It’s different for everyone
I’ve always been concerned about my weight. I was a chubby kid who used food as a comforting tool. I hated sports and exercise, and I was battling mental illness from a pretty young age. In short, I wasn’t healthy. I don’t have many pictures of myself from back then because I hated everything about it. Most people wouldn’t look at me and think “overweight”, but I was, and I didn’t feel good physically or mentally.
In rolls college and disordered eating, and suddenly I looked “normal” . I dropped about thirty pounds over the course of a season, and at just under 5’3″, that was a lot. I began tracking every calorie both eaten and expended. I would take the rice off of sushi and omit it from burrito bowls. I’d avoid bread. I didn’t eat any of the things that I enjoyed, because in my mind, they were bad foods. My head burned with the thought of them. I found myself crying in a Chipotle more than once from the anxiety of dinner. One night my roommate found me huddled on a kitchen counter, nervously rocking back and forth because I was hungry but afraid to make and eat anything–I’d gone over my “limit” for the day.
I had no muscle to speak of and I relentlessly did cardio hoping that I could see my abs one day. No one had told me that I had to build those up, or that weightlifting was actually just as good, if not better, for long term fat loss. I was miserable and no matter how thin I got, I felt enormous and self-loathing.
When I went away for graduate school, something different happened. I’d spent the summer learning about weightlifting and watching girls online join the “strong not skinny” movement, and while I’m critical of some gymfluencers and their paths now, at the time that was exactly what I needed.
I needed someone beautiful to tell me that weight doesn’t really matter that much, and that fitness and strength don’t always show up on the scale. While this is probably obvious to anyone who knows anything about fat vs muscle mass, I was a very sick girl who had my head stuck in the ground. I saw these beautiful young women with their strong, curvy bodies, and I wanted to be them (does that cause some problems later? Yes. That’s perhaps a different post though).
So, I started weightlifting. My university had a free gym with two floors of weights, and while I got laughed at by some big dudes who clearly knew what they were doing, I worked really hard and persevered. Did I perhaps not even squat the bar when I started? Maybe. Am I now legpressing nearly three hundred pounds? Also yes.
I found myself gaining so much strength and confidence, and a bit of shape. My body, while no longer waifish as I liked, was getting some definition. And more than that, I was able to eat. I’ve already mentioned on this blog: I love food. I love it. I love junk food and good food and desserts. I want everything. For my birthday this year, the only thing I wanted was a plate of vegetarian friendly nachos piled high. Heaven. When I was working out hard? I could eat, and gain muscle, and as long as I kept my nutrition somewhat in check, I felt amazing.
My body changes weren’t the only ones, though. My hair got thicker and healthier now that I was feeding my body correctly. My skin looks one-hundred times better than it used to. Most importantly, my mental health, while not perfect, is doing so much better.
Mental health conditions can’t be solved with exercise. I’m a fully medicated and therapy-d (therapied?) human being who struggles daily–but getting your blood flowing certainly doesn’t hurt. I’m going to do a post one of these days about the science of mental health and exercise, but today I need you to just take my word for it–I felt better on the inside, the outside, and the upside (in my dome!).
If someone had told me that I’d be happier after gaining weight a few years ago, I’d clock them and then probably go cry in a Chipotle again. I thought lifting heavy would make me bulky, or that men wouldn’t like me (they still don’t, but I doubt it’s the weights). No one could have told me that I’d be stronger, more confident, able to run a mile without stopping (I still need to work on my cardio!) and overall enthusiastic about the gym. My teenage self would think I’m so uncool. The thought of bulking 5 years ago would have thrown me into a breakdown. Now, I’m just starting to take off my “winter weight” and I feel comfortable in my body.
Can anyone else relate to any of this? I know this was kind of a stream of consciousness word-dump, but body image is hard, and I think we all need all of the encouragement we can get.
Lazy Girl Fitness 