Untwisting the Knot

I've always loved going to the gym. I love the feeling of my body working and the rush of endorphins it gets from being challenged. Sometimes going to the gym is my only outing, as I'm a student that often studies from home, and it's where my body finally gets its chance to work as my mind rests.

When I was 20 I became chronically ill. I could no longer digest food properly, and became constantly nauseous and weak. I wasn't sure what had caused this rapid decline in health, only that I'd had various digestive issues my entire life.

My illness also presented itself in terrifying dizzy spells, where the world began to spin, and sometimes cause momentary blackouts.

I started having regular panic attacks, I'd have them at work, traveling to and from work, at the supermarket, anywhere that wasn't perceived as safe to be unwell, and I soon became agoraphobic.

My illness, and anxiety about my illness, became indistinguishable. Was I having panic attacks due to feeling unwell? Or did I now have an anxiety disorder?

Going to the gym seemed a conundrum. I knew exercise was an important factor in coping with an anxiety disorder, although would the extra strain on my body cause me to faint in the middle of a crowded place?

I didn't want to let my anxiety prevent me from doing something that could potentially help me, so I made the decision to try to continue working out.

I prefer to go to group classes at the gym, as I always learn a new way to move my body and activate muscles I've never used before. I find the group atmosphere to be very motivating, and I always tend to work quite a bit harder when I know a fitness instructor is watching me.

When I first became ill, however, my experience attending a group fitness class was not positive. I attended a Body Pump class, as I've always been more interested in things like Pilates than boxing or cycling, and body pump was described as using small weights and movement to build and tone muscle.

Attending the class I felt extremely nervous. The room was at full capacity, and the instructor was a dominating woman with muscles bulging and a booming voice over the microphone, "come on! You can do it! Don't you stop now! 10 more!!"

I began to feel weaker and weaker as the room started to slowly turn around me and grow darker. 'You're okay. You're fine.' I told myself. I put my weights down. I needed a break. This class was really hard. The instructor seemed possessed. I needed to get out of there.

I used all my remaining strength to put my weights away as casually as possible, feeling the instructors eyes watching me. 'I could have forgotten an appointment', I rationalized to myself. 'Plenty of people need to leave classes, it's no big deal.' But it was a big deal to me. I felt like a failure. Either I was too physically unwell to complete a gym class or my anxiety was out of control. Probably both.

I sunk into a depression. I felt like an old woman and only moved about my house as if I were an inpatient.

One day my boyfriend asked if I would join him to the gym, just to get out of the house and keep him company. I said yes, but told him I would only stretch in the corner.

This remained my routine for quite a while, until one day I wandered over to the assisted pull up machine, I did one pull up and felt my muscles activate and a rush of endorphins. I could do this. Not to work out with any pressure or goals, but to feel my body again.

I returned in a few days time with a new plan. I had written up a new workout routine. It was based on a previous one, except fewer reps, more breaks, and lots of time for stretching, relaxing, and meditating. And no more group classes for the time being.

My workout goal is to no longer push myself further, or lift a higher weight, but to feel good, to feel grounded, calm, and increase my serotonin levels.

The gym is now a place where I can focus on what my body needs to journey back to health.

Slowly, as if untwining a twisted knot, my gut begun to heal and my anxiety begun to lesson, and their affect on each other became undone. I have started trusting my body again and am slowly working towards my goal of reclaiming the confidence I once had.