Essay Link Copied 02.06.25

7 Distractions That Make My Winter Anxiety More Bearable

Behold, Jake Shane’s guide to escapism. ByJake Shane

As the days grow shorter and the air becomes sharper, it’s only natural for many of us to feel mentally taxed. At least, I’ve always struggled with staying inside and slowing down in the winter. As someone with extreme anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), I often ruminate on negative thoughts and let my anxiety win when I have too much time to think. 

It’s strange because, even when things begin to go well for me, winter somehow brings this sense of catastrophe I can’t escape. I begin to feel uncomfortable in my body, and all I want to do is sleep. It must be the cold air that begs me not to move my body, bringing me back to that sense of insecurity I had in high school.

While I take medication for my mental health symptoms, there’s only so much big pharma can do to save me from The Dark Ages (see: November through March). That’s why, over the years, I’ve come up with a few reliable ways to get relief from the negativity—or at least channel it into something else. 

Winter is always tough, but 2025 has been tougher than usual. So, if you’re in need of a little assist, feel free to borrow one of my strategies for coping. As with everything, this winter too will pass.

Throw yourself into a TV show.

It’s funny because I actually don’t know if bingeing a show and rotting on your couch is the healthiest way to go about seasonal depression. But, hey, if it works, it works. And, for me, it fucking works. 

When I find a TV show I love—especially in the winter—I completely immerse myself in that world. Last year, it was Girls. In case you missed it, the show follows four young women navigating their 20s in Brooklyn, New York. Between seasons one and six, I completely became the show. Even if it was just for brief 30-minute interludes, I forgot about the wallowing depression I was accustomed to during most Decembers. 

A few years back, my winter show was the German science fiction series called Dark (on Netflix).  I don’t even know how to explain the plot or why it was so incredible, but just please trust me and watch it. I would talk to an inanimate object about this show.

It’s not every year that a show becomes my personality. We can only be so lucky. But trying to find my next TV obsession has started to feel like playing the lottery this time of year. When I find one I like, and it has multiple seasons, it’s an adrenaline rush. 

Listen to a comfort album.

Ever since I was a kid, I always found solace in music. Though it wasn’t until the Covid winter of 2021 that music changed how I existed—especially amid my winter blues. Back then, I started walking and listening to Taylor Swift’s evermore album front to back. I learned that immersing myself in one of my favorite albums was a simple way to add more predictability to the darker months. I didn’t know what would happen to me tomorrow (anxiety fuel), but I knew that after “gold rush” came “‘tis the damn season.” That was more than enough. 

When you know an album from front to back you know that for the next however many minutes, you are transporting into another world entirely. Unlike a new show, in this one, you know what has happened, what is happening, and what’s next. That’s very soothing.

I’ve spent a lot of this winter thinking about how lonely I am (sorry), and immersing myself in one of my favorite albums (Ryan Beatty’s 2023 masterpiece, Calico) helps me pretend I am not. It’s an escape, even for a second.

If you’re looking for options, I’d suggest starting with Taylor Swift. I don’t even know if I need to explain why, but I will. Listening to Taylor’s work is like sitting in English class all over again—and I mean that in the best way possible. With 10 albums and 20 years of pure musical history, there’s always a line you’re missing or a melody you haven’t nuzzled your brain into yet.  

Also, being part of the Swifties is really fun. It’s a community full of easter eggs, which are always a joy to speculate on—even if they’re never correct.

Move your body.

I struggle with how I view my body, and I always have. In years past, my body dysmorphia grew so intense during the winter months that I could barely get out of bed—let alone work out. It got to the point where I was uncomfortable moving at all because I hated my body so much.

And I used to scoff at people who said working out was like medicine. I didn’t get it. However, I’ve since learned never to underestimate the power of moving my body. 

This year specifically, I’ve continued my warm-weather streak of working out. Without fail, every single time I do it, I feel better than before I started. Even if it’s just a walk. I’m grateful to myself for that. 

Become a cinephile.

With the Oscars coming in at the end of winter (March!), there’s no better time to catch up on movies. More specifically, the movies that made noise this past year. Similar to throwing yourself into a television show, movies provide a space to lose yourself—with much less commitment. 

Because one of my goals for 2025 is to be an intellectual, I like to watch these films as if I’m back in school, analyzing the details and hidden meanings. Again, it feels like I’m back in English class. 

Maybe you’re noticing a theme here. I think I always loved English class because, despite the weather, I could escape into art. Analyzing literature and media allowed me to enter worlds that were not my own. I could leave my body for a short while.  Plus, if I’m feeling outgoing, I can hop on Letterboxd, a social media platform for people to talk about movies with fellow cinephiles. That’s always enjoyable.

For example, I watched Anora the other night and have hyperfixated so much that Anora has become my entire personality. I’ve decided that I will personally fund Mikey Madison’s campaign for Best Actress at the Oscars. Is this productive at all? Probably not. Am I thinking about my looming depression over these next few months? Also no. 

Cook something.

As someone who has struggled with debilitating anxiety since I was young, cooking always provided a sense of relief. I was still anxious, but in a different way. I wasn’t anxious about my friends leaving me or my family getting sick, I was anxious about burning the chicken. Weirdly, this kind of anxiety made me feel better. While I’m cooking, I follow a recipe and finish with a satisfying result. 

If you can’t cook though, watch The Bear on Hulu. You’ll get that same anxious-about-cooking-and-nothing-else feeling without the mess. 

Sleep.

OK, it’s easy to overdo this one—and I do. But when the winter blues hit hard, just fucking sleep. Going to bed is one of the best feelings in the entire world, well, until my anxieties infiltrate my dreams. Still, when I wake up, I automatically feel better.  

What feels better than sleep at night? A fucking nap during the day. Pop a squat on the couch, put on the TV, put away your phone, and close your eyes. Waking up and realizing you fast-forwarded through an otherwise long day is another great feeling in the Dark Times.

Also, don’t feel bad about it. When you wake up, you’ll be refreshed and a few steps closer to warmer days. While it’s not the healthiest coping mechanism, sometimes it’s the only thing that works. 

Find gratitude.

This one seems hard, and it is. However, sometimes life forces you to do it. When I was in Los Angeles during the wildfires, I was in my normal selfish winter routine, and I was forced to look outward. While I had to evacuate, my house and loved ones were safe. I was grateful—a feeling I often forget to seek out.

This year I learned that practicing gratitude, no matter the situation, is always a grounding exercise. It’s one that helps us remember that, even at rock bottom, there’s something to love. 

The post 7 Distractions That Make My Winter Anxiety More Bearable appeared first on Wondermind.

Essay Link Copied 01.31.25

How to Care for Yourself in the Waiting

There will always be a part of you that reaches toward what might one day be. ByBrianna Wiest

If you think back to the moments you feel most nostalgic about, most sunken-hearted to realize have passed, you will often find that they are not the milestone moments that summed up that chapter in your life, but the quiet hours that actually defined it.

Your favorite song, and how it sounded, and where it brings you to listen to those verses again. The little routines you established for yourself. The little corners of the world that temporarily became home, and the people there with you. The ones you found joy with in the empty hours, in the smallest and most unsuspecting ways. That is the essence of what would ultimately define that era of your life, that made life actually feel lived.

It is easy to get trapped inside the illusion of constant forward-thinking.

To think that if our eyes do not remain fixed on the horizon at all times, we will never go anywhere. To an extent, that is true. But what is also true is that if we only think of our lives as a series of things we’re trying to get to, and then periods we have to endure in order to arrive there, we often come to find that the majority of our days are overshadowed by a kind of emptiness we can’t always describe or understand.

We look to those benchmark moments—going back to school, landing the job, stumbling upon someone we come to care about in so many different ways—often as a way of escaping discomfort. The kind of discomfort that has little to do with the fact that we are still in-between where we have been and where we are going, but is actually an unmovable part of being human. The kind of discomfort we have to refine our attention to embrace and then become discerning about.

There will always be something to worry about, something that is undone or unfinished.

There will always be something that is not quite yet, or not all there, or close but not close enough. There will always be something within that realm because there will always be a part of you that is open and hungry and ready for more. There will always be a part of you that reaches toward what might one day be.

But you cannot allow it to eclipse the part of you that sometimes doesn’t realize you’ve landed in the things you were once reaching for.

If we do not gradually train ourselves to notice, to pay attention, to carve out spaces where we nestle ourselves into our lives just as they are, and make them feel like home, we spend eternity on a trajectory that allows us to postpone not only our joy, but also, our inner work. Our reconciliation with ourselves. If we are only just waiting for the next big thing to fall into place to put our shoulders down, we are probably also waiting until that point to clean up the aspects of our lives that most need our attention.

The waiting periods of our lives are not only to be dealt with, but they are also to be embraced.

Within them, the most beautiful things of all often emerge.

This is the time life has given you to self-invest. This is the time life has given you to be alone, and when you get to be alone, you get to experience who you really are. You get to hear the sound of your own voice, the pull and push of your own intuition, your own opinion, your own truth. Unaltered from how you think you must be for others, in the very times when you think you have been abandoned, you have often been given the gift to be set free. This is the time life has given you to decide what version of you is going to meet that future you’re waiting for when it eventually, and inevitably, arrives. 

This is the time when you’re going to define the depth of your bandwidth, of your ability to receive and hold and be. If you don’t practice on the small things, when the big things arrive, they never fully reach you. They never completely land. This is because you were never really waiting on one more thing to come into the picture to feel at peace. You were waiting on your own readiness, your own capacity to notice a good thing when it’s there, and before it’s gone.

The point is that the waiting period is also the landing plane of a past waiting period you never thought you’d get through, you feared would never come. The point is that the waiting period is also the place where the most unexpected and beautiful aspects of your story can and will unfold. The point is that you don’t know what you don’t know. 

Very few of us actually make it through all of our years and discover the timeline unfolded in perfect accordance with our initial expectations of it. None of us, in fact. But therein lies the magic. Because in the space where you weren’t given what you wanted, you were handed what you needed. In the time you were given before the next thing came, you grew. You expanded. You changed. And if you use that time to become a version of yourself that is more authentic, the things you will find yourself reaching for will change as well.

You must have enough resolve to know you’re not unconsciously going through the dance of life and getting judged and graded upon your performance.

You’re engineering something that’s never existed before, because no being exactly like you has ever been here before or will ever be again. Within this instant, and within you, there is something that can be uncovered, and you may never have the exact same opportunity to do so again.

Will you meet this moment with your full chest?

The post How to Care for Yourself in the Waiting appeared first on Wondermind.

Essay Link Copied 12.09.24

I’ll Be Sober for Christmas

This is how I do the holidays without drinking and have a better time than ever. ByWill Ganss

Let me start by saying that I really love the holiday season. We’re talking Mariah-Carey levels of yuletide devotion here. Not that you’re asking, but here are some quick Christmas credentials for you: 

• I have flown across the country to visit the world’s largest ugly Christmas sweater (big enough for the Statue of Liberty to wear). Yes, I climbed inside of it.
• I’ve worn a Buddy the Elf costume atop the Empire State Building.
• I live in a typically tiny New York City apartment, but I’m rocking around two full-sized Christmas trees in my living room this time of the year. 
• I’ve traveled to Santa Claus, Indiana for the sole purpose of telling you that I’ve traveled to Santa Claus, Indiana. 

So I hope you’ll believe me when I say that I thought I had achieved peak Christmas spirit. Like the Claus-o-meter on Santa’s sleigh (See: the last five minutes of Elf), there was simply no way for my world to get more twinkly, more jingly, or more jolly. 

But, ho-ho-hold up. Turns out, I was wrong. A few years ago, I unwrapped the gift of sobriety, put alcohol on the naughty list, and suddenly the entire holiday season hit a new level of tinsel-tinged love-fest, one I assumed only happened to George Bailey on the silver screen. 

But ditching the drink this time of year is no reindeer game. It’s tough work. While most of us can do Dry January, especially after the celebrations have worn us out, the holidays are a fizzy-fueled, boozy, bubbly affair. 

Exhibit A: During my first Thanksgiving home as a sober person, my dad cracked open a gorgeous bottle of wine and hosted a mini-tasting at the dinner table. My newly sober fingers gripped a can of LaCroix with the intensity of the Grinch lugging all of the Christmas crap up Mount Crumpit. And yet, I made it through that dinner… and several holiday seasons since.

In my opinion, sobriety during the holidays is a lot like the end of Home Alone. After planes, pains, and automobile rides with the Polka King of the Midwest, there’s nothing like returning home to yourself, to your family, and to the season that makes life a little more sparkly. Sure, there’s always a Wet Bandit or two ready to throw you off, but with enough preparation, you’ll defend your sobriety the way Kevin has the McAllister house on lockdown (no swinging paint cans required).

Here are the biggest lessons I’ve learned about spending the holidays sober. Please enjoy this list, I’ve checked it twice.

1. Being sober helps me focus on the good stuff.

I understand why drinking this time of the year escalates. We’re feeling festive, we’re feeling flirty, we’re blunting the painfully awkward small talk with extended family, the list could go on forever. 

But in sobriety, I’ve learned I can experience all the best parts of the season more fully: the closeness to family and friends, the ability to express my love for them, the peace of cold winter nights I crave all year long, the levity of an ugly sweater party without crushing hangxiety. The nostalgia of all this, which meant so much to me as a kid, feels like a gift in itself. 

Don’t get me wrong. Deleting the alcohol also means raw dogging all the tough parts too. There’s no trap door to exit an awkward conversation with your uncle. There’s no numbing the feeling of grief that pops up when you take stock of the loved ones who are no longer with us around the holidays. But when there’s nothing between you and the magic of the season, you’re bound to feel so much more of the good stuff too.

2. Nonalcoholic liquid courage gets the job done.

OK, this might be obvious, but if I’m going to a work holiday party, a college friend’s ugly sweater get-together, or whatever, keeping a beverage in my hand at all times throughout the event serves many purposes.

Sure, an emotional support bevvie whilst sober keeps people from asking if I need a drink. But it has other secret powers, especially at a holiday shindig. You can take a sip when there’s a lull in the conversation or use it as an excuse to leave a boring one (“I’m gonna go get a refill!”). You can use it for toasts and holiday hear-hearing. You’ll feel included, ready to participate in festivities, and less physically awkward (“I don’t know what to do with my hands!”). What can’t she do?

3. There’s always a vibe shift.

There’s that moment in every holiday party when the vibe shifts. It’s usually subtle. Someone starts repeating a story they told you an hour ago. Someone’s hand lingers a little too long after a hug. Someone else starts crying. That’s when I make like Kevin McAllister and go Home Alone. 

The holidays are already an exhausting season, and our shiny, sober selves don’t need the added strain of witnessing Deb from accounting barf up eggnog at the holiday party. When I get the sense that things are taking a turn, here are my excuses to jet:

• I’m taking photos for my holiday card tomorrow, and I want to look fresh.
• I’m volunteering in the morning, so I gotta appear charitable and fresh-faced bright and early.
• Family is coming into town—and I don’t want to host them hungover.
• I’m a grown man, and I don’t need to explain myself to you, Ted. 

4. No party is more important than my mental and physical health.

As someone who spent a majority of my late 20s and early 30s single, I have felt especially uncomfortable in rooms where everyone else is coupled up. Those feelings of insecurity can easily turn into whispers of, Grab a drink. It’ll help relax you. Those were the parties I skipped—even the holiday ones.

Doing holiday events in an election year is also triggering. For example, I have extended family members who are on the opposite side of the political spectrum from me. While some of them can delicately acknowledge that, others cannot. Over the last couple of years, I’ve learned that it’s not worth risking my sobriety for a gift exchange with relatives who want to convince me that my views about my own humanity are incorrect. Instead, I send my regrets and a lovely basket of peppermint bark. 

My takeaway here is that not everyone deserves access to me—especially if they’re going to jeopardize this commitment I’ve made to my health this holiday season. To quote the Grinch, “6:30. Dinner with me. I can’t cancel that again!”

5. Non-drinking activities create nostalgic memories.

Traditionally, the holidays are a time to sit around, yap, and drink. So I have found that planning activities that don’t revolve around drinking is a great way to start new traditions that make me feel nostalgic for years to come. 

Last year, my parents, brother, and I did an escape room together over the winter break, and we still talk about the fun we had. There’s another tradition we’ve incorporated called The Peppermint Pig. We buy a pig literally made of peppermint about the size of a TV remote, and take turns sharing a favorite memory of the year gone by. After that, we take a tiny hammer and crack the pig. Once we’re all caught up on the moments that meant the most to us over the last year, we’ve got bite-sized pieces of peppermint to share. We’ve also become partial to games like Loaded Questions, Code Names, or card games like Five Crowns and Pass The Trash. 

Since getting sober, I was surprised at how rewarding it is to spend time with my family outside of just drinking and yapping. Because this time of year is steeped in tradition, it’s lovely to look back at photos and remind myself of all the fun we had and all the special memories we created that have nothing to do with booze. For me, it’s comparable to reflecting on my childhood Christmases, but even more gratifying because I had a hand in making these memories happen. 

6. Releasing the relationships that aren’t working is a gift to myself.

I assumed that, when I stopped drinking, each of my friendships, relationships, and acquaintanceships would magically improve without the blurred lines that come with a couple vodka cranberries. And my good friendships did level up. I was able to show up as a better friend, son, brother, boyfriend, whatever. But those wobbly relationships, especially the ones centered on drinking together, sort of faded. 

This time of year, embracing that fact can feel like a big relief. It clears space on my social calendar and makes room for people who are aligned with my values now. You don’t realize how stressful a forced friendship is until you let it go. 

7. I’m so proud of everyone else on this journey too.

As we settle into my very favorite season of the year, here’s to you, my sweet, sober snowman or snowwoman. Reach out to a fellow non-drinker if you have any questions or need any support. Whatever your reason for taking a little break (or a forever break) from drinking, I’m proud of you for deciding to upgrade your life in this way. You can do it!

The post I’ll Be Sober for Christmas appeared first on Wondermind.

Essay Link Copied 10.18.24

Adult Playdates Are the Secret to Happiness

Here's how it changed my friendships—and my life—for the better. ByJemma Sbeg

When was the last time you felt completely happy and carefree? A year ago when I tried to answer this question, I couldn’t even remember. 

Surely there had to be something? As I ran through my recent memories, I encountered a scary realization: The only time I ever saw my friends was when we were grabbing dinner or drinking. Sure, there was the occasional movie or picnic, but it felt like the space for play and being unproductively social within my adult friendships had been filled up by more pressing things. 

I have the fondest memories of growing up in Queensland, Australia. I think about running down to the creek bed with my cousins to make mud patties, playing tag through the bush in my grandparents backyard with my friends, the treehouse where we would play house and take turns pretending to come home from work. The hours would swim past us without a single thought in our brains other than, Must have more fun. It was delightful. 

There is this developmental and social shift that occurs when we enter life stages that are no longer effortlessly social. Maybe it was when you became a teenager and “playing” morphed into “hanging out.” Or maybe it hit in your early 20s, when life became restricted by responsibilities. As we grow up, we get busier, burned out, and stressed.

At least, that was my experience. Up until recently, my adult friendships had become the social equivalent of a microwave meal: convenient, minimal effort, and satisfying enough. They lacked the depth and nourishment of true connection.

Even though I was efficiently checking my friendship to-do list, I was lonely. I’d see a friend a couple times a week, check in via text or DM, and grab dinner once a fortnight. Still, I wasn’t having the kind of meaningful experiences that make lifelong memories. Most of our time together was centred on crossing the catch up off of our agenda.

So I decided to do an experiment. For two weeks, there would be no dinners, no drinks, no hangouts watching TV—only adult playdates. The activities would have to be something we could do together. It had to be A) fun, B) unproductive, C) engaging, and D) require some mental commitment. The fine print: The playdate could not involve alcohol, it could not be described as a chore (like running errands together), and it could not be something we would be doing otherwise (like going to the gym). 

So I made a list of 15 things I loved doing with my friends as a child. That included playing tag, making bracelets, Legos, Wii sports, going to the trampoline park, tennis, playing in the ocean, baking, game nights, and scavenger hunts. 

Notably, these did need some modernizing and maturing. If I invited my friends to come play mermaids on a Wednesday night after they’d worked a 12-hour shift in the intensive care unit or had been in court all day, they would not be enticed. So, I tweaked my bucket list of activities to be less time and energy consuming—then I started reaching out. 

While my guidelines were clear, I didn’t call it a playdate out loud. There was a part of this that felt embarrassing, and I didn’t want any awkwardness to overshadow the point of pointless fun. 

I began with my friend Steph. I asked if she wanted to go to the zoo on Saturday instead of doing drinks. She said yes! The next week, I invited my friends Kate and Phoebe to stay in on a Saturday and make clay figurines while watching childhood movies. Then, rather than going out for dinner, I did a Lego set with my boyfriend.

The list goes on: I hosted a big game night with some of my closest friends. I played tag with my adult cousins who were visiting. I planned long group hikes without our phones. Those two weeks of exploring, imagining, creating, and, of course, playing went fast.

But I did encounter some snags in my grand plan to transform my friendships and to not feel lonely. There were certain people I didn’t feel comfortable asking to play in this way: work friends, new friends, acquaintances. Maybe it’s just me, but I needed a level of pre-existing intimacy for this kind of interaction to work its magic. Playdates based on a joint fun activity just went more smoothly with people I already knew well and trusted. 

There were still a few people who looked at me a bit funny. I could tell they were thinking, You want to do what with me? But, even with those moments of awkwardness, dedicating off-hours time to group play enabled me to recapture the joy that comes from pointless fun with friends. 

If this particular brand of happiness sounds like something that’s missing in your life, here are a few reasons why I think you should add more playdates to your calendar. 

It makes mindfulness more fun.

Being playful put me in touch with a part of myself I’d forgotten, the part of me that was allowed to detach and just be present. I found myself locked in a flow state, consumed by the activity and my friends’ company, not noticing the hours go by. 

The activities also unlocked more of my senses. There were new sights, new smells, and new sensations. I was using my hands in ways other than typing at a computer. And I felt so present molding something out of clay, building things, painting, being in nature, and laughing and talking with friends.  

Yes, play can seem like a waste of time, silly, or unproductive. But that’s the whole point. So much about our adult lives is outcome oriented. Riding your bike to get somewhere, cooking to feed yourself, grabbing drinks with coworkers to network. But play is a way of deliberately bringing about joy, without that joy being attached to some specific goal. It’s fun for the sake of fun.

What’s more human than doing something for pure pleasure and enjoyment, alongside those we care about? 

It’s made me rethink what friendship looks like.

I have fun, sacred memories of running around as a child, playing with friends and family. But I was also incredibly isolated as a kid. I experienced bullying for a lot of my childhood, ate lunch in the library, would wander around the playground looking for someone to play with and hoping no one noticed how lonely I looked. 

There was a group of girls I desperately wanted to be friends with. They played Harry Potter at lunchtime, but they would only invite me to be Voldemort, the villain, and to chase them around. They would steal my bag, hide my lunch, and exclude me. 

I still remember how much that stung. As an adult, that experience left me terrified of being ostracised. So I’d pack my schedule with plans every night I could. I collected friends like prizes because I thought it would protect me. In that process, I forgot that the quality of our friends and the time we spend with them matters too.

By embracing play in adulthood, I feel like I’ve healed that childhood version of me. I let her be seen, slow down, connect, and have the experiences that were out of reach. Because of that, I could stop panicking about the state of my relationships, quit collecting, and just be. 

Play brought me outside.

When I started organizing adult playdates, those activities took place outdoors in nature more often than not. It sounds so silly but sometimes the secret to happiness is just reminding yourself of things you’ve known all along, like that spending time outside feels good! I could think more clearly and I felt less anxious at the end of the day. It also seemed like I had more hours in my week because I was changing up my environment all the time. 

Being out in the fresh air had an incredibly positive impact on my mental health. It got me excited to be active with my friends, rather than scrolling alone and sending my friends funny TikToks. 

It’s deepened my friendships.

Suggesting activities rather than just catch ups or coffee became the new status quo for me and my friends—and it changed our relationships for the better. One day I was sitting at the beach with my friend Kate, who I’ve known since I was 17. We were playing a card game after swimming in the ocean, sharing stories back and forth that neither of us had heard before. I looked at her and realized that, in all this time, we’d never gotten this deep. We were sharing core memories, foundational parts of who we were. Because we were spending time in an imaginative, creative, and active way, it got us thinking outside the box. It resurfaced old memories, as if our brains were suddenly flooded with a new energy that re-enlightened old parts of ourselves. 

Suddenly, my friendships took on a whole new color. There was more laughter, vulnerability, intimacy, and more connection. Who would have thought that after all this time, playing with friends had created the adult friendships I’d always dreamed of?

The post Adult Playdates Are the Secret to Happiness appeared first on Wondermind.

Essay Link Copied 10.11.24

How Coming Out Changed My Relationship With My Body

TikTok creator and host of the Made It Out podcast Mal Glowenke explains the ripple effect of being true to herself. ByMal Glowenke

I’ve known since I was very little that I take zero interest in boys. I always married the girls during our neighborhood play pretend wedding ceremonies, and it wasn’t until I moved to Texas in the second grade that I started to feel like that was wrong.

My gayness, an affront to the heteronormative, Christian lifestyle in the sheltered Texas suburbia I grew up in, never had a fighting chance. I couldn’t even consider what I thought my sexual identity to be before survival instinct unconsciously took over. In a culture that didn’t embrace individuality, conformity became my hard wiring. 

I wondered, If who I am isn’t correct, then what is? I desperately searched outside myself to find my identity. What I discovered was the perfect storm of “traditional family values” and ’90s diet culture. It became obvious to me that the person I should become was a pretty, skinny blonde who married an average man and became a mother by 25. 

In hindsight it’s easy to see how I allowed my childhood bubble to influence my whole identity. It grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me to turn my back on the beautiful, wide open, rainbow road I was destined to be cruising down.

Unfortunately, denying my queerness led to a cascade of self-suppression and self-destruction—and my body bore the brunt of it.

Fighting my identity

As I set out to become that perfect straight woman, actively denying who I really was created endless internal conflict. That struggle, fueled by an environment focused on diet and exercise, led to what I now understand as binge eating disorder.

Around the age of 15, I was trapped in a vicious cycle with food, desperate for something to control. I’d go to the drive through, order enough to justify my last “bad” meal, and vow to count every calorie from then on. I’d restrict myself to certain foods for weeks before breaking down. That turned into another binge and the cycle would begin again. 

In an attempt to break the pattern, I turned to amphetamines and became enamored with the pills that helped me restrict. Over time, I developed a dependence that would last well into my twenties. 

In my late teens and early twenties, I leaned deeper into the promise that happiness would come after I had the perfect body, a man, and a white picket fence. While I was still obsessed with becoming smaller, I started to orient my appearance to the male gaze. Studying what turned a man on or away became my obsession. I was sure that once I looked the way straight men wanted to see me, everything would be fixed. I would never have to deal with my feelings toward women or feel unsatisfied with my life.

Of course, my preoccupation with appeasing the male gaze just encouraged more dissatisfaction with my appearance. By 23, I began taking more drastic measures, ushering in my elective surgery era. One quick google search had me booking a breast augmentation.

I arrived on the day of surgery to meet the doctor for the first time (do not do this) and chose an implant size moments before going under. I went into surgery as a B cup and woke up a DDD. The perceived ease at which this changed my body and people’s view of it had me craving more. It wasn’t long before I received liposuction on almost every major area of my body and underwent a Brazilian Butt Lift. 

I dressed my new body in tight dresses and high heels and chased man after man. I hoped they’d be the one to complete the misguided picture I’d attempted to paint for years. 

At that time, I never considered that being a lesbian was an option. Despite the fact that I kissed girls in bars, fantasized about them, and even secretly met up with other curious women from the internet to experiment with, I still bought into the promise of heteronormativity. 

Hitting my breaking point

Around the age of 25, my body began signaling a misalignment, manifesting symptoms that demanded attention no matter how long I ran from them. When I tried to ignore or silence them, they only got louder. The surgeries were catching up to me, causing numbness all over my body and complete loss of sensation in my nipples, and the pressure from my implants began to impact my breathing. 

My mental health was also in decline. My relationship to food was worse than it had ever been before. And I found myself scrolling through dating apps for countless hours, matching and chatting with men for small hits of validation. 

My dad has instilled in me that when something isn’t working, you need to make a change. The shift can be big or small, but the goal is “pattern interruption,” as he calls it. So, at 25, I decided it was time to pack up my entire life and move to Los Angeles on what most would call a whim. 

Within weeks of being in my new city, I learned that there’s something undeniably liberating about starting anew in a place where you’re a complete stranger. It felt like shedding my skin, leaving the baggage of the past behind and stepping into a world of possibility. I got the sense that this was a unique opportunity to become the person I’ve always wanted to be. 

The first thing I did upon settling in LA was add women as an option to my dating apps. I hoped to find another secret hookup, but I wound up on a seven-hour date with a lesbian. That night, I felt more seen and understood than I had my entire life. Being around someone who identified as an out lesbian made me realize that it was a real possibility for me. It was the first time I even considered it.

This is what I now refer to as my “gay panic” moment. I was shocked to realize there was no turning back. I am gay, and I always have been. 

Even though this moment brought so much relief and excitement for the future it also brought the fear of leaving everything I had ever thought to be right behind. This was the beginning of an unraveling.   

Making amends with my body

Being able to enjoy sex with a woman openly and freely was daunting after hiding my desires for 27 years. Surrendering to something that was labeled wrong or shameful by the heteronormative, conservative, relgious community I was raised in went against my instincts. But once I gave in, that was it. 

Part of that was because sex finally made sense to me. After years of listening to women talk about it and never relating to a word, I finally understood. When I slept with a woman, I felt real pleasure for the first time. It was uninhibited and guilt-free pleasure. 

That experience opened me up to a world of possibility. What else had I been denying myself based on other people’s expectations and religious standards I never agreed with? 

Coming out and living authentically gave me a deeper understanding of just how much I’d done to my body out of obligation and validation seeking. I was so caught up in pleasing others and attempting to meet their criteria, I never felt the agency to say no to them or yes to myself. Instead of giving my body what it wanted or needed, I chased an idealized, hetero version of me that made everyone else happy. 

That self-sacrifice made it easy for my disordered eating to take over. It also made impulsively altering my body with surgical procedures a no-brainer. Conformity trumped authenticity at every turn. 

But, ultimately, embracing my sexuality was the catalyst to radically accepting every part of myself. It quieted the noise telling me to change, making it easier to hear my own desires. That gave me the clarity to finally address my disordered eating and find internal sources of self-worth.

I started by mourning how I’d treated my body up to this point. I sat with my anger, sorrow, and regret and gained a deeper understanding of what parts of myself were truly important to me. Turns out, being pretty, blonde, and skinny weren’t actually at the top of my list. 

Letting go of those standards helped loosen my need for control over what I ate. Before I came out, I thought having the perfect body (and a man and suburban Texas life) would lead to happiness. But when I let that idea go, my mindset shifted. I didn’t feel compelled to punish my body in the pursuit of an ideal I no longer subscribed to. While it wasn’t an instant fix for my disordered eating, it kicked off a healing process that eventually led me to talk to my therapist about my relationship with food and my body.

I also underwent explant surgery two years after coming out. It became obvious that the alterations I made to my body were the last piece of my straight identity I needed to shed to fully move on. Afterward, a literal and figurative weight was lifted off of my chest. 

Coming out has been the single most profound thing I have ever experienced. It has helped me restore my relationship to myself, teaching me to rely on my inner knowing and forgive my missteps. Overall, being true to myself has forced me out of deep neglect and disconnection into a life centered on self-love. 

But queer people aren’t the only ones who can come back home to themselves. I encourage anyone to think about what aspects of yourself you’ve been denying or neglecting. When you’re ready, lean into the parts you’ve been trying to hide from. Own them, embrace them in broad daylight, shout them from the rooftops. Find your own rainbow road and take the next exit onto it.

The post How Coming Out Changed My Relationship With My Body appeared first on Wondermind.

Essay Link Copied 08.21.24

Hosting Dinners Is Healing My Childhood Shame 

It’s never too late to give yourself whatever you’ve missed out on. BySusie Moore

One day I was driving past a friend’s place and texted her to wave through the window at me as I went by. In a matter of seconds, she said, “Come in! I’m making lentil soup!” 

I mean…what? Is everyone so guest-ready? Do you all secretly work at Good Housekeeping or something?

I’ve often wondered if I’m the only one who has felt weird or anxious about having people over. I’ve noticed friends do it with such ease—even last minute—just like *snaps fingers*. A “come over for dinner later?” text seems so casual to them, while I would need days to prepare the meal and my home (nice soap, check!) and, most importantly, my emotions. 

Up until this year, I could never.

Growing up, I lived in a blend of government housing and women’s shelters, which made me different from my friends. 

Women’s shelters are, by nature, safe houses, meaning visitors aren’t allowed. So it was always uncomfortable during a sleepover at their blissfully normal home when a friend asked, “When can I come to your house?” 

In the years we lived in government housing, where visitors were allowed, the I have to hide this part of me sentiment followed. 

I didn’t talk about my home life ever. When my friends spoke about a new bike, puppy, car, or even new pajamas, I’d ask questions to avoid the conversation swerving to me. Luckily, people love talking about themselves! 

My life looked different than my friends. My dad didn’t live with us, we didn’t have a car, pets, or any new stuff. We got by with second-hand sofas and donated school uniforms. (When I pass a church accepting donations these days, I notice my eyes grow wet.) I was ashamed of all that, so I said very little about my existence outside of school, even to my closest childhood friends. 

That meant I almost never invited anyone over. I felt too embarrassed. I was a good student and had a lot of friends, so I preferred to let people assume my home life was just like my school life: fun and normal. Unlike my schoolmates’ houses, which had snacks, breakfast options (options!), and packed pantries, we didn’t have more than we needed. With our limited menu and our humble government housing, I worried that I’d be looked-down upon by my peers. 

Decades passed, I got my own place(s), and I’d occasionally invite friends to come over when I knew I had plenty of time to make my home look as perfect as possible. But then, something curious happened earlier this year. After spending a month traveling, an algorithmic gift arrived at just the right time. While scrolling through Instagram, I saw a video posted by a content creator who invited her 102-year-old neighbor over for a last-minute dinner of leftover pasta with butter. She was embarrassed, calling it the“lowest-on-the-totem-pole” meal she could offer. But declared, “People need people, not perfection!”

At that point I was craving more time at home, and I also wanted to see my people. That was a real predicament for someone (me) who primarily invited friends to go out, not stay in. I don’t know if I was aware of it at the time, but a part of me was still scared to let them fully into my space.

But after watching that video, I realized I had an all-or-nothing mindset. I thought if I had people over, it had to be perfect. If not, I’d risk exposing an “imperfect” area of my life (I’m no Martha Stewart) and risk losing control of how people see me overall. 

That sweet Instagram clip felt like a motivating arrow to my chest. It made me think that I may be missing out. It’s not the most elegant food or setting that nourishes us, it’s presence and warmth. I also felt good knowing that homey influencers, the ones who seemingly live perfectly all the time, sometimes felt self-conscious in the same way I do.

So, over the last several months, I set out to host regular and more impromptu dinners at my apartment in hopes of getting the things younger me always wanted: a feeling of having plenty and the freedom to show my authentic self to the people I love. In the end, I wound up healing the parts of me that wanted to hide. 

Take it from me, if you’ve been putting off a casual gathering you secretly might like to hold, the best way to do it…is to do it. Here are the unexpected ways hosting dinners in my apartment helped heal my childhood shame. 

It made me realize I actually do have enough.

One time at school there was an assignment asking us to name and describe a few items in our garage. Garage? I’ve never had one of those! My mum sent a letter to the teacher saying, “Sorry, we do not have any of this. Susie cannot complete this homework.” 

I became well aware of not having what other people have—or knowing what other people know. Even when I was on my own, I felt ignorant. I kind of leaned into the idea that I’m a “career woman” to explain why I don’t cook, but the real me just felt like I missed out on the adult guide to entertaining. I decided it was better not to let people see I don’t know what I’m doing.

But with my fresh motivation to connect in deeper ways, I immediately texted my friend Adam and his boyfriend to come over for…burgers! And not burgers that I ordered in (past me would do this and then blame the restaurant if anything sucks), I found a recipe and made them myself. 

This one act opened me up in a brand new way. I never viewed myself as a cook or host, but being one that day proved me wrong. I could be those things. 

Through my simple burger flipping and serving, I began to heal the younger version of me who felt ill-equipped to create a nice experience and scared of not knowing how to do something I was never taught.

I discovered that I actually have everything I need. My friends were happy, leaning into their island stools with their beers, sharing their latest news. All of the pressure was in my head. 

Making simple meals, allowing people to see where I spend most of my time, and tucking into my imperfect cheese plate is proof that I do know what I’m doing and have enough to share. There’s nothing like disproving a story you’ve been telling yourself for decades.

I discovered a new level of intimacy. 

When someone sees your space, your art, and your colorful ramekins (from Istanbul, in case you’re wondering), you see more sides of a person than when you only meet in restaurants and bars. My bookshelf, for example, is prominent and packed with self-help titles and the English classics. Nothing reveals your soul more than the literature you read (a 100% scientific fact).

After I started having more casual hangouts at my place, my friends would ask questions or make comments on parts of my life that meant a lot to me. They’d say, “I love seeing where you record your podcast!” (it’s called Let It Be Easy! Check it out here) and “Oh, this French poster is so fun” (I was a nanny in France when I was 18).  This opens a dialogue about my work, what I most care about (self-help and books, if you haven’t guessed), and even my relationship with France. 

I used to think my home was wrong somehow compared to everyone else’s, but having people see it and spend time in it in an unrushed way proves that everything is fine as is. Having the details of my life, personality, and history on display deepen my connections and make me feel seen from different angles.

I always feel closer to a person after having been in their home, don’t you? You can picture them in their kitchen when they’re chatting with you on the phone, making coffee. You’ve met the dog that’s yapping in the background. Maybe you’ve run into the oddball neighbor in the lift that you’ve heard funny stories about. You can know them more fully. 

Now that I’m letting people into the place I feel most like myself, I feel like I’ve peeled back another layer of who I am, allowing my friends to see what makes me me.

It taught me that no one’s judging

I used to go to school with a girl named Stephanie. She had the most beautiful house— a formal dining room, pristine white carpets, a big TV, and endless snacks. I remember thinking, This is what a proper home looks like. It would be way too embarrassing for me to invite someone to my place after they’ve been to Stephanie’s. Fucking Stephanie. 

But hosting dinners is dissolving the fear of comparison for me. I used to think I had to keep up with some invisible standard set by the Stephanies of the world, but I’ve realized that no one’s holding me to it—other than scared, 7-year-old me. 

Through hosting, I soothe her. When friends come over, I’m able to show her that they’re just focused on enjoying the moment. They’re not comparing my place to someone else’s, just like I would never compare my friends’ homes. Would you ever say, “I’m going to Katie’s house, not Claire’s, this weekend because her cutlery’s superior.” I don’t think so! My friends are not critiquing my crockery or judging my charcuterie board. They’re just happy to be with me and have a good time. And you know what? So am I.

Every time I invite someone into my home now, I know they’re not expecting a Pinterest-perfect experience. They’re here for connection, and that’s something I do well. The younger me is healing in new and unexpected ways because I understand that no one is comparing—least of all, my friends.

The post Hosting Dinners Is Healing My Childhood Shame  appeared first on Wondermind.

Essay Link Copied 06.14.24

I’m a Personal Trainer With Millions of Followers and No One Knew I Was Struggling With Disordered Eating

Not even me. ByKelsey Wells

The first thing I became self-conscious of was cellulite. The fact that I hardly had any didn’t matter. That’s the thing about body image or disordered eating struggles—it often has very little to do with what you look like and everything to do with the amount of mental space it takes up. 

That was how my body-related negative self-talk started, but intrusive thoughts about food and my body followed me for most of my adult life. From my college dorm days to my career as a fitness content creator and trainer, scrutinizing my appearance became my default. While the severity ebbed and flowed, the disordered ideas and habits often came back.

After speaking to a therapist and doing my own research, I’ve learned that I was struggling with various forms of disordered eating since freshman year of college. At times, that merged into an actual eating disorder as distorted ideas about my body and food consumed most of my waking thoughts. 

Whether you’re dealing with the same thing or know someone who is, hearing from others who’ve been there might help you feel more hopeful or less alone. With that in mind, here are some of the surprising truths I discovered along this journey and what they taught me about mental health, healing, and my relationship to my body. 

Diet culture is a bitch.

We aren’t born into this life hating our bodies or feeling like we’re not enough. Self-loathing is learned. Growing up, I felt free and confident in my body. I never thought about what I put in my mouth until I overheard some girls criticizing me before a high school dance. 

After that, I became hyper-aware of what I looked like and wanted to become a smaller version of myself. But it wasn’t until college that I acted on those thoughts. Freshman year, there were a ton of changes happening in my life—positive changes like my sister getting engaged, moving out on my own, starting college, and falling madly in love for the first time—but my body couldn’t tell the difference between good and bad changes. It just felt stressed.  

That stress impacted my appetite. I felt sick when I didn’t eat and even worse when I did. After months of this, I lost a significant amount of weight and my parents asked me to see a doctor. I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. That anxiety was what caused my stomach to produce extra acid and triggered severe irritable bowel syndrome. 

When I became smaller, people started commenting, which made me feel good. So, not long after getting a prescription for medicine that made my stomach feel better, I quit taking it. That was the first time I chose disordered eating over my health. 

Commentary on how I looked seriously influenced how I thought about my body, but I can’t completely blame my bullies or friends for the things they said. They were also victims of diet culture and a societal norm that made it OK to judge my body—and their own. We were all under the same influence of restriction. We thought it was normal to hate the way we looked and to be preoccupied with trying to change it.

At that point, I didn’t know these thoughts and obsessions with my body were symptoms of actual mental health issues—conditions that I didn’t realize I was likely dealing with until more than a decade later. They were also exacerbated by a culture that makes money when we hate ourselves. If I truly understood that, maybe I wouldn’t have gone so far down this path—or started down it in the first place. 

A need for control fueled my disordered eating.

While diet culture and bullying triggered me to fixate on my size, my disordered behaviors were also propelled by feeling out of control. 

As a kid, I experienced various forms of scrupulosity, or what the American Psychological Association describes as, “an obsession with moral or religious issues (e.g., a preoccupation that one may commit a sin and go to hell) that results in compulsive moral or religious observance and that is highly distressing.” It’s also associated with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), both of which can involve perfectionism. I was never diagnosed with OCD or scrupulosity as a kid, probably because in my Mormon church I was counseled that my struggles stemmed from Satan attempting to influence my mind. To fight back, I was encouraged to stay righteous and memorize more scriptures. 

My intense fears and rigid habits affected me to various degrees throughout my adolescence. But after graduating high school, I met my then-boyfriend (now husband) Ryan, and my mental health flourished. Unfortunately, when he left to serve a two-year mission in Mexico on behalf of the Mormon church, the stress and loneliness triggered those symptoms I hadn’t dealt with in years. 

This time, my scrupulosity reached a new high and intersected with my disordered eating. In addition to engaging in intense daily rituals and constant praying like I did when I was little, I tried to prove my worthiness to God by controlling what I ate. I believed that using discipline to control my eating kept Ryan safe and secured our eternal salvation. 

While that might sound like a super specific trigger for disordered eating, researchers agree that a need for control is one of many factors that can contribute to eating disorders.

Disordered eating thrives in isolation. 

As my scrupulosity ramped up and I attempted to control it with prayer and religious perfectionism, I became extremely isolated. Though I was living in a tiny space with six roommates, I never felt or spent more time alone than the two years Ryan was gone.

I spent the majority of my days afraid of evil or consumed by thoughts of becoming smaller. It was like living with a weight on my chest that threatened to bury me. I never reached out for mental health help because I genuinely didn’t think I needed it. If I was super depressed for days or had a panic attack, I turned to the church and asked for a blessing.

Meanwhile, my roommates put “motivational” quotes on the fridge and in the cabinets, using diet culture rhetoric to justify restrictive diets. So no one really seemed to notice that I was channeling my obsessive energy into dieting. And I didn’t reach out to my roommates, friends, or family for support either. Instead, I smiled. I served the church obsessively. 

Thankfully, when Ryan got back from his mission, my mission to please God felt complete. I didn’t feel the need for extreme restriction anymore. Six weeks after he came home, we were married in the temple. We spent so much time together. I felt supported, seen, and safe for the first time in years. 

Out of isolation (and away from people who saw my behavior as normal), my disordered eating and scrupulosity symptoms started to subside. I still compared my looks to others, used exercise to punish my body, and sometimes skipped meals when Ryan wasn’t around, but the rituals of perfectionism didn’t consume me like they used to.

Healing isn’t linear.

The three and a half years after I got married were the healthiest of my adult life up to that point, but when I got pregnant unexpectedly things changed. I was terrified of gaining weight, so I ate as healthy as possible for a few weeks before realizing it wasn’t sustainable. Gaining weight was inevitable, so I set it aside as a problem for future me. Still, I felt a lot of shame around eating in a way most people would call normal.

After having my son, I was so distracted by my perceived flaws that I missed the miracle of growing life in my body. I remember catching a glance of myself naked in the mirror and seeing my greatest fear; I couldn’t recognize myself. Bonus: I was slipping into severe postpartum anxiety, bringing me to a new mental low.

At my six-week postpartum checkup, I filled out a mental health questionnaire. I tried to answer the questions in a way that made it seem like I was doing great, but my doctor caught on. I started sobbing and she recommended I find a therapist or psychiatrist or both to help, but I refused. I was still a devout Mormon and thought I should be able to pray my symptoms away. I asked for other options and my doctor suggested I try exercising to ease the anxiety. If that didn’t work by my next appointment, we’d have to try something else. 

That was the very first time I started exercising in an effort to help myself heal instead of out of hate for my body. I started by simply pushing my son around the block in his stroller each day. I was surprised how quickly I started to feel better. My days felt manageable.

The next time I met with my doctor, she said she recognized a positive change in me, and that motivated me to keep going. 

Exercise alone isn’t enough. 

Eventually those mental health walks turned into strength training, and I started working toward physical accomplishments that had nothing to do with what I looked like. I wanted to heal my physical body and I wanted to be strong. I noticed my anxiety continued to subside and the negative thoughts about my body became less intense. Yes, I was losing weight too, and, yes, exercise can be part of disordered eating or eating disorders. But during this part of my life, physical transformation and mental transformation happened in parallel.

To be fair, I can’t say whether I would have felt the same if my body never changed postpartum. There’s no way for me to know that. What I do know is that I was way smaller in college and never had the confidence or sense of self-love that I did just months after giving birth. This was the first time I understood that the motive for movement matters the most.

But that’s not to say that exercise magically healed my disordered eating. I was doing the mental and emotional work too. After I started moving my body for the sake of my mental health, I realized I deserved to speak to and view myself kindly. I began by spending time just looking at myself naked in the mirror while repeating positive affirmations. 

I also fought back against negative self-talk. Ryan wanted to support me on my journey and suggested that if I said something negative about myself, I could follow it up with three positive things. I was hesitant but agreed and was amazed by how much it helped. The more it worked, the more I wanted to keep it up. I was slowly building my mental health toolkit.

Right after my son turned 1, I discovered the Mormon church was not what I thought it was, and I suffered an extreme loss of identity. This remains the most excruciating and informative period of my life. 

While I was struggling deeply, the small habits I’d implemented in the last year became my saving grace. Exercising for empowerment and positive self-talk felt like a tether back to myself.

Also, I claimed the freedom to express my body differently in clothes that would’ve been frowned upon (to put it extremely kindly) in the Mormon community. I felt ownership over my body, unashamed, and empowered in ways I’d never felt before. 

Even though I was going through hell in other ways, my disordered eating and distorted body image were healthier than ever.

You really never know what someone else is going through. 

During my faith transition, I started a fitness Instagram account. I was desperate to find a safe space to show up as myself and connect with like-minded women who wouldn’t judge me based on my religious background.

I was more vulnerable and open than I ever thought I would be. I talked about exercising for empowerment and how it changed my life for the better. I wanted to be the voice that I didn’t have postpartum. It became a creative outlet where I could be my authentic self. 

Soon after, I became a certified personal trainer. Over the next few years, the account grew to hundreds of thousands and then millions of followers and—along the way—I signed with Sweat to bring my fitness programs to life on the Sweat app. I felt amazing and wanted to help people see that working out can be great for our mental health. 

But once I became a fitness professional and my platforms continued to grow, I started putting too much pressure on myself. The disordered thoughts started creeping in: Who the fuck was I to be a trainer with such a large platform if I’m not in peak shape? If I don’t look exceptionally fit, women won’t trust me and the industry won’t respect me. 

It didn’t help that control had always been one of my biggest coping mechanisms, and I was under a lot of pressure. I had this big new career and I didn’t want to let anyone down. I didn’t see it at the time, but in hindsight some of the very tools that I used to fortify my physical and mental health (like eating healthy and exercising regularly) I began taking to an extreme.

Self-awareness and self-acceptance were the missing pieces.

When I got really sick with Covid in October of 2020, I had an epiphany. I came across a picture of myself from a big photo shoot in 2018, and memories flooded my mind. The version of me in that photo was so hard on herself and did not see herself clearly. I realized my extreme discipline had morphed into a new form of disordered eating.

Lying in bed with my phone, I broke down. I was overcome with sadness. My platform was built on self-love and using exercise for empowerment—in that moment I felt like a hypocrite.

With this new awareness, I was able to accept that I was struggling again. That enabled me to consciously bring my mental and emotional health back to the forefront. 

I refocused on the positive habits I learned postpartum, like meditating, gratitude journaling, writing poetry, and (most importantly) exercising with positive intent. I leaned on my husband instead of isolating. My mental health toolkit also grew to include talking to a coach, learning breathwork techniques, and energy healing.

There are still days I wake up picking myself apart, but those are the exception instead of the norm. Rather than focusing on how I look and how often I exercise, I now pour my discipline into living a present and authentic life. This mindset requires that my mental health always comes first. 

For a long time I felt shame around these parts of my story, but now I’m proud of every past version of myself. Looking back, I feel an abundance of gratitude for every part of my journey because it brought me here today. Whether you relate or your struggles look different, you always have the power to change your life for the better through self-awareness, self-acceptance, and intentional action (aka self-love).

The post I’m a Personal Trainer With Millions of Followers and No One Knew I Was Struggling With Disordered Eating appeared first on Wondermind.