Intuitive Exercise

"The mother of excess is not joy but joylessness."-Frederich Nietzsche

 I'm sure we're all familiar with the quote how too much of a good thing can be a bad thing, right?

For people who have experienced 'black-and-white thinking', also known as the 'all-or-nothing attitude or mindset', we have a hard time wrapping our minds around this concept. If it's good for you, wouldn't the more you do it be better?

Wrong.

This was my opinion on exercise. Slowly, my obsession developed from a harmless three times a week, if I could fit it in my schedule, to a no-excuses seven times a week regimen. I didn't take days off, I didn't rest, and did whatever I had to do to make my workout happen.

As my obsession with exercise developed, so did my obsession with following what I thought was a clean diet, which turned out to be extremely and dangerously low in calories.

For someone who was obsessed with fitness and obsessed with feeling progress in every area,I definitely wasn't succeeding. I remember feeling too tired to complete my workouts- having to take a knee while my trainer had tried to convince me I had the ability to keep going. I felt defeat, shame, and weakness. I often felt lightheaded from not eating enough to fuel my workouts, or feeling too full because I took in too much after a period of restriction. I remember pushing my body to the brink of exhaustion in order to complete a workout and hit an unrealistic quota which I set myself. I would walk out in the middle of an exercise class and sit in my car and cry, waiting out the period where I felt faint or dehydrated, whatever it was that stopped me from continuing.

When I was pushing myself and my body, the workouts no longer felt as if they were giving me a release of those 'happy endorphins' which caused people to work out in the first place. I felt pressure and stress, like if I didn't perform at a certain level, I had somehow failed. But, I often failed to realize as much as I valued fitness in my life, I was not and am not an athlete in training for anything. I am a regular person, who enjoys working out, because I like it and it feels good.

When I first learned about the concept of Intuitive Exercise (working out how and when it feels good for your body) I thought it was a nice idea in theory, but given my background, I just didn't think it would ever be possible for me.

I had developed strict rules around being in the gym: the days I'd go, the exercises I would perform, how long I'd be there, etc. I couldn't imagine simply doing nothing.

A week after I was discharged from the hospital, I tried to go for a bike ride, despite my doctor telling me to remain on bed rest. I only wanted to see if I could ride a mile, but felt as if I was barely moving. My legs weren't cooperating with me.

After realizing how mean and unforgiving I had been to my body for all it had gotten me through, I took almost a year off of serious exercise. It was extremely hard for me, but I knew it was what I had to do to start healing my mindset around exercise and my relationship with food.

I learned to appreciate things about myself that weren't related to my body, and how to feel accomplished about things that didn't have to do with my workout, my ability to 'stick to my diet' or things of that nature.

When I decided to start up in the gym again, I was extremely nervous, unsure if I was ready, and unsure if I would be able to properly manage a routine without overdoing it again.

Disclaimer: I am still and will always be working on this as it takes a lot of practice, self-reassurance, ability to forgive yourself and patience. Sometimes you will mess up, and that's OK, that's part of the process.

In committing myself to the gym, I also knew that if I wanted to work out, I had to properly fuel my body to do so. I believe intuitive eating goes hand-in-hand with intuitive exercise, but for me I had to set a few rules. If I wanted to do a more intense workout, I had to fuel myself before and after. Our bodies are like cars and cannot function properly if we don't give it the gas we need to run. I would not count calories, but I would have a minimum. I knew I had to eat all of my meals and snacks, and if I felt like eating extra, that's great. Food is like science. In order to run properly, we need a certain amount, and in order to feel well at the gym, we can't eat too close to when we intend to be moving our body and allow time for digestion.

Going into the gym for the first time, I had already made a promise with myself that I wouldn't step on the scale or ever use that as a determining factor of my journey, as I know it would cause me problems.

I didn't want to compare myself to anyone else in the gym, their ability, or what they were working on, I simply wanted to appreciate the fact that I was there and I was able to move my body at all.

The key to intuitive exercise is being in tune with your body and ask yourself what you feel like doing, what movements will make you feel fulfilled that day? I think the most damaging thing someone can do when going into the gym, is forcing themselves to commit to an exercise you don't like. If you hate running, and put 30 minutes on the treadmill timer, you're going to be miserable starring at the clock for 30 minutes, and you're going to dread coming back. Instead, if you love dancing, see if your gym offers a Zumba class. It's a great way to meet like-minded people, and have fun while you're moving you're body, and you'll be doing it in a way that doesn't feel like a chore.

For me personally, I enjoy boxing, and working out my legs, so I like the stair master, the bike, and things of that nature, so when I go to the gym I have fun.

I also think another thing that can be damaging for someone who is recovering from an eating disorder is committing to a workout plan right off the bat. For example, dedicating a day to a specific area to workout. (ex: Monday= arms, Wednesday= legs, Friday= full body). Say you're really tired after work on a Wednesday, you're going to dread thinking about having to do a leg workout when you don't really have the energy to spare.

Before you get into the gym, take into account how you feel. Do you have extra energy? Are you a little more tired? Ask yourself what kind of movement will make your body feel good. Maybe it's some light stretching, maybe it's a cardio kind of day, or maybe it's a day to lift some weights.

Trusting your body that it knows what's in your best interest feels really empowering. I used to not trust my own intuition, and force things on myself. However, I've been learning to trust that my body will let me know how long it feels like working out- some days it's just shy of two hours, and other days it's not much more than 20 minutes. And that's OK, our energy levels will be different each day.

Treating your body like it's on your side and you're on the same team as your mind is a great feeling and goes a long way in healing your relationship with food and exercise. It will take time, practice, and patience, but the progress you make will feel like a great accomplishment when it comes.

How to deal with diet culture and triggering comments

"I don't care if you think your body is beautiful. Your body is not your power. I want you to not hate it, so you can go out and do meaningful things with your life." -Summer Innanen

I remember being just about two weeks out of the hospital, and still very unsure about my place in recovery, and if I truly had even wanted it yet. I was out to dinner with my mom, uncle and his girlfriend, something I had been reluctant about in the first place. I hated going out to dinner. I hated the uncertainty of not knowing the nutrition of my meal, and not knowing everything that went into it. Add the fear of liquid calories to the mix, and it's a recipe for overwhelming anxiety. At least it always was for me.

I had always had a fear of eating in front of people I wasn't comfortable with. Even though our company was my uncle and his girlfriend, I had not really talked about what I had went through the previous few months, and I felt like they would be judging what I ordered, how my body looked, etc.

Just looking at the menu gave me anxiety, but I ordered a vodka diet to ease my nerves a little bit. After I ordered, my uncle's girlfriend began to talk about how she had lost so much weight, how her pants didn't fit, how she had to see doctors, and how my uncle was pushing her to eat, but she just couldn't seem to find her appetite.

I grabbed my mom's arm and looked at her wide-eyed. Is she kidding me? I thought. As she went on and on, I whispered in my mom's ear that I was upset and that I knew I wouldn't be able to eat dinner tonight.

My mom had told me that unfortunately I will never be able to avoid diet talk, especially with women and I would have to get used to hearing that kind of talk at the table. I knew she was probably right, but also knew that I was extremely sensitive and in a vulnerable place.

Dealing with diet culture is hard. It's extremely intrusive on something that is such a personal decision and unique to each person. Not every diet will work for every body.

In order to be able to possibly avoid or reduce these triggers, it is important to note what triggers you. A journal can be a very helpful tool to note how you felt by certain things and keep track of progress.

For me, when I was very early in recovery, I seemed to be triggered by everything, which I assume would be common for most people starting their journey. I couldn't see or wear work out clothes, I couldn't work out, hear about anyone working out, hear about diets, or even what people were choosing to eat, without comparing it to what I had to eat. I couldn't read about diet or fitness. I couldn't hear comments about my changing and healing body.

An important step for me was to clear my feeds. I un-followed any accounts on social media related to food or fitness, whether 'good' or 'bad'. I was already thinking about it all of the time, I didn't want to think about it any more. I replaced my feed with positive quotes and happy pictures of animals or landscape. I unsubscribed to health magazines that came in monthly toting a new fad diet or quick fix.

Two of the biggest things for me during this sensitive time were: clothes and my body and other people.

As my body began to heal, I started not to be able to fit into certain clothes in my closet. I cried to my mom, and she reassured me that my body was never meant to fit in these clothes, anyhow. That when I fit into those sizes, my body was very sick and so was my mind. To avoid further frustration, I didn't let these clothes linger in my closet. I knew what clothes were the sizes that were not meant for me, and I removed them from my closet and placed them in a bin to donate to Goodwill.

I had always preferred clothes that fit loosely on me, because I had never been comfortable with showing off my body, so that is what I reverted back to. I wore what I felt comfortable in and I believe everyone should do the same to feel confident in their wardrobe. Trends don't matter if they don't make you happy.

Another big concern for me was that people would notice my body and comment.

"You have an ass now!"

"Your face/chest looks really full."

"You look healthy" (I don't know why this always seemed to be the worst one. In our disordered minds we equate healthy to mean 'fat' which is NOT the case, and certainly, not what the person meant at all. If you choose to respond to this you can simply say 'thank you' or 'I FEEL healthy (if that's true).)

During this time, it might help to know that no one who wasn't a close family member or friend ever commented on my body, besides saying that I looked healthy or well. During my recovery, my mom was my biggest supporter and aid in helping me cope with triggers and helping others understand which topics to avoid.

I would always tell my mom when I felt triggered or uncomfortable by something. My mom had told relatives to please not comment on my body or the food that was on my plate in advance to seeing me. She also reminded them not to discuss diet or weight in terms of themselves, which was a big help for me.

Sometimes, it seemed people couldn't help themselves and would make a comment saying I looked fuller or X body part grew, to which I asked them 'please do not comment about my body, as this makes me uncomfortable' or 'this is still a sensitive area for me, and I would appreciate if we could talk about something else.'

Overall, the things that made the most impact for me during this time was having open communication. I had my mom, who had grown to understand how my brain was working and what I was going through. I was able to talk openly with her about what was on my mind, and what was bothering me, and in turn, she was able to convey that to the people around us to help them better understand how to talk to me and listen with compassion. If  I felt comfortable enough, I would also take it upon myself to politely ask someone if they wouldn't mind steering the conversation in a different direction. As I am further along in recovery, this is something that has become easier and I don't mind telling people things that I have learned during my course of treatment. And lastly, if something is triggering to you, don't pour salt on that wound. I know sometimes with our disordered minds we might keep something around that we know is tempting to us thinking we will be un-bothered by it. However, then we get in a depressed or down mood, and we use that thing as an excuse to justify our bad behaviors. It is best to eliminate the potential trigger, before it becomes a problem.

My first experience with therapy

"Talking to a therapist, I thought, was like taking your clothes off and then taking your skin off, and then having the other person say, "Would you mind opening up your rib cage so that we can start?" -Julie Schumacher

 I started middle school just after my parents announced they were getting divorced.

For awhile, my relationship with both of my parents was pretty much nonexistent, while I tried to figure out how I felt. Growing up, none of my friends parents were divorced, so I didn't ever consider it an option for my parents. Until it happened.

I don't remember who was in touch first: whether it was my mom with the school guidance counselor, or her with my mom. But somehow the pair ended up working together in attempt to get me to talk about my feelings.

"I don't want to."

"Brianna Kwasnik to the guidance office," I heard over the loudspeaker one day during class.

I rolled my eyes, and told my teacher I would go in between classes, as an excuse to get out of it.

I would have hall passes written for me and sent to my class to excuse me, but I would crumple them up and throw them in the trash.

The next day, one would came laminated. And I threw that out, too.

When I finally went to the guidance office, I stared back at the woman like she was speaking in a different language. She told me all of the things she was supposed to say to make me feel safe, like how her office was a safe space, and everything I said to her would stay between us.

I felt like I was wasting my time and hers, because I didn't feel like I was old enough to have any real problems. I didn't want to talk about my parents divorce, because than that would make it real, and I didn't want it to be real. When my parents first got divorced, it was a lot of back and forth with both my mom and dad trying to vent out their frustration with the other one, and me being the soundboard for those frustrations. I felt exhausted. I wanted to love them the same as I did when they lived in the house. I didn't want to think of them different or see them any less. I didn't want it to be real. But, I didn't want this stranger to know that. I didn't want anyone at school to know that. I didn't want anyone at school to know what was going on at home, it was none of their business, I thought.

I was really concerned about being seen walking out of the guidance counselor's office. I grew up with a stigma of sorts surrounding therapy, that talking to someone made you 'crazy' or weak, and I didn't want to be that, because I knew that wasn't who I was.

My dad was against it completely, and didn't want me talking to a stranger.

Eventually, I had warmed up to the idea, and when something would happen at home whether it be my dad talking poorly about my mom, or my dad not answering my phone call, or when he moved out of the house, I couldn't wait to tell someone about it and get it off my chest.

My school guidance counselor had sent my mom a list of therapists that I could see outside of school. I think her referral was a combination of not wanting to take me out of class anymore, and seeing how much my parent's divorce really affected my spirit and confused me.

It's always weird when you switch therapists, and you feel like another person knows your whole story, and this new person should just pick up where she left off. Like what do you mean I have to start from the beginning? Where do I begin? How far back do I go?

At first I did not want to talk to a new therapist. I never do, and usually spend the first two sessions having them prod me with questions and me giving generic one or two word answers, and nothing more. When I started going to counseling for the first time out of school, I had my mom sit in on every session. I wanted her there as extra support.

Once I felt comfortable enough to open up and talk about how I felt about what was going on with my parents divorce, it was like a faucet that wouldn't turn off. An hour came and went, and never in my life had felt shorter. Every week I didn't know I had so much to say.

The great thing about therapy, is that the person isn't there to judge you, but to help you make sense of a certain situation with an outside perspective.

If I was talking about my mom, maybe she would be able to help me see things from my mom's perspective. Maybe she would be able to give me advice on how to work things out with my mom. If I was talking about my dad, she might be able to point out a pattern in his behavior that I couldn't see.

In time, I was able to take her analytical skills, and when I would talk about things, I would share, then cut her off, already making my own inference about why things happened the way they did, or why I reacted in a certain way.

It quickly became a relief for me to get my feelings out and not have them pent up inside of me. I wasn't carrying around burdens that weren't mine to bear, and if they were mine to bear, I can put them down in her office, and move on. My therapist and my mom encouraged me that if a bad feeling came up that I wouldn't stew in it, I could open a journal, write about it in the moment and release those feelings on paper.

Between therapy once a week and writing in my journal, which I could do whenever I needed to, it felt like a purge. It felt like the feeling you get after an intense workout and the happy endorphins are released. You feel lighter, at ease.

Like anything else, everyone's experience is different, but I'd say therapy is always worth a shot. It's important to research therapists in your area- see if they take your insurance, maybe you prefer a female therapist over a male, or the other way around. If you're currently in school, see your guidance counselor or school therapist, most colleges include therapy in the school insurance plan- use it to your advantage! And most importantly, develop your own opinion on the topic and don't pay any mind to what other people think. If someone is putting down the idea of therapy, they could just not have a lot of experience with it or know a lot about it. If it helps you, that's all that matters.

My thoughts on medication

"All the commercials on TV today are for antidepressants, for Prozac or Paxil. And they get you right away. "Are you sad? Do you get stressed, do you have anxiety?" "Yes, I have all those things! I'm alive!"- Ellen DeGeneres

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I used to be extremely anti-medication to treat depression. That's just the way it was in my house, and the way we were led to believe that taking medication for depression or anxiety would alter your personality, or numb your feelings to the point of living in a zombie-like state. 

A large part of what turned me off from the idea of taking medication, was that it was the first 'solution' offered to help me with my depression.

I was eight years old when my doctor first recommended a prescription. I don't remember exactly what the medication was. My parents had just announced their divorce, and my dad would be moving out of the family house. 

Of course I'm depressed, I thought. My dad is leaving!

As I got more and more passionate about writing, I wanted to stew in the pain that I was feeling. I can use this, I told myself. I'm sure there's other kids who are feeling like me, who feel they are alone in receiving this news. When you're a kid and your parents announce they're splitting, you feel like that is the end; like you will never be part of a family again and that's it. Things don't look hopeful. Add in some messy components, with the transition of starting middle school soon, it's naturally a very turbulent time.

Most of all, I didn't want to feel like I wasn't normal, like I had to depend on a little white pill in order to feel alive. Why couldn't I just be alive? At the time, I was hiding the fact that I was going to therapy from my friends. If they had asked what I was doing after school, I would just say that I had plans with my mom. I couldn't fathom my friends finding out I had to go to therapy, let alone take a pill for my happiness. When you're a kid, you worry about these things, how people perceive you. 

My mom thought I was much too young to go on medication, she didn't want me to have to rely on a pill, and she thought that as my body adjusted to it, I would have to take more and more to get the same affect. We had no real experience in the side affects of antidepressants, because people around us just didn't talk about it.

Having been diagnosed with depression from such a young age, I have tried every natural remedy there is. I incorporated tea into my diet, I was already vegetarian and regularly consumed large quantities of fruits and vegetables, I minimized processed foods, I exercised more than anyone I knew, I did yoga, meditation, I listened to calming music. But as soon as the activity was over, the sadness was still there, roaring like a wildfire. 

The thing about depression, my therapist told me one day, is the more you try to conquer it naturally, the more likely it is to come back, and the more severe it will be when it does, and the less time you will have between bouts. 

I was told this during my freshman year of college. I was having an extremely hard time being away from home for the first time and on my own, and had fallen deep back into the throes of my depression. I had a hard time getting up to shower, I didn't enjoy going to work, or exercising. Nothing seemed exciting to me. Life had begun to feel like a chore. 

I told the therapist my concerns, and fear of side affects. I was very in-tune with any changes to my body and how I was feeling, having managed my depression naturally for so long. But, she was persistent. And I agreed to try the lowest dose of Lexapro. 

The doctor warned me to give it some time for my body to adjust, but to take note of any adverse side affects I was experiencing. 

The first night, I woke up in the middle of the night with itchy skin. I felt like my arms and my back were burning. I walked to the sink and rubbed water up and down my arms and splashed it onto my back. 

The next day, I told the therapist it wasn't for me. 

She insisted that maybe that specific type wasn't the right fit, but to try another. 

I insisted my ability to conquer it on my own was greater than whatever concoction was inside that pill.

I didn't try another medication until the summer after my sophomore year of college. I was staying in my hometown for a few weeks, and my surroundings again were pretty new having not spent a long amount of time there in a few years.

I went to my family doctor and told him about the anxiety I was experiencing. Even in places I used to feel comfortable and with people I used to feel comfortable around, suddenly I'd become overwhelmed with anxiety.

My depression was not new, I had become more adept to dealing with it, but the constant bouts were causing me to lose hope of ever shaking it 'naturally'.

My doctor prescribed me a fairly large dose of Prozac. I was not hopeful, but I felt desperate to give anything a shot at feeling normal and comfortable again inside my own body. I would give it a longer shot for the side affects to wear off and even out.

About two or three weeks on the medicine, it was the first time I ever truly contemplated suicide.

I remember first losing track of time. I was laying in my bed with no motivation to get up, just staring at the wall. I felt hopeless that my life would always look like this and it would always be an up and down battle of bout between feeling sort of 'OK' and feeling restrained to my bed, buried by my depression.

After becoming afraid of the thoughts the medicine produced in terms of wanting to take my own life, I called my doctor and immediately went off the medicine. I decided it was just something that didn't seem to work for me.

I did fairly well managing my depression through a combination of writing, drinking tea, limiting alcohol intake, and exercising regularly.

However, my depression resurfaced during my senior year of college in a way that I did not recognize.

Suddenly, it became hard to eat. I felt like physically I could not sit down and eat a meal. I was too sad to take the time to slow down and have that time for myself. I became afraid of the food that I knew would properly nourish my busy days. I was scared of what would keep me alive.

In September of 2016, I was admitted to ICU for the second time with severe depression and anorexia. My heart rate was in the high 30s, and I signed a 'DNR' because I did not want to live anymore.

My doctors had asked me if I wanted to speak with a therapist, but I declined. I didn't think there was any way that they could help me. Just like the doctors had done, I had wrote myself off as being a lost cause. They recommended trying an antidepressant or an anti anxiety medicine, but I declined, because of how my body had reacted in the past.

Eventually, it became so overwhelming, where I was not able to properly take in food, or concentrate long enough to hold a full conversation, that I turned the corner and was willing to try anything one more time to give me a shot at life.

My doctors started me on a low dose of antidepressants, one I have never tried or heard of before. I had told them my previous history with medication, and she told me she had a high success rate for this one. I felt hopeful and trusted her.

Two days after I started the medication, I felt like a cloud was lifted from my thoughts. Things had turned from a dark shade of gray to a mild one. I was able to sit up in my bed and greet my mom. I was able to focus on our conversation and I felt like I wanted to talk. I wanted the company. Things were going in the right direction.

The medicine had helped me get my will back and slowly I began to care less about the food I was putting in my body. My brain was no longer rejecting it for whatever reason it could come up with to avoid the food. My brain wasn't preventing my life source.

I've been on the same medication now for over two years, and sometimes I am in awe of how my life looks like today. Having dealt with depression for so long, I didn't think it was possible for me to feel genuine happiness and feel comfortable in my own skin and my body. I think back to these low times and I feel grateful for those people that did not let me give up.

I have people ask me how I managed to get my depression under control, like there is a one-size-fits-all approach. Believe me, I know how disheartening it can be to feel like there is no hope. I know how frustrating it can be to try natural approach after natural approach and not see the results that you had hoped for. I know how scary it can be to try a medication that you have an adverse reaction to, or does not work well enough for you.

Treatment is a lot, a lot of trial and error. And ultimately, patience. First, decide what you want as a treatment approach is a very personal thing. If you believe your specific instance may require and benefit from medication, do your research and talk to your doctor. In talking to a doctor, I would question any doctor who jumps to prescribe you medicine before fully understanding your diagnosis and your situation. Are you in a particular time of stress? (moving, break up, loss of a family member, starting school, etc.) These may not require medication, but could benefit from journaling, or eating more fruits and vegetables, moving your body with exercise, talk therapy, etc.

I would recommend keeping a journal throughout your treatment to document how your mood changes with each treatment approach. This is the best way to find out what works for you and what didn't, and go back to the drawing board.

Remember: what works for one person will not work for everyone. Some people will benefit from a low dose of medication, and others may need a higher dose of a different medication.