ADHD and Me
I’ve been struggling lately. Not so much with food or eating disorder things. More with life in general. Like I am a step behind in everything I need and want to do, without any tangible obstacles in my way, and I still cant seem to get them done.
From keeping my classroom organized, to tidying my condo, to writing this blog post. I NEVER seem to be able to carry out the act of completing any of these things until some external pressure has me backed into a corner (like parent-teacher interviews forcing me to organize my teaching desk).
It’s making me feel as if I am wasting precious time, the very thing that motivated me so strongly to overcome my eating disorder’s compulsions and routines.
Now I have this extra energy and unscheduled time, and instead of using it to the fullest, I still feel stuck to something. And not just one thing, but a thousand little things, pulling me in a thousand different directions ultimately keeping me stuck in one place, vibrating awkwardly rather than making any actual strides.
These feelings are NOT new. Its just without all the eating disorder struggles consuming most of my brainspace, they have taken up more prominent residence in my life.
It’s not just that I feel unproductive. Yeah, it’s annoying that my room is messier than I want it to be, that I can’t seem to remember where I put a giftcard I was gifted for the life of me, that this blog post I started a month ago I still haven’t finished.
But it’s impacting the way other people see me, and the way I see myself.
Take Superbowl weekend. We decided to throw a little party at my parents’ house, inviting my siblings and a few friends to watch the game half time show and eat lots of food. I decided to try to recreate the quinoa onion rings from Fresh, knowing how obsessed my boyfriend is with them, and also helped prepare a Tex Mex feast of nachos, enchiladas and BYO burrito bowls.
There was a bunch of us in the kitchen working with and around each other, navigating counter space and cutting boards, commandeering the SONOS speakers, trying to time everything so that it was all piping hot and ready to go for the start of the game.
Of course, in typical Prosen-family-style, the food was ready just seconds before Rhianna strode onto the stage at half time. But pretty much all of us only cared to see that part of the game anyways. So perfect timing!
I plated the onion rings, from their paper towel lined drinking dish onto something more serving worthy, quickly ran a cloth over the counter, rushed to put some spice bottles away and dashed downstairs.
I felt like I was being pulled so many ways-- my siblings and boyfriend downstairs, waiting for me to join them, my aunts attempting to navigate the kitchen and also wanting to catch up with me, and my pole standing there in the middle of it all, staring me down for not having used it all day, despite that being one of the first things on my to do list.
But I was able to exhale, with that final onion ring scooped onto the platter. It was halftime, dinner was done, and we could all be downstairs to eat and enjoy together. I had even managed to sneak in a couple ayeshas as things were cooking.
It was only the next day I was subjected to a different perspective. According to my mother, I dashed downstairs without a glance behind me, leaving a whirlwind of greasy surfaces, unwashed dishes, and dirty floors in my wake. She was genuinely hurt by it, feeling like I had intentionally thought to assign her the task of cleaner.
It’s so selfish, when you do these things. Like you just expect other people to clean up after you. As if its only your time and what you have to do that matters and not mine.
And that devastated me. Was I really that selfish?
It did cross my mind that I should tidy up my mess-- thats why I wiped the counter and put away the things I used. But did I think to check the floors, or the other areas of the kitchen? Maybe for a second. But I was really just consumed by this urgency to get out of there as fast as I could with the food so that it could be enjoyed by everyone while it was hot and at its best. It didn’t even cross my mind at that moment what the state of the rest of the kitchen was in, or when it would be addressed.
Its not the first time I’ve been called out for my whirling dervish messiness. My first house I shared with roommates, I was horrified the first time my friend sat down with me and gently broke it to me that I was “messy.”
I thought I was being so careful to clean up after myself, everytime I used any kind of common area. My students at school have even asked me what my desk is “such a mess.” And it’s really only at that moment I see my stacks of papers and notebooks as a mess and not in tentatively organized stacks of “to-do nows” and “to-do-laters.”
I’m struggling with this because its more than just being a “messy” person. It’s more that the mess is a symptom of a greater, underlying issue: attention and hyperfixation.
An issue I am only beginning to wrap my head around. I was actually diagnosed with ADD (now categorized as ADHD on the DH-5 scale) when I was in grade 4 when my teacher noticed my difficulty in transitioning from task to task.
However, I managed to do well in school, and I was not bouncing off walls the way most people assumes people (boys) with ADHD tend to behave, so no one gave much thought to this diagnosis: not any doctor, my parents, and not me.
It was only recently, as I have gotten to know more people living with ADHD, that I have come to understand some of the myths and misconceptions that exist around it.
As one a video by How to ADHD put it, ADHD is less of an inability to pay attention and more of an imbalance of attention.
It’s not that I, like other “ADHDers” cannot focus on anything. It’s that we have difficulty training our attention on something that is not giving us an immediate hit of dopamine to our apparently, under-dopaminated cortexes.
My lack of ability to tidy and organize spaces is because my brain is so heavily fixated on something else, whether its a pole class I am about to run out the door for, an upcoming trip I am planning, and less healthily, anxiety regarding some eating disorder thought permeating.
That one fixation consumes all my attention, appearing in screaming colour, with all other tasks and thoughts muted and black and white in the background.
I don’t like living this way, at the mercy of whatever thought is giving me that hit of dopamine, limiting my ability to comprehend and act in a way that acknowledges the big picture of whats going on around me.
So I am taking steps to figure out how to function with this ADHD that I am finially acknowledging.
I could write so much more about what I am already learning, but this blog post is long enough. Hopefully, I will manage to have trained my attention to write more posts on this ADHD discovery journey as I go.
Have you ever suspected you might have ADHD? Have you ever held any of the same beliefs I did about how it manifests?
Stay tuned to see how this chaotic brain of mine is working to sort itself out.
Til next time,
Jae
2022: A Year of Gains
2022 was a year I gained a lot. And I don’t just mean weight gains over the holidays. I am talking about the kind of mental, emotional, and yes, physical gains, that come when you open yourself to the opportunities that surround you.
This past year I have been gifted a lot of amazing experiences. I travelled (several times) to weddings, as well as a trip to Vegas.
I competed in my first pole competition for PSO Canada East.
I adopted a kitten who has become a well know adventure cat.
I got a permanent teaching position, raising me above the uncertainty of daily and long term occassional work, and into a new salary range.
I also made a new circle of friends within my Toronto neighbourhood, including neighbours in my building to share laughs and blunts and even keys with whenever we need a pet fed or walked.
And perhaps most noteably, I found a partner who is essentially the male version of myself, and who I love more than everything I love put together.
Truly, Ive had a lot of gains this year, as you can see. But it doesnt stop there. With all thuis happiness that has come my way, I also gained weight. I’m not going into numbers here, and I am not trying to make it seem as if I gained so much that I would be unrecognizeable on the street, but I will say certain clothes that fit me other Christmases would be a squeeze this year.
Sometimes I see a picture of myself or a video and feel a twinge of guilt that I’ve let my body go— even minimally. But the truth is, I really don’t think I could have had all the experiences and other life gains this year if I hadn’t.
This year, I truly commited myself to prioritizing connections and making memories over controlling my body. I made the choice to go out for drinks or to concerts and skip a workout. I made the choice to join in a group thai food order, or partake in a feast of indian food. I made the choice to ease up on my strict vegan tendencies and eat the muffin made with eggs, or try a bite of a a cheese stuffed ravioli.
I’m not saying that any of these things alone are the cause of a jump on a scale. I know friends and family members who enjoy all of the above on a regular basis, and their bodies stay pretty much the same. And I know continuing to be more relaxed around food, and joining in and sharing these meals and treats with others, I will not continue to gain weight for ever. Actually, I don’t think I’’ve really gained anything since I started writing this post a few weeks ago.
But even if I did, I wouldn’t regret it. The small, tight body that I had , particularly during my days of extreme restriction was a physical embodiment of my tight and rigid thinking. My life was about as full and voluptuous as my figure. In other words, the exact opposite. My days were calculated, measured, controlled.
And anything that threatened to disrupt that (such as a birthday dinner or night out) caused me anxiety and fear, instead of the excitement and revelry it should have.
Last January, I wrote a 2022 Manifesto for how I wanted to live my life. One of the things I wrote was “Memories over Calories.”
I’m so happy to say that I committed to that vision. And while it was not always easy or perfectly executed, I ended 2022 with more memories and moments of love and beauty and spontaneity than I could have imagined.
I’m hoping to gain even more in 2023. Here’s to making all the memories, joining in, and always prioritixing people and connection over numbers.
What are you hoping to gain this year?
Happy 2023,
-Jae
5 Things to Do When You Get Out of Bed in the Morning (Even if you “hate” routine)
1.Take a Deep Breath.
It sounds simple, because it is. Breath deeply, and mindfullly. Notice the inhale and exhale. And note the place of calm and balance from which you are breathing. Set an intention to stay in that place throughout the place, and to always return to that place when anxiety, stress or other emotions start to throw you off balance.
2. Be Thankful.
Rhyme off three reasons you have to be grateful right now. Maybe its the amazing night’s sleep. Maybe its a delicious breakfast you will have before you start your day. Maybe its the simple fact you didn’t sleep through your alarm. Set your day off on a good note by searching for the positive. Even quantum physics has recently proven that the energy you put out into the world is the energy you will get back. Exude positive, happy thoughts, and you are more likely to encounter positive and happy events in return. Don’t believe me? It’s science.
3. Be Intentional.
Make a to do list— not a long one— of three things you want to accomplish today. Once you have those clear goals in your head, you can more easily direct your energy and actions towards those goals as the day goes on.
If you are so inclined, you can also go beyond a simple list and journal an intention for the day. Whether it is to be productive, be kind, or be calm, keep it simple. Make at a single phrase to capture an overall feeling that you can continue to come back to throughout the day.
4.Move your body.
That could be a leisurely morning walk, a heart pumping weight session, a meditative yoga flow, or even simply some gentle stretches before you even get out of bed. Whatever you do, it is enough. Find what works for you, what energizes you and puts you in a better mental and physical state for the rest of the day. Whether its 50 minutes or 5 minutes, that little bit of movement will bring you into your body before it hits the ground running.
5. Do something to clean your vessel.
As important as it is to move your body, it is also important to care for it in other ways, and paying individual attention to different aspects of your physical being. This could mean dry brushing your skin, moisturizing your face and body after you shower or before makeup, cleansing and exfoliating your face, oil rinsing your mouth, jade rolling, applying hand cream, doing a hair or face mask, or any other hygienic self-care act that you enjoy that might fit into your time frame here.
This kitty cat understands the joy of dry brushing
I know this might sound like something from a beauty magazine. But its the one morning habit that took me years to develop, but is now something that I find helps my sense of mental wellbeing just as much as anything else on this list. Taking the moment to do something that feels like a little bit of “extra” care for my body helps to remind me how to treat and talk to myself.
In the past, the only thing I would do on this list was the movement. And in that way movement became a form of punishment rather than care. Making myself deliberately build in a small act of care continues to shift my perspective of how I view my body from something I need to tame or force or control, to something to respect and appreciate.
I don’t manage to do all of these things every morning. Some days I only manage three, or two , and sometimes I barely manage one (I mean the breathing one is hard to avoid). But I find that having the intention of grounding myself first thing with these simple habits can really make a difference in how I feel going into the day.
As always, take what serves you, leave what doesn’t.
How do you start your mornings?
xoxo- J
Mental Flossing: My March Meditation Challenge (“it’s good for you!”)
I’ve been feeling a bit off-kilter lately. Bouncing back and forth and up and down in just about every aspect of my life I can envision at the moment. Everything feels like too much and not enough. I feel restless and completely drained simultaneously, my thoughts running one hundred miles a minute, my brain struggling to stay engaged and present long enough to see a single task through to completion.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve struggled with anxiety. Not the emotion that all of us experience in one way or another in spurts or short-lived situations, like the night leading up to a test or a first date. Mine is of the chronic, disordered kind. Often I don’t even recognize its overwhelming presence, as I am completely consumed in a tangle of thoughts from overthinking even the smallest of things.
What begins off as simply thinking ahead or “good planning” quickly becomes a rabbit hole of “what-ifs”, “but-then’s” and “even-so’s” and a endless spiral of no perfect solution to problems that in reality, are not really a problem.
An example, for just this week has been me trying to decide which night after school I should plan on going to a café after work to write this blog post.
How could someone possibly overthink the decision of buying a coffee? You might ask.
Well, welcome to the inner workings of my mind.
Today would be a good day to get coffee. I can stop at the Starbucks at the halfway point on my way home from school.
But I do have unopened almond milk in my fridge. Maybe I should go home and use that up first.
Then again tomorrow is Friday, and I have all weekend to get through it.
Or should I go to Starbucks to write over the weekend then.
But I also have coffee at home and a fancy brand new espresso maker so I probably wont want to leave the house to do that. Might as well save money that way anyways.
Maybe I should save money today though if I have that almond milk in my fridge.
Can I stretch the carton to three days?
If i can’t maybe I can go grocery shopping over the weekend for some.
How much money have I spent this month? Where should I buy it?
No frills is cheapest but its a bit of a hike. I could take the streetcar. But that’s three dollars. Almost as much as the almond milk.
A latte at Starbucks is almost twice that much with soy milk.
Why am I going to Starbucks anyways then?
Maybe I shouldn’t be. Its a waste of money.
But you write better there.
Oh yeah.
Unless your brain starts producing thoughts like this…
And. it. keeps. going.
I eventually DID decide to go to Starbucks and purchase a six dollar latte. And I DID get some writing done. Not much though, because even with nothing to do but sit or stand by a 2 foot wide table with my laptop my brain still got in the way.
I am getting fed up with these anxious cyclical thought patterns. I came across a Ted Talk video where a speaker in a very calm and melodic voice (irritatingly so) mentioned the benefits of meditation.
I got over my annoyance to let that sink in.
Mediation. Of course.
Meditation has been something I have always held with the utmost reverence and respect. But that doesn’t mean I am a regular practitioner of meditation.
For me, meditation is a lot like flossing. Something I know is so good for me, with both proven and reported health benefits from daily practice, and yet something I never do.
And both seem to take much more time in a day than they actually do.
Meditation is alot like flossing.
When I was doing my Yoga Teacher training, I was (forced) into the habit of meditating every day, often multiple times throughout, and it soon became something I truly enjoyed.
In the daily ritual of carving out space and time to devote a few minutes (at least) to sitting in stillness, I did truly experience a significant shift in my overall state of mind.
But when my yoga training ended, work ramped up, and life got busy, little by little, my meditation practice became as rare as my flossing habit. And given that the floss currently in my bathroom I receiver from my dentist on a visit back when I was in high school, you may get an idea of how rare that is.
But in this new wave of anxiety and negative thought patterns, I am committing to getting back on the mediation wagon.
For the month of March (and the last couple weeks of february) I'm committed to meditating every single day, for no shorter than 5 minutes.
I say 5 minutes because if I tell myself I need to do it for longer than that I feel too daunted by it to actually do it.
But in reality, every day that I have sat so far I have surprised to find myself coming out of meditation and realizing I have done much more than 5 minutes, usually somewhere between 12 and 20 minutes.
Its only been about a week so far, but I have been pretty consistent. I’ve managed to do it everyday, except for one where I chose to go out for dinner and stay out late with friends, but hey, I’m human and I have no regrets for being social and connected.
On the weekends, I like meditating first thing in the morning, and then transitioning into some yoga and stretching or more active movement and its sets a nice tone for the rest of my day.
I would like to keep the same time during the workweek but I wake up so early and so exhausted, I’m 90 percent sure I would end up just falling back to sleep finding that sense of stillness.
So Monday to Friday, I have been choosing to meditate sometime after dinner. Its also a time of the day when I find my anxiety can peak, as often thoughts about what I’ve eaten or how much I’ve eaten start to creep in.
Actively choosing to witness and observe those thoughts, it becomes much easier to detach from them, and find a more level-headed and balanced place to deal with the anxiety that they bring up.
Again, its early days, but I am honestly amazed at how simple and yet powerful this daily practice of 5 minutes a day is for my mindset.
Have you ever had some kind of meditation practice? Interested in learning more what mine looks like? Perhaps I’ll shine a light on some of the prompts and images I use for myself in a later post.
As for now, wishing you all love and light and a beautiful week ahead,
Jordan xoxox
Self-Growth Challenge Complete (But its not Over)
I wrapped up the Spring Growth Challenge I made for myself a little bit ago. My last instagram post was actually a few weeks ago, but life got busy (and patios opened) and here I am on a rainy Friday afternoon typing up a post awhile in the making.
To recap, this is what I challenged myself to do for thirty days:
Do something creative (writing, painting, dancing, etc)
Wake up the same time every morning (one hour later on weekends)
Write down three things I am grateful for every morning and every night
Do one act of kindness
And, most importantly,
5. Post on Instagram my daily updates about this challenge.
So. How did it go?
1. Do something creative.I started off recording on my instagram posts the act of creativity I had done each day. Usually it was flowing or dancing, or writing. Once or twice it was water colour painting. I continued doing these creative things (not quite everyday) but I found writing so much in a post daunting, to the point where it was stopping me from posting as frequently. But I was still conscious of doing something that had me using my brain in a way that was not just thinking (or overthinking) something in the routine of my day.
Sometimes it took a little effort. Its easy for me to log on zoom for a pole class and just do whatever movement I am instructed. But when its just me, turning on some music and allowing my body to go with the beat and melody, it takes a few minutes to get into a flow. The first song comes on and awakens some emotional response in me, but like greasing a door that isn’t used often enough, it takes a few stiff, awkward movements before that emotion really translates into anything that looks or feels flowy. But I found if I committed to dancing to at least 2 whole songs, I would inevitably keep going for me, reaching that creative place of flow that actually felt good, where I wanted to keep dancing.
2. Wake up the same time every morning. I started this one out with the best intentions. However as the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. So while I did start waking up a little earlier every day, my weekends still had me sleeping in a good 1.5 -2 hours later than my usual 8:08 AM wake up on my teaching days. That being said, waking up at 8:08 instead of 8:30 which I was doing before, put me back in a habit of journalling an doing yoga before sitting down at my computer. And that is a routine that I have continued to keep even since ending this challenge.
3. Write down three things I am grateful for every morning and every night.
I would say this was the most powerful act of all that I set out for myself in this challenge- despite it seeming like the most simple. Having kept gratitude journals on and off for a couple years now, it was not hard for me to come up with three things twice a day— most days I actually had many more listed. What I loved so much about this exercise is that it made me so much more mindful and optimistic every hour of the day— not just when it came to write.
I was constantly on the lookout for the little good things that I could include as part of my gratitude list later— from the sun coming out on my morning walk, to not having to wait for the elevator, to nailing a new pole trick. Everyday I noticed the little, simple things that were going my way. At first it was just for the sake of recording it later and put in a post. But after a bit it became habitual. And honestly, I feel like I felt a little bit happier every day because of it.
Started paying attention to little good things, like cold ciders on a warm night
4. Do one act of kindness.
This one felt a bit overwhelming at the beginning of the challenge. For the first few days, I was trying to schedule into my day chores or tasks that were undoubtedly kind, but also took some planning, money, or other resources not readily available. Baking cookies for a nursing home, or taking a neighbour shopping are really kind things, of course, but a little tough to do in a day when it feels like here is a million other things to be done.
So I focused more on spontaneous acts of kindness. Such as holding open a door, or sharing an elevator, offering to take a picture for someone, or giving a compliment. Walking down the street, Ill often see someone dressed beautifully, with a dog thats adorable, or wearing earrings I love. This challenge, I made a point to open my mouth and say this.
Sometimes, people were surprised. In that half a second after blurting out my compliment, before people registered that yes, it was me, a stranger, addressing them, there was a coldness or awkwardness in the air. But in the second that followed, when they realized it was in face a compliment, and genuine kindness, a big smile or moment of warmth always followed. And I swear, both of us left that exchange feeling like we were walking a little bit taller.
Spending time with my senior dog and my senior grandfatherSo to wrap things up, it was a good month. It wasn’t perfect. Nor was it groundbreaking. But it was a nice little refresher for myself about what’s important, and how to live everyday in a way to make up a good, balanced, satisfying life. So I’m going forward now, keeping most of these habits, even if I am not recording it or posting it.
Except for going to bed earlier. That’s gonna take a bigger challenge.
What are you tackling next?
xoxo
Jordan
Exercise: Why More is Not Always Better (Lessons Learned from Sesamoiditis)
I am an active person. I love to walk run jump dance play do handstands and spin around poles. Ever since I was enrolled in toddler gymnastic classes, movement was in my blood. Being active throughout my life has blessed me with so much: Flipping around in acro and gymnastics classes gave me a sense of confidence and self-worth that didn’t come easy to me as a kid, and playing rep hockey for four years gifted me teammates that became like family. Running and yoga gave me an escape and a place to channel all the feelings that threatened to overwhelm me at times, and often still do.
In all these ways, movement has been a source a connection, therapy, and identity for me at various times of my life.
However, my relationship with movement and exercise has not been entirely positive.
For me, the biggest challenge I have with exercise is not motivation, or following through, or pushing myself . My problem is knowing when enough is enough, and when to ease off.
There is such thing as too much of a good thing— including exercise. Just because a walk a day is good, does NOT mean that more walks (or runs) a day is better. Just because a couple days of back-to-back training sessions makes me feel good doesn’t mean I never need a day off.
I tend to overdo things rather than under-do them. And this is the lesson I am learning right now, as I am icing my foot and resting it on the chair beside me as I write: sometimes, the best thing you can do for yourself is less.
Several years ago, when I had developed a highly restrictive mentality towards food, I developed a a similarly obsessive relationship with exercise.
Movement of all kinds became inundated in compulsion, stripped of all possible enjoyment and pleasure, and recalibrated as means of punishment, compensation, and control.
The “success” of any activity I did, from a gym workout to a walk was measured by how many calories it burned, how exhausted it made me, and how long I could endure it without taking rest. Running went from being an outlet to relieve my stress to the biggest source of stress and anxiety in my life. For a time, the only thing that felt worse than running was missing a run. I no longer had a choice.
However, since I had grown up being so active, and among a family of athletes and avid exercisers, the shift in my relationship to movement happened rather stealthily. People in my life were more concerned about my weight, and what I was eating rather than my exercise. However, looking back, I know that it was my mindset towards movement that was even more compulsive and rigid than my eating habits.
This was about 11 years ago, and as far as I have come in my relationship to exercise, I still struggle to find the balance at times.
These days I walk much more than I run, and really only do activities I enjoy like dance, pole, and yoga. And still somehow, I can overdo it.
This week I woke up with a swollen, bruised and throbbing foot— specifically the ball of my big toe. Getting out of bed, I quickly realized I couldn’t bear weight on it.
“What the hell?” At first, I had no idea what was wrong. My foot had felt perfectly fine the day before. So fine, in fact that I had gone for a 7 km walk, and did a barre class, a pole class, and a conditioning class. Not to mention a whole lot of snow shoeing and trekking through snowy cottage roads over the weekend.
Okay, maybe I was overdoing it, just a bit.
Several ice packs, one podiatry appointment, and a few x-rays later, I had a name for my extraordinarily swollen foot: sesamoiditis.
Apparently Sesamoiditis is an injury very commonly had by dancers and runners to the two sesamoid bones that make up the joint of the big toe. And while I am not a runner or a dancer, I do enough activities that put pressure on the balls of my feet that I have landed myself with this less-than-glamorous injury.
The prognosis? With proper rest and treatment, my lil’ sesamoids should make a full recovery.
The treatment? At least three weeks of no weight bearing. Meaning I am in a walking cast and to walk as little as possible and do everything I can to avoid weight on the ball of my big toe.
“And how’s that going?” You might be wondering, for someone whose innate love of movement still flirts with obsession?
Well, considering I have been getting outside for at least an hour walk and a pole class everyday during this lockdown (and often multiple of both) I’ve been doing pretty okay.
Day by day, it is actually rather nice to have that space in my day and my routine, and not trying to fit things in around a class or a walk before it gets dark or the weather turns.
However, its thinking about how this will play out for the coming weeks (and slow rehab back to my normal levels of activity after) that send me into a bit of an anxious tailspin.
In my bouts of anxiety, I turn to google, and find articles like “how to keep your fitness while injured” and “what not exercising does to your body.” And then I feel guilty for for doing essentially nothing but rest.
But this seemingly “bad break” (pun intended) is once again, the universe giving me what I need… even though I do not want to need it.
With little else to demand my attention during this lockdown, I’ve been spending many hours of my day doing - and thinking— exercise.
My walks of twenty minutes during my lunch break crept up to an hour. A couple classes a week became a couple classes a day. And as much as I was enjoying the movement, there was also a feeling of “should” beginning to creep in with the more I did. Slowly, walking anything less than an hour was unacceptable. One class a day became the bare minimum— and an intensive conditioning session beforehand to “warmup” was no longer optional.
The standard for my daily movement had been hiked up, and every day I had to jump a little higher to clear it.
Something had to give— and the universe chose the sesamoid bones in my right foot.
Rather than having a pity-party for myself, I am using this as an opportunity to continue to strengthen my recovery, and redefine my mentality to movement once again.
I am leaning in to my fear of not exercising to prove to my body and my brain that a couple weeks without so much as a few measly steps a day will not break me.
I might lose a little strength, perhaps even put on a couple pounds and get a little softer around the edges, but I have to trust that when I do resume some activity again, my body will return to its happy place.
…
“So why not just eat less?”
That thought crossed my mind too. But after years of restriction, I’ve caught on to what happens when you start fighting your body and hunger cues. it only makes us more fixated and focused on what we are denying ourselves.
And I also know that in order to heal an injury, our bodies require extra energy in order to regenerate and repair tissues. Not fuelling it with the appropriate energy and protein will only cause it to take those nutrients from my muscles, and prolong the recovery process.
So I fight the occasional waves of guilt about not having “earned” my food, and I am continuing to eat as I usually do: including lots of popcorn and pancakes, and all the peanut butter.
And you know what? It’s not even that scary. Not only is this stress fracture an opportunity for me to strengthen my recovery, but it has also allowed me to recognize just how far I have come. Even two years ago, when I severed the tendon of my big toe (on the same foot!), spending the subsequent month in a walking boot caused me much more guilt and anxiety than I am feeling now.
But perhaps that’s just it- I had to go trough a period of time without movement to realize that the anxiety and stress I was feeling is NOT necessary. I will be back on my feet soon enough, and the minimal changes that take place in my body are just that— minimal.
So here’s to “feet-up February.” I will be using the next few weeks to write more, read more, finally finish the pair of leg warmers I started knitting an embarrassingly long time ago, and continue eating all the foodz.
My pole, and all my other favourite forms of movement will be waiting for me whenever my foot is healed and ready—
—and even better, my mindset a little more free and little more flexible.
As the saying goes, “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
After a few weeks away from movement, I am looking forward to the first walk I take outside in the snow and the first spin around the pole I get to do first dance I do with a healed foot and a healthy mind.
I am always learning, testing my limits, and overstepping boundaries. As long as I continue to recognize what is too much and when to back off, I will continue to experiment with what I am capable of, what is sustainable, and where I can challenge myself to lean in to discomfort— including taking time off to regroup and refresh, and rest when I need it.
May this be a gentle reminder to anyone who needs it that our bodies are NOT machines or calculators. It. is. okay. to move a little less or a little more one day or one week or one month.
Every athlete has an off season, a time of little training and lots of rest. Mentally or physically, you might find yourself in need of some time off what ever kind of movement you usually do. Embrace it, enjoy it, and keep the big picture in mind.
Five years from now, the hiatus of time in which you were “out of routine” will NOT matter. You might not even remember it.
So stop wasting time worrying about what you cannot change, and embrace the challenge of leaning in to whatever life throws at you— chances are you will come out of it stronger, more resilient, and more content to face the next hurdle in your path.
Oh, and happy love day, celebrating all kinds of love, and loveliness.
xxoo
Jordan
The Fear of Being “Ordinary” (and why being average is perfectly enough)
“Shoot for the moon. For even if you fail, you will still land among the stars.”
This was the poster that greeted me on my first day in my Grade 4 classroom. It was hung by my kind and enthusiastic teacher, who wanted nothing more than to inspire and motivate her students to live up to their potential; the message essentially being to do better, we must aim for nothing less than the best.
As innocent this message may seem, it stems from a “never enough” mentality that is destructively pervasive in our culture. A mentality that being ordinary is not enough, and that in order to be “good” we must be special.
We must do whatever it takes to be extraordinary.
Throughout our lives, many of us have fallen victim to this mentality of self-deciprecation. We learn to view '“average,” “normal,” and “ordinary” as lacking. We fear that falling into the category of “average” is settling for a lesser identity, or accepting a loss of power.
When we hear the word “ordinary,” it is loaded with negative connotations of monotony, or boredom, or the mundane. When at is essence, ordinary is a very neutral term— and who is to say, not a positive one?
For a long time, I considered being “ordinary” a failure to live up to my potential.
And its a shame (and quite f***ed up really) to walk around carrying this fear of ordinary. Ordinary is synonymous with average. And average quite literally means “the norm”-- the category most people and endeavours fall into (duh).
By rebuking and fighting anything that falls in this category of average- whether it be our average job, average body, average grade, or average skill or ability at a sport or art or hobby- you are ultimately leaving yourself with very little chance to be happy.
This pursuit of the extraordinary is NOT something for which we can really blame ourselves. It is something that is pervasive in our society, birthed in the same seeds that planted the American Dream, and the unquenchable thirst for “more” and “better” that consumes and drives our modern lives.
Its these seeds planted in you with the best intentions and love when you were little, with parents and loving adults promising you that “you can be whatever you want to be,” and that “no dream is too big.”
You take one dance class and they assure you that you were on your way to become a prima ballerina. You take a liking to your family dog and they start setting aside a fund for vet school. You sing and you dance and you are told you can grow up to be a famous performer, that all you have to do is “try,” and to “believe in yourself.”
Unfortunately, the biggest dreams often require much more than that.
I grew up with these messages. And I never questioned it, or even thought it strange. Still today, I will find myself making the same grandiose statements to the kids that I teach: “Oh wow, percy, look at that beautiful drawing! You are going to have a painting in a gallery one day!” and Aliza, you can be an olympic gymnast!”
Of course, encouraging kids to try hard and “dream big” is important to build their sense of worth and self-confidence. But what about when they are 18, and not admitted to art school? Or 25 and they only job they can get is some entry level accounting work, far from the “pursue your passion” speech they had been spoon-fed ever since they were being spoon-fed?
And who knows, maybe Aliza will be an olympic gymnast, and Percy a famous artist. But chances are, they will not. But that does NOT mean they will not find happy, meaningful, and rewarding lives.
The truth is, the majority of people in our society are working average jobs, making average wages, in so called “ordinary” fields or professions. I am sure Karen did NOT dream of growing up to be a retail manager for a tile company. And while these kinds of jobs are likely NOT anyone’s true passion or life calling, they are doing work integral to the functioning of our society.
And who is to say that people that are working these mediocre or average jobs, are living lives that are any less fulfilling or meaningful or joyful, than someone working in a so-called “noble” profession.
For myself, this fixation on the extraordinary kept me in a long season of tire spinning— wanting to do everything, but nothing seemed enough. I was rooted to the spot, unable to take a step in any direction afraid of stumbling into a career that was anything less than my “calling.”
I did not want to settle for anything less than the glamorous dreams I had birthed unto me as a kid. Respectively, I dreamed I would grow up to become a vet, a gymnast, an olympic snowboarder, a best-selling author, a broadway star, a professional horseback rider/trainer. and a plant-based chef/food blogger.
Notice what each of these dreams have in common: the element of fame, and of top-tierdom, of being the best.
It wasn’t even so much as choosing which of these paths to purse that caused me so much angst, but the very true possibility that whatever I did, that I would not be able to do well enough to achieve the level of fame or recognition that I so valued. I wanted my name to be known, whatever I did. I wanted to turn heads when I walked into a room. I wanted to be anything but ordinary. Because to be ordinary, to have an average, unknown existence, felt worse than failure.
This has been a big obstacle for me in recovery too. Contrary to widespread perceptions of eating disorders, I never saw myself as fat, or even overweight. I never considered myself to be ugly. Even when I was in the depths of ED, avoiding mirrors and hiding from my appearance, I still innately understood that on the spectrum of ugly to beautiful, or fat to thin, that in both categories I was at least “average.”
But that didn’t stop me from feeling loathing towards my body. I did not want to be average. I wanted to be thin, uniquely so. I wanted bones. And then I wanted to be the fittest. I wanted washboard abs and veiny arms, and rock hard limbs. I wanted to turn heads. And in that pursuit of extraordinary, I spent years iron-fisting my body to be my masterpiece.
If I were to get all psychological about it now, I could say that all the fear and uncertainty and pressure I was feeling about what I would do with my life, I channeled into my feelings about my body.
As cliche as it is true, the lack of control and powerless I felt over the greater meaning of my existence, was compensated by exerting control where I could— controlling my food, and my body. But this is tangential, so I will leave this for another post.
In essence, an “average body” was something I dreaded and feared. Even being told that I was approaching a “normal” weight, I felt like a failure.
I felt like I was sliding down the rungs of a ladder I had given years of my life and all of my strength to climb. I was letting myself go, and slipping back into the throes of mediocrity.
I felt silly, and narcissistic, admitting to this realization, but it was truly how it felt. Allowing myself to settle at an “average” weight really did feel like I was giving up.
This is not unique thinking. I am NOT the one lone human who feels dissatisfied with a perfectly good and “normal” body. Countless studies have reported a surprising percentage of the population, all genders and ages (although especially young women) suffer from negative body image, and desire to change or “fix” their appearance.
Once again, we can thank the glamorized body ideals that pervade our society. With every photoshopped, face-tuned, airbrushed image posted to a feed, what is extraordinary is presented as a standard to which we perpetually struggle to live up to.
There was lots bundled into the pile of kindling that ignited my eating disorder, but a significant piece was the unattainable ideal of what I should (could) look like -- I just needed to try.
It takes a lot of work, a lot of time, and a lot of therapy to rewire the belief that the extraordinary is achievable simply through try. And even more to come to accept the ordinary, the normal, the “what is” as just as worthy and meaningful.
I am now in a very average position in my life; I am paying an average rent, living in a perfectly average house, working a very average, but rewarding job as a teacher; I am at an average weight, in an ordinary body, that is beautifully healthy and functioning. I bake sourdough bread that is far from perfect, but tasty. I take pole classes with fellow students and instructors that keep me humble about how much I still have to learn. And I love every minute of it.
I am coming to realize that the worst part of being “ordinary” is holding on to the belief that you shouldn’t be.
As soon as you can let that go, and embrace what is for exactly how it is, happiness and meaning and purpose just start pooling at your feet, as if a hose has just been unkinked and freed to flow.
There is a fine line between self-acceptance and self-improvement. I may never be a vet or an olympic snowboarder or a broadway singer. I will never look like a Victoria secret angel, or be 5’8 with long legs and a short torso.
But I can be perfectly happy and fulfilled working towards being the best version of average me, teaching and writing and riding and snowboarding for the joy of it, laughing over my mistakes and failures, and making connections with other people who are equally as human-- NOT allowing my insecurities and shame to isolate me.
This is self-acceptance. To be okay and happy exactly as you are, and where you are, grateful for you in all its ordinary excellence.
And once you do that, you might start to notice where meaning and happiness truly reside— and be free from the unattainable ideals of perfection.
The 5 Minute Rule (A reflection on loss and perspective)
Grateful for this view in my back yard (almost).
I’ve been stressing out over a lot of things lately.
Some small, and some not so small. Many of which I do not feel ready to divulge yet here. Lately, its been causing me so much anxiety that I feel sick and restless, exhausted and heavy-limbed and yet unable to sleep.
I have been thinking circular thoughts, dwelling on problems that make them seem much larger than they need be, and overthinking bits of conversations and moments that have taken place in the day when they have probably long been forgotten by the others I was with.
I was in one of those moments, obsessing over something someone said in passing, anxious over the way my clothes have been fitting, and feeling overwhelmed by the thirty parent interviews I will be hosting for my kindergarten classroom this week, when I was abruptly met with a hard hit of reality.
It was learning a new friend of mine, a beautiful vibrant, compassionate soul of a person, does not have parents on this earth. My friend and I were discussing plans for Christmas. She listened sympathetically to me rant on about the stress and overwhelm of going home for christmas, and how full and busy the house is, laughing as I made reference to my mom’s thwarted efforts of an early Christmas dinner year after year. Then I asked about her plans. She confided that she might go to her sister’s might not do anything. I asked if her parents lived far away, or if she would see them.
And that’s when she told me both her parents had passed away. She didn’t offer why or when and I didn’t want to pry. I told her I was sorry to hear that, and followed her lead in changing the subject.
This time it was my turn to laugh at the stories she recounted from her day at work, offer ahhs, and ohs in all the right places. Meanwhile, every schema and internal perception of the world was being rewritten. The interviews this week felt meaningless. I felt ashamed and embarrassed for allowing negative body image to even be a thought in my mind. And I began to think back to every comment or mention of my parents or family to her, trying to remember exactly what I said, and gauge just how insensitive it might have been.
It’s a week later and I still cannot stop thinking about this.
Yes, I am in the middle of interviews, and working thirteen hour days to talk to parents.
No, I have not yet been able to book a covid test, and may not be able to go see my family over christmas.
And yes, we are in lockdown yet again, and that means I am no longer able to train at my pole studio which has been keeping me sane these past few months.
The truth is that none of this matters. All that does is that my family is still safe and healthy and together. I have never needed to survive a loss so close to me, although for many years of my life it was my greatest fear.
While I cannot even begin to understand how difficult it might be to experience losing my family, I know it is a devastation from which one never truly recovers. It is life changing.
And that’s the thing. All that which I am currently stressed and worried about is not in any way going to impact the trajectory of my life.
It feels wrong, and selfish, now for me to be stressed out by these problems which in perspective are really NOT problems.
I am trying to use this new knowledge to help me shift my perspective from worrying about these things that may or may not happen, many which are out of my control, to being grateful everyday for all I do have. Most importantly my health and well-being, and the health, happiness, and love of my family.
Grateful for pre-covid christmases.
So if you’re finding yourself stressing over something today, getting caught up in feeling like you have too much to do, or worrying about something, take a second to zoom out. And then apply the five minute rule:
Think of your life five years from now. Is whatever you are stressing over in this moment going to make a big impact in your life in five years? If the answer is no, then it is not worth spending more than five minutes worrying about now.
And once you do that, think about my friend, and what she has lost, or the people in your life you know who have may also suffered true loss. Perhaps you yourself have suffered a great loss (in which case, all the love and compassion in the world to you). And then think about all you do have: the people that fill your life with love and happiness.
The healthy, functioning body that allows you to move and breathe and hug your loved ones.
The opportunities to try new things, go new places, and be whoever you want to be. The freedom to make mistakes, to fall and get back up again.
And the oft overlooked gift to feel all these things-- joy and sadness, pleasure and pain, thrill and fear, for how can you truly know the first without experiencing the latter?
A snapchat I am happy I saved several years ago.
The point of this post is NOT to say I will never feel stress or worry again. Even as I write this, it has flashed through my brain that I’ve been sitting too long, and perhaps I should take a break from writing this to do some kind of exercise.
There’s a good chance tomorrow or one day next week some curveball will come my way at work and begin to send me into a tailspin of “what-ifs” and “I can’ts” and “if onlys”. However, this story will help ground me, as it is now, quite literally, keeping me in this chair to finish this post, and quell the voices in the back of my head vying for my attention.
Five years from now, it won’t matter that I spent an entire night sitting at my desk instead of getting in some movement. However, in five years, I will likely be glad that I took the time to put this revelation into a post, and create a tangible reminder for myself and you that are now reading this of the importance of perspective, and being grateful, truly grateful, for all we do have that enriches our life with happiness and meaning.
Have you heard of this five minute rule before? How do you practice perspective taking in your life?
Love,
Jordan
Soul on Fire: Pursue Your Passion and Find Joy
“Pursue what sets your soul on fire.”
This is a quote I came across years ago, back when I was probably 16 or 17 years old. It spoke to me then and I continue to let it guide me now.
I am a creature of habit in many ways. I am also a homebody, and often, a ball of anxiety. In turn, I tend to get stuck in comfort zones quite often. Places that feel safe and contained, but limiting, in all aspects of my life from my work to my writing to relationships and to recovery.
However, how I continue to pull myself out of these comfort zones and onto bigger, bolder things, is often coming back to this quote, comparing what I am doing, and how I am living in this minute, to the bigger picture of the life I want to live, being the person I want to be, and doing the things that fill me with purpose, passion, and fire.
When I find myself getting too obsessive with anything, to the point that it takes me out of the moment and starts to impede my ability to enjoy other parts of life, such as spending time with my family or friends, I have to pull myself back and ask myself how what I’m doing aligns to this greater vision. For instance, all the rules and rituals I had around food in my eating disorder made me feel safe and in control, but ultimately alienated me from the people in my life, and frankly made me act like a miserable b**** instead of the happy and carefree person I truly wanted to be.
Another example is horses. I have taken up riding again this summer, at an awesome stable unlike any other I have came across in Ontario. And it just so happens to be twenty minutes away from where I am currently living (the universe working its magic once again).
During my days of extreme exercise obsession, I essentially stopped riding, even though I had spent my entire life up to that point wanting nothing more than to spend every minute in the saddle. I felt that riding was not good enough exercise to be a regular activity of mine, when that time could be more effectively spent running or biking or doing some other workout that would result in a greater calorie burn. I reflect on that now and want to shake that version of myself for being so, so wrong.
I’ve gone riding almost every day this month. Quite often, after being out there in a hard saddle in the blistering heat, on a horse making me work for it, I come home and the last thing I want to do is another form of exercise. Niggles of my old way of thinking come through my mind sometimes, suggesting that I should do another workout to escape the pang of guilt for choosing this milder form of activity. However, I go back to that quote, and strive to make choices that are guided by what sets my soul on fire. And when I commit to that internal guidance, the guilt and shame and destructive way of thinking ebbs and falls away.
When I am an old woman, with a bad back, and brittle bones, I won’t look back on this summer and wish that I had ran more miles or lifted more weights. What I would regret would be forcing myself to do things that brought me little joy or lasting happiness, instead of being on a horse every chance I could.
No workout can give me the same thrill as galloping through forests, laughing with new friends, and returning home sweaty and smelling of horses and fly spray.
This summer, I have this golden opportunity where I have the means and time to be with horses, to improve my riding, and simply indulge the horse crazy little girl in me. When I am back living in the city, working in a classroom 9-5 come september, my summer of horses will be over. Sure, I am choosing saddle time over improving my kilometers per hour or personal best, but I am feeding my soul and honouring my passion.
20 years from now, I would rather be riding horses than running marathons. Someone else might have the opposite ambition.
Moral of the story is pursue what makes you happy. Do today what your future self will thank you for.
Kick your own butt out of ruts and comfort zones.
Indulge your soul in what calls to you- whether its horses, or painting or mountain biking or sourdough baking.
What sets your soul on fire? How are you feeding the flames?
Til next time,
Jordan
Xoxo
Growing versus Growing Up (Thoughts after 27 Years around the Sun)
This week I turned 27. It’s not a big milestone birthday, but in that way it almost feels more weighted. 27 is significant in how seamlessly I now classify as someone in their “late twenties.” There is little novelty and pomp around this birthday, the way it was around 21 or 25. Turning 27, I am not old by any means, but I am no longer “new” to adulthood. I am all grown up.
Except not really.
In a lot of ways, I feel brand new to this adult existence.
In terms of the place I am at and what I have accomplished so far in life, I am still young. I have friends who are the same age and yet not young in the same way, settled with partners sharing bedrooms, lives, mortgages, and even families. Friends with jobs that have benefits and yearly incomes, who talk about market prices in the city vs. the surrounding areas, and go furniture shopping not out of necessity but by choice.
It’s not that I feel unaccomplished or wish I was at that point in my life. If anything, I wish that I could remain in the fresh-out-of-school, finding-yourself-stage for a little while longer. I feel like I’m not done with my days of being untethered.
And I don’t mean in terms of relationships. I mean untethered to a single path or direction or vision of my life and way it is being shaped.
I got off to a late start in my adult life.
I spent the majority of my teens and early twenties with an eating disorder, which caused me to miss out on the kinds of connections and memories that can only come from spontaneous nights out that end drunk ordering pizza to someone’s apartment. And then entering recovery, I essentially surrendered my independence to my family and treatment team in order to get better.
So while all my friends were moving out and starting careers, I was on temporary leave, living in my childhood bedroom, on a strict recovery meal plan enforced and implemented by my parents. While other 24 year olds were updating their CVs and planning travel adventures, I was completing a daily meal log to be reviewed and approved by my therapist and dietician.
After two years of family-based treatment, I was finally healthy enough to step into my independence and grow into the next chapter of my life. So at 25, I moved out of my parents’ house for the first time and landed myself in a house full of roommates. I was doing things for the first time on my own, like shopping and paying for groceries, making rent each month, and washing my sheets. It was a learning curve, and a little unnerving.
I felt like an 18-year old off to my first year of college. Instead I was 25, with a new teaching contract with the Toronto school board, a masters degree, and a meal log.
I am only now at 27 starting to feel like I have found a bit of a rhythm in this adultness of life. I no longer go into whirls of anxiety over grocery shopping, or the idea of budgeting for household items like paper towel and toilet paper.
I pay my rent each month automatically a day before its due, and I recently took on my own phone bill too (thanks dad). I like coming home to my house of four roommates, flopping onto the couch with a glass of wine and lamenting about that guy I liked who turned out to be an asshole. I like having a contract teaching a certain grade at a certain school, with a definite start and end, because I like the idea that there is something different that comes after.
I still follow DJs and entertainment groups on instagram, because I am still holding out for another summer of music festivals and events, which I only got to taste in my eating disorder, and put on hold in my recovery.
Now I want to sink my teeth in.
However, I also feel the pull of solid ground beneath my feet, to find one centre of gravity. I’ve spent years floating, orbiting erratically, attached to many things but never something solid enough to keep me flying.
And this groundedness will NOT come from chasing highs at music festivals, a new fitness goal, or a living arrangement.
This groundedness will be found when I surrender to the process of accepting myself as I am, where I am, and where I am going.
I am 27. I am no lo longer a little girl, an angsty teen or a university student still “figuring it out.” I am a woman, strong and independent, who has been through enough of life to know what is worth pursuing and what to let go of in that greater pursuit.
I don’t need to force myself into a mold, or meet a certain deadline.
I don’t need to manipulate my body to look a certain way. Equating beauty to worth is unsustainable happiness. For even if I managed to get my body close to the standard I may have in my head, it will only be a short matter of time before gravity and the the sun take their toll and kick off the natural aging process that our society demonizes. And so, at 27, I am grateful for the health and youth of my body as it is right now.
I will live this year and the ones going forward without restricting myself in any way.
I am shifting the narrative-- rather than making my body my masterpiece, I will focus on making my life my masterpiece instead. My body is simply the instrument that will get me there.
A few years ago, I had no vision or understanding of my life beyond the moment I was in. Each day felt like a mountain I needed to scale, and it felt impossible to picture anything realistic beyond that. But now, the path I am travelling is infinitely less steep. I can see a little further ahead of me, and I can start to map it out a little.
I don’t need to pin down the exact route, or even specific destination, but I can at least choose a direction, and commit to the journey to get there.
I do not have any big concrete goals for this year, especially with all the external uncertainty at present (thanks covid!).
I am not expecting a permanent teaching job to come within my grasp, I am not planning some extravagant travel adventure, or even changing my relationship status.
I am not opposed to any of these things happening this year, but if they don’t, I will NOT feel like I’ve failed in any way.
Rather than make goals for the year, I am shifting my focus to the way I live every day. If I can go to bed every night feeling like I did the best I could to make the most of each moment that day, I’ll be making this year a smashing success. It’s the little steps, NOT the big leaps, to which I’m devoting my attention.
Ultimately, my goal for 27 is to make every day count.
I’m living for the journey, relishing the good parts of everyday, not postponing celebration for some elusive destination.
A Healthy Relationship with Exercise? (It’s More than How You Move- It’s How You Feel)
Too much of anything may not be good for you. Even yoga.
Exercise is healthy. It’s hard to argue otherwise.
The measurable and well-studied benefits of regular exercise are many: strengthening our bones, improving our cardiovascular systems, increasing our muscular strength and endurance, reducing risks of cancer, stroke, and other diseases, boosting our immune systems, and alleviating mental stress and anxiety.
If exercise is so darn good for you, the more the better, right?
Not quite. Just like many things in life, there comes a point when too much takes a negative toll on a person, on the body as well as the mind.
That is why exercise is so much more than the types and amount of movement that you do.
A healthy relationship to exercise is largely determined by your mindset towards it, and in turn, your relationship to your physical body, and ultimately, to yourself.
When Exercise Becomes an Addiction
I am somebody who for a longtime did NOT have a healthy relationship with exercise. I was fit, and athletic, and often praised for my discipline and the physique it got me.
However, I did not exercise from a place of joy or pure desire to move— I exercised to appease the voices in my head, to punish myself, to compensate or negate calories, to meet a time or distance or other number goal, or even to just match the movement I had done the previous day. Exercise was compulsive, obsessive, or excessive, and sometimes all of these at once.
Movement should be enjoyable and intuitive. And coming at it from a place of self-loathing and shame made that relationship impossible.
For the many years I was anorexic, exercise was my purge. I didn’t throw up, but I ran until I felt like I would. I had just as many rules around burning calories as I had around consuming them. A day off the gym or a workout cut ten minutes early erupted in unrelenting anxiety and guilt that would only ebb after overcompensating with my exercise the next day. Fasted cardio was my drug of choice. It was an adrenaline high, that I for so long mistook for enjoyment. Now I realize it was simply my cortisol sky-rocketing, since I had no other energy form to power me through those workouts.
After years of unhealthy, obsessive exercise, and a break from exercise altogether, I can now truly say that never again do I want to wake up feeling chained to any “should” or “must” or “have-to” or other arbitrary rule.
I am in no way against exercise. And for most people, of course exercise is important for health. I genuinely love being active— not chained-to-an-eliptical-active- but active as in moving my body in ways that feel intuitive and respectful of its strengths and its limits.
These past few months, yoga, and other forms of movement have become very much part of my morning routine. I was loving it, starting the day a little bit sweaty and a little more fluid, and I was thriving. Wake up, make a cup of tea, write in my journal, meditate, and then ease into a sweet and slow flow to my very eclectic yoga playlist. Then I would lie on my mat or the grass or wherever I was in shavasana-bliss for however long before ambling into the kitchen for breakfast. It was great. Until it wasn’t.
Resetting my Relationship with Exercise
It was a few weeks ago I suppose that I started to notice an odd, uncomfortably familiar feeling of anxiety upon waking up. I would lie in bed, feeling slightly paralyzed by a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. It was hard to get up. I would feel guilty staying in bed, lazing this early part of the day away, but I also didn’t want to do the thing that my brain was now telling me that I had no choice but to do— yoga.
You may snort at this. Y-o-g-a. The most gentle, healing, restorative, spiritual, safe form of movement there supposedly is. And yet here I was, feeling the same compulsive anxiety towards yoga that I used to feel before fasted HIIT cardio. Just leave it to anyone with a history of anorexia to turn yoga into an exercise obsession. I have nothing against yoga or hiit cardio for that matter. But I do take issue with doing any form of movement from a place of fear or inadequacy.
I don’t think it is ever a good thing to drag yourself to do any form of exercise for the sake of avoiding the anxiety or negative feelings that will come from not doing it. And I know this is very counter- intuitive for a lot of people.
In fitness and athletic culture, the mantra is often that there is “no such thing as doing too much.” Fitspo accounts are filled with posts and messages like “Go Big or Go Home”, “the only bad workout is the one you didn’t do”, and “push until it breaks you.” The prevalence and pervasiveness of these messages has effectively normalized their extremeness.
We start to believe that in order for exercise to “count”, we need to be begging for mercy by the end of it. And realistically, what human being would wake up every day genuinely looking forward to that? And yet, many of us continue to commit to gruelling fitness regimes and daily workouts when we have no desire to do so other than to get it done.
Even you reading this right now might be wondering why anyone would bother exercising if they only did it when they “felt like it.” I thought the same way. After years of pushing myself, never ending a run until a certain number of kilometers or ending a workout until I had burned a certain number of calories, exercising through injury, in extreme heat, in pouring rain, rescheduling and cancelling on friends and events to not miss a workout, I thought there was no other way to think.
None of it felt good. Exercise never felt good. But not doing it, missing that workout, felt unbearable.
Finding Balance
Its taken me a long time to get where I am now with my relationship to exercise.
Jaeda is very intuitive with her rest days.
It took giving up running when I started recovery, and only beginning to test out running again now, three years later.
It took cancelling gym memberships, and attending yoga classes, and going for walks with other people so that I wasn’t tempted to run while on them.
It took deleting step-count apps and calorie counters, and walking away from conversations that made me feel triggered about my “break” from exercise and loss of identity as a runner.
It’s taken a lot of trial and error since then as well.
On many occasions, I’ve convinced myself I’ve had long enough a break, and I was ready to start adding in more exercise. I’d try going for a couple runs, do a workout at a hotel gym, get a yoga membership, only to be sucked back in and feeling chained to whatever form of movement I was experimenting with.
Slowly, the compulsiveness has lessened. I can do occasional yoga and other movement classes now without feeling like I need to sign my life away with a membership. I can go for a long walk and spontaneously have it turn into a run without (usually) feeling like I need to run it the next day.
This year, I found my way to pole, a passion that had allowed me to develop a new relationship towards movement and my body, working towards goals that have nothing to do with numbers or aesthetics, but requiring strength and flexibility.
I haven’t been able to do it since the studios across the province closed back in March, and I’ve been missing it like crazy.
However, being forced to take this time off has allowed me to see all the ways in which my mindset has shifted, as well as some of the places where I still have some thoughts to rewire.
Especially this past month, and the stuckness I was feeling with the whole morning yoga habit.
I’ve made great strides, and I am proud of how far I have come. But I am aware that I still have a tendency (and likely always will to some degree) to fall into patterns of obsession and compulsion when it comes to exercise.
However, what I have learned in these years of recovery is the ability to recognize and identify these patterns before they take over.
I love yoga. I want to be able to get out of bed every morning, jump onto my mat, and do a vigorous vinyasa practice if that’s what I feel like.
I want to be able to go for a long sweaty run in the evening to my favourite playlist.
I want to join my friends in trying out a new bootcamp class or do a tough mudder or group triathlon.
But I also want to be able to wake up, roll out of bed, and do whatever I feel like that is NOT exercise. Or have my morning movement be a walk to the park barefoot with my dog instead of pounding the pavement with my runners.
I want to have the choice. I want the freedom to move. I want exercise to be a want and NEVER a should.
Forest walks are a great way of getting out of your head and into your body— intuitive movement at its finest.
And that is why I took this week off movement— to prove to myself that I can not exercise for a week and that nothing bad happens. I’m three days in, and to be honest, I woke up this morning and I wanted to flow. I had that feeling of desire to move, and NOT compulsion. But, I made myself tea, and sat myself down outside to write anyways.
Next week, I can do all the yoga I want (or not!). But this week, I am committed to the goal of rewiring my brain about exercise and movement of all kinds, even yoga.
As the saying goes “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
How will I feel when this week is over? Hopefully better than I did going in. l will write more about my week off and what happened in my next post.
In the meantime, I’ll just be here, sipping my tea, doing my best to throw myself into every other passion and project of mine that is not movement. How’s your relationship with exercise?
Sometimes It’s a good idea to not just ask what you are doing, but how you feel about it…
Stay golden. And remember- there are so many more pivotal and pressing things happening in our world right now than the exercise you did or did not do.
-Jordan xoxo