of which worked, some of which did not), I had a pivotal light bulb moment: Nothing bad had happened to me. I still fit in my clothes. I still got up and down stairs just fine. No one made comments about my break from the gym. I had an appointment with my dietician, and although I was expecting tremendous weight gain, she assured me that was not the case and that my weight was the same. The same! It was in that moment that I had my third major realization: Maybe I could trust my body.
98 Days In
After the first month, I started challenging myself in ways that I never thought I would. I started listening to my body. At first, this was very difficult and confusing. If I got hungry, my first reaction was always, “I didn’t do anything today, so how could I possibly be hungry?”. After repeating my ED’s thoughts out loud, I would remind myself that all humans need to eat to survive, and hunger cues are your body’s way of signaling that you need food, just like being thirsty means that you need a drink and being cold means to put on a sweater. They’re all signals that your body sends, and guilt should not be a reaction to hunger (or thirst or cold). I started to honor my hunger with foods that would satiate and satisfy me. I learned in that time that I really like Indian food, that I feel way better when I put dressing on my salads, and that cottage cheese doesn’t really agree with me. I went out with my friends and tried new restaurants. I spent more time with my fiancé because I didn’t have to rush to the gym after work or first thing on a Saturday morning. In short, I felt like I was connecting with people I loved and like I was living the life I truly wanted to be living.
The 99th Day
On the 99th day, it was very nice outside. I drove to work with the windows down, looking at the woods on the side of the road and remembering when I used to go exploring in the woods when I was younger. I wanted to be outside in nature. I happened to have an appointment with my dietitian that day, and I told her that I really thought I was ready to add some movement back into my life. I wanted to connect with nature and feel my body move. I wanted to appreciate what my body could do instead of forcing it to do something it couldn’t. I wanted to honor my limitations (as it turns out, all humans have them) and listen to my body when it asked for exercise. I didn’t want exercise to be a scary thing anymore. Just like I had to learn to listen to my body’s hunger cues, I had to learn to listen to my movement cues, too. My dietitian agreed, and the next day I went on the shortest but most enjoyable jog of my life.
Today I’m still working on my relationship with food and exercise, but it has come a very long way. Fear is not a word I use to associate with going out to a restaurant or skipping a workout. Guilt doesn’t bubble up in me when my friend brags about how far she ran yesterday and I brag about how far I got in my current Netflix obsession. Hunger isn’t a good thing or a bad thing, it just is. Some days I want to move a lot and some days I don’t want to move at all. Some days I’m really hungry and some days, not so much. I’ve learned to hear what my body needs and respond appropriately.
Warriors, this has not been an easy road. I am extremely fortunate to have amazing supports and an outstanding team help me through the tough times. Although I am not fully recovered (and I DO believe in full recovery), I am the most recovered and the happiest I have ever been. Giving up exercise to gain back my life is the best thing that I have ever done for my recovery. It was scary, Warriors, but if you have an inkling of suspicion that giving up exercise might be what you need, you won’t regret it. Remember, nothing bad will happen to you.