My Personal Journey with Movement

*TW: Eating disorder, overexercise, exercise addiction, body image

Growing up, I was a ballet and modern dancer starting at the age of 4 years old. I danced almost everyday of the week for 18 years, and spent hours in the studio. As a dancer, I was given lots of praise for my “perfect body for dancing” even down to my feet (dancer’s feet, especially with high arches, are a prized possession in the dance community. If you’re a dancer or former dancer you know what I’m referring to).

My identity at a pretty young age was based in my dancing, and therefore my body. And I felt immense pressure for my body not to change.

I looked at my body in a mirror for hours daily, and this had a real impact on my body image struggles, my anxiety and my developing eating disorder. As a dancer, we’re taught to have a critical eye of our body and to use the mirror in that way. We are taught that the mirror is a tool to “check our bodies” to make sure they are in the “right position” and then to “fix” them. What a doozy of a lesson to engrain in a young girl’s brain. One that I have spent years trying to undo through my own eating disorder recovery.

In college, I continued dancing as a dance major at Skidmore College, but also started dabbling with going to the gym with friends - as this was something other girls were doing - and I remember hating it, but feeling like I “had” to do it to “cross train” and stay in “shape” (a message I clearly had heard somewhere). To add to the pressure I felt from myself to maintain my body shape, we even had a professor who gave mid-semester reviews evaluating our bodies. I remember clearly the day we received our evaluations and one of my friends crying, as hers read “needs improvement.” The fact that an adult professional would give that kind of feedback without any further conversation or concern of what a college aged student would do with that information, is to this, day beyond me. And frankly, incredibly unethical and terrifying.

During my junior year of college, I got into a serious car accident and for the first time in my life that I could remember, I finally was given permission to stop dancing. I remember feeling such relief in that order from the doctor; clearly a big red flag of where my relationship with dancing. But also, feeling pressure and fear of how I was going to “stay in shape” during the time I wasn’t dancing.

I wish I could tell my self in that moment that her body would be okay without dancing for 3 months while she recovered from an incredibly traumatic experience. To focus on healing her body with rest and her growing anxiety. I wish I could give her a big hug.

Fast forward to living in New York City during my graduate school time and subscribing to the NYC workout class hustle. I was going to all of the hot workout spots (spinning, boxing, trampoline classes, you name it!) on a strict schedule, making sure to do “enough” exercise, so many of which I actually didn’t enjoy and were so depleting. I was completely addicted to exercise, and felt incredible distrust around listening to my body. I felt so much pressure to maintain a certain body shape during that time now that I wasn’t dancing, with little focus on what movement felt like for me. I only thought about what I “had to do.” My self care toolbox only contained of exercise. And overexercising at that.

I think about these moments now with so much empathy, compassion and sadness for my 20 year old self. I was so afraid to rest and let my body just be. I felt so much self worth from my identity of being a certain body type. I received so much validation for that body, that my self worth became enmeshed with my body.

If my body changed, then I was so scared of what would happen. Would my boyfriend still be attracted to me? Would my family still love me? Would I still be praised? Would clients trust me as a dietitian?

Little did I know, this wasn’t the attention or source of self worth I actually wanted and the relief that would come eventually from finding worth and my identity outside of my body.

I went through this for decades of trying different programs, all getting closer and closer to being more aligned with where I wanted my relationship with movement to be, but just wasn’t ready for. Timing is everything, and I truly believe change comes when we are ready for it. I wasn’t ready to let go of the mentality that a workout didn’t “count” unless I was sweating, I wasn’t ready to take a modification or slow my body the f down. I felt comfort in pushing my body even when it didn’t feel good.

It wasn’t until I had a baby, and went through postpartum, before I actually felt real permission to rest, and move my body just for me - to feel strong and feel good.

This all came to fruition when deciding to give Kara Duval’s platform, Range, a try. Range is one of the most unique, gentle, thorough platforms I have ever subscribed to that feels safe, accessible and that aligns with anti-diet culture perspective.

I feel so proud of how my relationship with movement has evolved and grown in the past few decades while also holding such compassion for how much pain and struggle I have endured with my body. My motivation and intention around movement has shifted from an external place (making my body “look” a certain way) to prioritizing what is happening internally for me. I now choose to move because it really does makes me feel better. Not just afterwards. But during it. It also helps me manage my mental health, but it’s not my only tool to do so.

I have learned the power of having more than just movement in my self care tool box - because movement is not always what I need.

Sometimes I need to read, sometimes I need to connect with someone who makes my nervous system at ease, sometimes I need therapy, sometimes I need to lay on the couch and watch youtube videos. And I finally feel actual permission that all of those options are good - that there isn’t morality attached to them. I knew this for a few years, but it took a lot of time and trust before I actually believed it.

My relationship with movement has taken a really long time to feel peaceful and it continues to be hard at times. If you’re in the thick of it, hold on. Keep working, and taking each little win at a time. Reach out for support, if it feels stressful, chaotic and scary. You’re not alone. I’ve been there. The baby steps matter, and you deserve to experience a peaceful gentle relationship with your body and movement in your lifetime.