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.