Reflections on Movement, Part 2

***This post is all about my history with running. I don't have photos of me running, so you get one of me playing tennis, another activity I've started again during the pandemic :)

During several of our episodes, we have talked about the role movement plays in an eating disorder and recovery and how our thoughts about movement evolve. In last week’s newsletter, Francis shared his experience with movement. This week, Catherine will share hers.  

***Before sharing thoughts about movement, we both want to acknowledge the privilege afforded us to even have these experiences. 

We are both cis white individuals without physical disability. This identity provides both of us the ability, space, and time to learn about movement as well as access to coaches and trainers. We were welcomed into gyms and then treatment centers without being questioned as to whether we would be able to pay. 

Our identities also gave us easier paths to recovery because we were allowed to rest and take breaks to heal. 

As we continue to talk about healing from relationships with movement, please consider how your identity gives you the ability to do so. Ask yourself what you’re willing to give up to provide space and access to others who otherwise don’t have that space and access because of systematic oppression. There are incredible resources online and otherwise for you to research and support - go do it.***
 

***This post is all about my history with running. I don't have photos of me running, so you get one of me playing tennis, another activity I've started again during the pandemic. 

I have a complicated history with running. When I was in high school, I was terrible at it. I couldn’t get through the mile in gym class without stopping to walk (admittedly, I was opposed to the whole idea of gym class, so I probably didn’t try my best). I stayed active in other ways, with dance team practice and dance studio classes. I’ve always loved to move; I just didn’t like to run.
 
Fast forward a couple of years. I took a fitness class in college to fulfill a requirement, and one of our goals was to run an entire mile without stopping. I worked up to it and discovered that once I push past the initial discomfort of running, I actually enjoy it. 
 
A year or so later, I used running to change habits that had become unsustainable. I was drinking more than I wanted at parties to manage my social anxiety and general self-hatred, and the effects of that behavior were starting to seep into my whole existence.
 
In many ways, running helped me regain focus and change behaviors that weren’t life-sustaining. I wasn’t dealing with the difficult feelings, though; I merely transferred them to another activity.
 
I soon became obsessed with running and burning calories and restricting my diet and lived in that space for many months. 

Compulsive exercise and restriction did nothing to quell the social anxiety; I actually retreated further into my shell. But I gained a sense of achievement. For the first time since leaving high school, I felt good about myself. 
 
And for the first time since puberty, I felt good about my body. The “problem” spots I had grown to hate were disappearing. For much of my life I had internalized messaging that I would be happier and have a better chance of being loved if I could control the number of fat cells in my body. The more I restricted, the louder that voice got. 
 
Eventually, I could see that my obsessive exercising and restricting were not any more sustainable than the partying. 
 
Once I started to find recovery, I kept running for a little while and toyed with the idea of training for a marathon. After a year or so, though, I decided I needed to stop. Running seemed more potentially addictive for me than other types of exercise, like dance and walking. 
 
For the past twenty-some years, I haven’t run much at all. I've found joy in walking and taking Zumba or BodyFlow classes at my local gym.

Then the pandemic happened, and I could no longer go to the gym. I still needed to move most days, perhaps even more than ever. I needed to get outside of the house and have time to think and process, and I needed the endorphin boost movement can provide. 
 
So, I started to run. And now, months later, most days I run. Running again for the first time in over twenty years makes me realize how far I’ve come in my journey to freedom from an eating disorder. My attitudes towards movement feel so different—and more sustainable—than they did before.
 

• Now, I don’t run to burn off calories. My brain no longer makes those calculations, and I intentionally avoid apps that provide numeric data about my movement (distance run, calories burned, speed). Instead, I focus on nourishing my body with food so that I can enjoy movement and move in the ways that feel good.  

• I don’t run to change the way my body looks. I move because moving gives me energy and strength and enables me to be active with my kids. 

• I no longer feel like I need to be really good at running to be a runner. Yes, I’m humbled when someone passes me, but I feel okay about it. I don’t feel like I have to be the best in order to like myself.

• These days, I pay attention to the messages my body sends. I do have to keep going through the initial discomfort because, for whatever reason, the first few minutes always feel really hard. Working through that minor discomfort feels encouraging and motivating for me, though. It’s a reminder that I can push through some of my discomfort with sharing my voice through writing and the podcast. 

• Unlike in the past, when my body tells me to slow down or stop or take a rest, I listen. I no longer push myself beyond my abilities in order to feel like I deserve a treat or am worthy of love. 

  
For the second time in my life, I am a runner. This time, I’m not running away from anything. I’m not running to feel better about who I am as a person. I’m not running to prove myself worthy of love and of nourishment.
 
I’m running because running provides a way for me to care for myself. It gives me the space and time to reflect and process, and it helps me channel my energy in positive directions. And that, for me, is recovery. 
 
I hope you too can find peace from addictive tendencies, thoughts of self-hatred, and disordered eating. I hope you can discover ways of moving that bring you joy, peace, and positive energy.

***We talk about attitudes toward movement in several episodes, including Episode 17 with Rebecca Evans; Episode 21 with Beth Ayn Stansfield of Stay Strong VA; Episode 25 with Sarah Dionne; and Episode 31 with Krista Hutcherson. Tune in and let us know your thoughts! 

Reflections on Movement

During several of our episodes, we have talked about how our attitudes toward movement have changed over time. We wanted to share more of our own experience. In this post, Francis will share his thoughts on movement; in the next post, Catherine will share hers.

Before sharing thoughts about movement, we both want to acknowledge the privilege afforded us to even have these experiences. We are both cis white individuals without physical disability. This identity provides both of us the ability, space, and time to learn about movement as well as access to coaches and trainers. We were welcomed into gyms and then treatment centers without being questioned as to whether we would be able to pay. Our identities also gave us easier paths to recovery because we were allowed to rest and take breaks to heal.

As we continue to talk about healing from relationships with movement, please consider how your identity gives you the ability to do so. Ask yourself what you’re willing to give up to provide space and access to others who otherwise don’t have that space and access because of systematic oppression. There are incredible resources online and otherwise for you to research and support - go do it.

Francis, after completing a 5K

A part of my identity — which is irrelevant in regard to privilege when aligned with whiteness and cis-ness — is that I’m fat. It is, however, quite relevant when considering my relationship with movement, and it informs my focus on body neutrality rather than body positivity.

When I was twelve years old, I knew that my size was considered “bad” by the majority of my systems. There were the macrosystems like the television, telling me to eat certain foods in fear of what other foods might “do” to me; the grocery stores, lined with low-fat and diet foods prominently featured on shelves that were at my eye level; the fad diets like Weight Watchers promising me “community” as I starved myself; and later, the “health and wellness” industry guising their disgust for my body as pursuit of a “lifestyle change.” These systems’ attempts to prey on my vulnerability and insecurities were overt.

My more immediate systems, like my friend’s parents sharing how they decreased their weight by such and such amounts (interestingly and not surprising, they all seemed sad still); my own parents taking me to a nutritionist because I begged them to; and my family doctor forcefully telling me to lose weight “for my health,” were less explicit and without malintent.

Regardless of the intent of these systems, I was twelve years old, and I was scared and full of shame and being told my body needed to shrink or I would not be loved – a belief I was already developing at my core. My perspective was that the world hated me, and my reality was that I didn’t know how to fix it.

My fatness found safety later that year when I was asked to practice with the high school wrestling team. Despite the fact that joining a team full of more developed and grown men did nothing to actually quell the intense emotional pain I was feeling, my fatness was safe for the first time in my life, and that regulated me enough to dull any panic my family may have felt.

The following 15 years included playing college football, leaving college early, working for President Obama’s campaign, experiencing eating disorders, a marriage, a divorce, depression, seeking treatment for eating disorders and finding recovery, and becoming a licensed social worker working with individuals experiencing mental health challenges. I was in recovery.

And…my relationship with movement remained disordered. Thoughts of wanting to be in a different body were constant, particularly when I was in the gym. I would reframe and reframe, but I was stuck with this internalized fatphobia pushing me to have my “old body.”

My “old body.” This thought saved me. What old body? What smaller body was I ever? I wasn’t. This body…my fat body…had carried me through hell and back, and I still thought my body didn’t deserve to be in the world because, quite frankly, everyone and everything was saying that it didn’t.

This is where I bring to the space the concept of body neutrality. It differs from body positivity in that the idea is not to love your body but to experience your emotions and sense of self separate from your physical self. Loving your body outright is an incredibly high standard, a standard most will never be able to reach. We have to work within our framework.

This is an example I often use in therapy: when we aim to reframe the automatic thought “I’m fat” with “I’m not fat” we are not addressing the underlying emotional response to fatness. We’re simply asking someone to reframe their physical self. That’s not where they are. Especially if they are fat! And regardless of size, saying “I’m not fat” only reinforces the idea that fatness is bad.

Instead, we can work to understand ourselves and our emotions separate from our body, learn to respect our body’s abilities and limitations, and nourish our body so it can function at its optimal level.

Through my understanding of respecting — though not outright loving — my body, I developed my own set of guidelines:

• It’s okay to move, and it’s actually good for us. Movement creates pathways to destress and increase mood stability. This is evidence-based.

• Our bodies are meant to change. Literally. That is a biological fact. Sometimes multiple times per day. We are not supposed to look the same at 13 years old and 25 years old and 47 years old.

• The difficulties we encounter as part of our life experience won’t be resolved by intentionally decreasing weight. They will be enhanced. Intentional weight loss is not a coping strategy.

• We shouldn’t have to feel pain when we move.

• We deserve joy when we move. And if we can’t move for physical or emotional reasons, we still deserve joy.

• Most importantly, we can implement the for whom for what mentality when it comes to individualized health. Your health is between you and whomever you want to include in that conversation. No one else.

These guidelines have helped me find joy in moving. And sometimes, that includes joy in resting. In stillness.

Unfortunately, the larger spaces we exist in don’t follow these guidelines; they make it infinitely more difficult for fat people – specifically nonwhite queer fat people – to feel safe when it comes to movement. Body neutrality is not the end to body-based oppression. Whether using terms like “health improvements” or “lifestyle change” or “fitness,” the larger systems are fatphobic because making body size a moral discussion continues the oppression that fuels their economy.

You can take steps to individual healing by creating your own guidelines around movement and your body. Give yourself permission to move in ways that make you feel joy. And if you aren’t able to move in ways that make you feel joyful, you’re still allowed to have joy through other means. That’s your right. Say it over and over. You deserve to have joy.

--Francis

To learn more about body neutrality, consult these sources:

https://www.self.com/story/body-neutrality

https://www.thefemaleleadsociety.com/body-positivity-vs-body-neutrality

https://www.fullbloomproject.com/podcast-episodes/episode-51

https://www.byrdie.com/black-body-positive-influencers-5076077


To hear our conversations with guests around body positivity, body liberation, and body neutrality, tune into Episode 3 with Emma Manis of Shop Evolve; Episode 13 with Connie Sobczak of The Body Positive; Episode 27 with Mike Marjama, a retired baseball player and eating disorder advocate; and Episode 33 with Syd Yang of Blue Jaguar Healing Arts.

Get To Know Your Co-Hosts

We are so glad you found us! We are working hard to put out into the world conversations we hope will educate, inspire, enlighten and connect our listeners, and we would love to hear more about you via email or social media.

In the meantime, here’s a little information about the two of us. To read the rest of this interview (and find out what we do for self-care and what we would bring on a deserted island), sign up for our newsletter!

How did you two meet? What do you like about working with your co-host? 

Catherine: We met serendipitously. I co-edited a collection of stories about eating disorder recovery and wanted to include a male perspective. I googled experts on males with eating disorders and ended up contacting Andrew Walen (whom we interviewed in Episode 7). He asked a couple of his colleagues if they’d like to contribute an essay, and Francis said yes!

As I mentioned in episode 1, I found Francis’ essay to be incredibly moving and impactful. His experience was very different from mine, but I related so much to his story.

I love working with Francis because he is knowledgeable and wise but also down-to-earth. Having deep, honest conversations is one of my favorite things to do, and I appreciate that Francis is always willing to get real. And, he’s well organized and methodical, which balances out my tendency to get carried away by ideas!

Francis: I was introduced to Catherine and her work through Andrew Walen, and with an odd combination of eagerness and reluctance contributed to her book Hope for Recovery: Stories of Healing from Eating Disorders. I’m so glad I did. 

Whether she recognizes this or not, Catherine provided the platform from which I could share my story for the first time, both through writing and speaking in public. I’m not in this part of my recovery without her. 

Catherine reached out to ask about co-hosting a podcast, and, though I took my usual few days to process, it was a pretty quick ‘yes’. It feels really good that the two of us can create a platform from which someone else may be able to share their story and grow in their recovery. 

Why did you want to start this podcast?

Francis: Every time someone adds a voice to the eating disorder recovery community, it creates space for someone else to join. More voices creates less stigma, and less stigma creates more opportunities to heal. I wanted to be a part of that.

Eating disorders and those involved in treating and supporting those struggling often leave so many people out. I’ve seen it in my work. BIPOC, trans and gender diverse, sexuality diverse and others struggling with eating disorders are repressed. I want this platform to be a place to bring to light the social and racial injustices in the eating disorder “world” and a place for all voices to be heard. 

Catherine: I wanted to create content I wish I had access to when I was battling an eating disorder. Eating disorders are complex and have wide-ranging impacts. Engaging in conversations with a wide variety of experts and people impacted by eating disorders can provide valuable education for us and our listeners and potentially mitigate some of those impacts. 

To read more about what we do when we’re not podcasting and how we manage our own recoveries through self-care, subscribe to our newsletter with the button below!