ENOUGH IS ENOUGH
The transformative power of exercise for those suffering with poor mental health is well-documented. But what happens when a healthy coping mechanism spirals out of control?
When exercise flips from benefiting your mental health to becoming an obsession
For me, exercise used to be something that other people did. Growing up, the most physical activity I engaged in was walking to school. As a teenager, then a young adult, I was pretty consistently a size 16, and a desire to look like my slimmer friends set me up for years of sporadic low-calorie diets in an attempt to lose weight.
It was a period of mental ill health at the age of 26 that led me to fall in love with exercise. My job as a catering manager was incredibly stressful, and my perfectionist personality drove me to take on too much responsibility and work myself to the bone. I was signed off sick with depression, and tried to piece my mind back together with prescribed antidepressants and therapy. My doctor recommended exercise, too.
With whole days stretched out in front of me, I decided to focus on losing weight. If I could look healthy, I reasoned, perhaps it would ease my mental anguish. In the beginning, working out gave me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Classes allowed me human contact by being in a room with people, without any requirement for draining social niceties. But it wasn’t long before I felt myself getting obsessed. I’d chase the adrenaline buzz by pushing myself to do more and more – by lifting heavier or going for longer. Within weeks, I was exercising for up to three hours a day. I’d work out on the gym floor before and after a class or do two or three classes in a row. Sometimes I’d run to and from the gym as well. Friends and family viewed my ‘gym bunny’ persona as a positive thing for my mental health; the gym instructors loved my commitment; and as I reduced my body fat and began to show off my taut abs, the compliments rolled in. It all added up to confirmation that I was doing the right thing.
But meanwhile, both my physical and mental health were suffering. Back-to-back HIIT sessions and no rest days left me with sharp shooting pains in my legs. But I felt disgusted with myself if my muscles weren’t burning. A family birthday dinner clashing with my favourite weightlifting class would leave me distressed, and I’d restrict my calories or train harder the next day to compensate for the exercise I’d missed. I began to withdraw socially, too. I started using my boyfriend Joseph as a social barrier, avoiding seeing friends if he wasn’t with me to steer the conversation. I felt like no one could understand what I was going through, and it only made me retreat further.
My identity had been so intrinsically linked with my career that, when I was signed off, my self-esteem was in tatters. Fitness became something I could align myself with; something I could use to prove that I was worth something, and something I could control. But in an effort to help myself, I’d created another issue entirely.
My need for control peaked in the run-up to my wedding in 2015. Upping my workouts with the goal of looking good on the day left me physically and emotionally exhausted. I vividly remember looking around the dance floor on my wedding day and having this moment of clarity. Friends and family – people of all shapes and sizes – were having an amazing time. I realised that I’d sacrificed spending time with all of them, at some point, to hammer my body in the gym. I felt like I was missing out on my own life.
Changing your priorities, when exercise has always come first, is a really hard thing to do. Railing against my negative inner voice – the one telling me I’m lazy and not training hard enough – remains a struggle. But I’m becoming more self-aware; more able to recognise that voice, and know that it’s not the truth. I’m also trying to work on self-compassion, and respect the fact that my body isn’t indestructible.
I’ve also learnt the importance of having a back-up coping mechanism. Exercise can be an incredibly powerful thing, but relying on one thing – whatever it is – can leave you vulnerable if that thing is taken away from you. I naturally stopped working out so much when I started writing; and my blog – and later my book – became another way of processing my feelings. Today, I’m a size 16. I train simply because I know it’s good for my physical and mental health. I work from home, so every day I make sure I get outside for a walk, and three or four times a week I’ll do some yoga, go running or do a gym class. I’ve accepted that I can’t have my ideal body shape and look after my mental health. So, while I’m in a place where I need to make a trade-off, I’m prioritising the latter.