listen to your body, love.

I think that a majority of my life, I’ve had a somewhat unhealthy relationship with exercise.

When I was growing up, I gave the Michelin man a run for his money — I had rolls up my arms that looked like rubber bands had disappeared into the folds.

I transitioned into a more full face and was a huge tomboy. I hated jeans — they were super uncomfy and restrictive and they didn’t fit well.

I started wearing husky boys jeans and finally felt comfortable enough to move around and play.

I was in gymnastics for a bit, but the leotard was much too tight, my arms much too weak to support myself on the bars, my brain much too fearful of falling off of the beam, and confidence much too splintered to own my body at the stage that it was in.

I battled the confidence part for a long time. Middle school was weird — full of braces, competitive travel soccer and no clear idea of who I was, just that I felt different. Braces completely changed the structure of my otherwise round face and having a nice, full set of straight teeth was a bright step forward.

In high school, my weight fluctuated, and so did my feelings about my body and all that it could do. Freshman year was good for me — I ran enough in pre-season to become the number 1 sub to be put on the field to make the other team tired. I could play 45 minutes and not really touch the ball, but it was okay, because I had accepted my role and I was doing it well. Sophomore year, I was diagnosed with depression and while my hormones and emotions were running rampant through my head, it was doing a number on my body too. I wasn’t comfortable with how I looked and I was in a relationship with someone who thought that I was beautiful, even when I had no feelings of it myself. Junior year, I came back stronger and then became injured partly through the season. I had to start over with my mental plan of attack and my physical plan of coming back. I still wasn’t happy with where I was or how I looked. I felt like I was in a constant uphill battle to get back and be strong again. Senior year rolled around and I was on top of the world in my fitness. I had an aerobic fitness class, I played a lot of minutes for club soccer, and then all of the wheels fell off…

I fainted in the shower. 

TWICE. Yeah, not just once…twice. 

I had started to feel nauseous and the next thing I knew, I was laying in the tub, having not remembered how I had gotten to the ground. I started crying, and hoping that someone would hear me, to rescue me, so that I didn’t have to get up on my own. I wanted to be scooped out of that tub, dried off, and rocked while I cried, fully embraced. But no one was upstairs. Mom and Dad wouldn’t have been able to hear me from downstairs. I had to will myself out of the tub, clutching the side of the shower for support. I shut off the water, prepared to get out so that I didn’t get hurt and the next thing I knew,

I was back on the ground with the shower on. 

I had fainted again.

At this point, I cried harder, feeling completely defeated and over it.

I managed to turn off the water and get out, get some clothes on, and walked downstairs and crawled into my parent’s bed.

That was when I should’ve realized that when our body reacts to things in an adverse way, it is trying to tell us something.

I didn’t have enough fuel in my body to support all that I was trying to accomplish, so my body rejected my forward advances.

_ _ _ _ _

At the beginning of college, I was in some of the best shape of my life physically, but definitely not mentally. I no longer played soccer, so I didn’t have a consistent and structured schedule in place. Instead of exercising to further myself in my sport, I became consumed with exercising to look a certain way. I became ultra-disciplined with my food. I was only exercising because I felt guilty, and as such, I was overworking myself in every single workout. Often, my legs would give out the next day — far too often for it to be healthy. But I didn’t care, because I was seeing progress that looked like the fitness inspiration that I saw online. Part of me thought that if it hurt like it did, I had to have been doing something right.

And thennnnnnn, I broke my arm. 

I was distraught. Everything that I had worked for was crashing around me. How was I supposed to continue exercising if I couldn’t even wash my hair by myself? It became a mental hurdle that was far harder to push past than I had first thought. It taught me so much about the power of patience. That slow progress is still progress. That I was capable of coming back into exercise however I wanted to — that I would make it.

And yet, I still didn’t have a healthy relationship with exercise, even though I felt so much pride in coming back from that injury.

I still wanted to look a certain way and I was willing to put both my body and mind through the ringer to try to achieve an unreasonably high standard. It permeated my headspace. It crushed my confidence. It never allowed me to be content with where I was at, because I never really felt that I was where I needed to be.

>>>>>>>>>> Fast forward to this year >>>>>>>>>>>>

I came off of this Summer season knowing that I wanted to get back to having functional strength and endurance. There were far too many activities this Summer that were discouraging because I could tell that my body just wasn’t where it needed to be in order to enjoy myself at the level that I wanted to.

I came into this school year knowing that I needed to do this exercise thing differently. It’s far too exhausting to try to attain someone else’s body as the standard. I have also made far too much progress on my emotional and mental well-being to be consumed with such a vain and trivial thing.

I reset my awareness.  

I had a yoga class last semester that completely rocked my world. It taught things that I can carry with me into all aspects of my life. It taught me that your breath will feed your practice, center your mind, and calm your heart. That every single time that I step onto the mat is an opportunity for me to celebrate that I can do just that. That even if I could do something the day before, doesn’t mean that it will happen the same way, the next day. And in turn, that I could be okay with that. That getting into a silent space, with distractions at a minimum, gave me the opportunity to embrace the movements and stretching of my body. I could quite literally feel the power pulsing through my muscles.

I was centered and it was good. 

This semester, I have still incorporated flows and stretching into my weekly routine, but I have also picked the dumbbells back up and have a couple of go – to workouts that make me smile and grimace all at the same time.

This is one of my new favorites. Also, don’t scoff at the 3 lb weights — that was my first mistake. The second mistake was not thinking that this would kick my ass, because it definitely does.

I have found a good mix of videos or made up workouts that fit into my schedule, doing a lot of workouts in my room. I always end the workout with dancing it out and if you’ve seen me dance, you know that I go hard.

I’m like a smiling mix of hips that don’t lie & prancing through the sky.

It’s my favorite part.

BUT

My world came full circle this morning as I clutched the inside of the shower, steadying myself so that I didn’t pass out.

I was brought back to 4 years ago in the swiftest of moments and I wanted to cry. I stood in the water, knees bent, breathing through my nose to steady my heart from pounding out of my chest and calm the nausea.

IT SUCKS, ya know…

To have made such positive progress and in an instant, be brought back to something that feels a lot like losing control.

Remember, when our body reacts to things in an adverse way, it is trying to tell us something.

And mine, although excited about me not overdoing it in my workouts and eating well, is telling me that it needs even more to sustain itself.

Listen to your body, love. It’ll let you know what it needs. 

And for me, I need to be grateful that I have a metabolism that operates at such a high pace, a body that is capable of so many great things, and that I have the financial means to buy myself food that will fuel my body to continue.

So off I’ll head, to the grocery store, and acknowledge that this morning was a wake up call to continue to listen, learn, and love my body in every stage that it’s in.

I’m in a place where I am pleased with where I am at. I’m doing all that I can do until I know how I can do better.

And honestly, I might be most proud of overcoming the mental hurdle.

I LOVE my body. I love that my hips shake like Shakira and that I have a brown freckled birthmark on my inner elbow. I love that I have two scars on my forearm, because they remind me that I can persevere. I love that I can touch my tongue to my nose. I love my smile, a smile that creases my eyes and shines from my heart. My body is capable of healing, of moving, and of so much more, yet for me to discover.

_ _ _ _ _

Don’t let your worries of looking a certain way dictate how you treat the body that carries you through this life. Let your body tell you what it needs, what it can handle, and move from there. If you’re trying to better your fitness or lifestyle, do it because you want to feel better or participate more. Don’t do it because you think that you’ll look like some other girl or guy. It’s far too much effort to try to be someone else when you’re wired to just be yourself, with what you’ve got, until you can do differently.

Listen to your bodies, love.

xo, jo