by Holly Myers, August 2023

TW: body obsession, disordered eating and exercise, childhood trauma, sexual harassment, racism, self-harm

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“Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller? Would you like me to be quiet?” -Billie Eilish, Not My Responsibility

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I almost didn’t even start lifting.

“I bet you would really like lifting weights…” said my then-boyfriend in 2013, the year after I graduated college. I was 22.

“Nahh…I’ll stick with running.”

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I almost didn’t start lifting, because…

I was afraid of getting bulky.

My relationship to eating and exercise (among other things) had been disordered for at least 12 years at that point. Before I was even a preteen, I was completely obsessed with keeping up appearances (of all kinds, but it would be remiss to not mention the fantastic BBC show of the same name - IYKYK.) (And yes, I have ADHD!) 

Growing bigger muscles and gaining body fat were some of my worst fears growing up, because, by my child logic, that would make me even less worthy of love than I already felt. Not only that, it was the logic I saw grown-ups using too, so it must be right…

I was thoroughly committed to doing cardio more days than not to maintain my “hotness” (as deemed by the popular white boys in my class through passed notes and unsolicited, sexualized comments.) I can recall the fetishization I experienced being the only “Asian” girl in class. “Boys think Asian = Sexy”, assured my well-meaning, white best friend in 5th grade. (Ooof, that one’s loaded!) Anyhow, I felt exhilarated by the attention and the status all of this afforded me in the social hierarchy of our classroom, our school, our town, THE WORLD! Because whatever the boys liked was the most important thing, right?

A missed workout would mean a detailed action plan for the next day’s eating and exercise at the very least, and punishing self-talk along with other forms of self-harm at most. There is a picture of me cheerleading at recess during this time period and I have super defined abs because I was secretly doing 100s of situps in my room. And I remember being embarrassed that they were so defined because what I was going for was that ultra-flat Britney/Christina ab look of the late 90s/00s, not “muscular.” That was too “manly.” I was a failure.

I was entranced by the illusion of control. I clung on for dear life to any food rules absorbed through movies, my mom’s dance aerobics tapes, teen magazines, things my parents would say, what I would hear on talk shows, etc. (Thankful we didn’t have the internet/social media back then, because I am sure that would have exacerbated my unquenchable thirst for ways to attain bodily “perfection.”) One particularly memorable rule (commandment?) that I think I came up with on my own was “You are only allowed one piece of chocolate per day.” I was 10.

These attempts to quell my anxiety were just bandaids for the deeper issues at play. Outwardly, these “healthy” behaviors were applauded and encouraged by everyone around me, kids and adults alike. I was put on a pedestal, just like I wanted to be. I was hiding in plain sight. I fooled everyone into thinking I was fine. (Masking neurodivergence[1] is a bitch!)

Yet, I was terrified of taking up more space.

I learned that my smallness equaled my attractiveness.

I learned that my petiteness equaled my right to participate.

I learned that my toned-ness equaled my confidence.

I learned that my thinness equaled my acceptance, 

from others and, most importantly, myself.

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”What usually happens with a wound is that it’s given to you. Your body accidentally believes its message, you hate this person, and spend the rest of your life proving you’re not who they say you are. Basically, you become the opposite of your wound.” -Jackson MacKenzie, Whole Again

Fast forward to now, 10 years after I declined that initial invitation from my ex to try lifting weights in my 20’s, I can hardly find a long sleeve shirt that can contain these muscles. I would describe my current body as juicy; boldly muscly with a nice layer of fat obscuring the more sinewy parts below. Thicker than ever. And most of the time, I am into that. I no longer fit exclusively into size XS and S clothing. My thighs brush past each other as I walk and my skin no longer crawls with disgust at their wrongness. The dysphoria was real.

I have gotten bigger, and ya know what?!

I have never felt more

powerful,

peaceful,

or at home in my body.

*It feels important to note here that my body still outwardly fits pretty well into dominant body and beauty standards. I will never fully understand the lived experiences of my more melanated family and friends, and may never understand those of fat, queer, &/or disabled folks, and all the additional BS they navigate in this anti-fat, white supremacist, heteronormative, ableist society we live in.

It also feels significant to note that I initially started lifting as a way to get smaller, too. In the months before I first tried it, I read articles by some women trainers on the internet about how the secret to a lean, toned physique wasn’t cardio, but in fact strength training. 

Attaining leanness and the “perfect body” remained my #1 motivation for the first couple years of my journey with lifting weights. Embarrassingly, my #2 motivation was learning all about it because I was becoming a trainer myself. Choosing a career in wellness from a personally disordered place is something more common than a lot of trainers want to admit. 

After a while, the motivation to look lean gave way to the motivation to be able to be as strong as possible. It was mind-boggling to find out how much I was physically capable of after decades of prioritizing aesthetics over performance. Now I was valuable for what I could do, not just what I looked like (facepalm.) I went about achieving impressive feats of strength to prop up my lack of true self-confidence. One after another, after another. Never satiated.

The strength organization that I came up in was heavily rigid, patriarchal, and elitist, thereby giving me a structure to prove and perform my worth through predefined standards of what “strong” meant according to them. A hierarchical ladder to climb, one lift at a time. The validation I received from these old white men in power was intoxicating…for one sec, until I realized that I had supposedly reached the pinnacle of strength and still felt like an imposter. I thought once I had achieved these things I would feel…better?

While this quest for strength has been a necessary step toward healing and has indeed contributed a ton to my actual self-efficacy, it was (and at times, still is, if I’m being completely honest) also disordered. I am still in the process of unlearning and restoring right relationship to the parts of me that are addicted to achievement and external validation. 

Over the past few years, I have been learning how to strip lifts of their prescribed meaning about my inherent goodness or lack thereof, so I can be more present with (and enjoy) the process more fully. While I receive a lot of admiration for lifting, a core part of me that doesn’t care about all that gets intrinsic satisfaction from fuckin’ around and finding out what is possible for me. It’s the middle of that Venn diagram of ‘Things I inherently want to do’ and ‘Things other people want me to do.’ It’s tricky territory.

If you see me lifting now, it’s safe to assume that ~87% of the time I am doing it from a place of intrinsic motivation and solid self-worth vs. from a place of trying to get my needs met for attention, love, and belonging.

I have come a loooong way, but I can’t claim to be fully healed from body obsession. Living in this world (and being a fitness professional) makes it difficult not to be obsessed. There is also a fluidity to it - in the summer months, my mental health (along with my body image) is usually the best it is all year, but then in the winter I have experienced intense periods of depression which have a profound effect on my self-perception (and everything else.)

I expect more bumps in my relationship to my body image as I age, further dismantle internalized biases, get sick, injured, less strong or athletic, less conventionally attractive…as I live my life and allow myself to change.

Though I don’t always love the way my body looks, I (mostly) know now that my body’s appearance or ability at any given moment does not define my value as a human, my right to having my needs met, or my core lovability. 

It isn’t an obsessive, never-ending project to “fix” anymore. It is one element of myself, among many. It’s the meat and water suit from which I traverse this planet, experiencing a multitude of pains and sensory delights on the daily. The spaceship I use to express myself through dance, laughter, baking, photography, speaking, singing, writing…and lifting. The avatar that connects me with other beings, which is the most meaningful thing of all.

Lifting is a constant call to:

Look Up, 

Aim Higher, 

Think Bigger, 

Imagine,

What If… 

More is possible.

There are more rich and whimsical and beautiful possibilities for my life than I had ever even considered.

Lifting is an Experiential Contradiction(2) to my socialization(3) as a light-skinned, Filipino-Jewish 2nd generation immigrant and neurodivergent girl of humble means growing up in an ultra-small, overwhelmingly white, isolated mountain town in 90’s America.

I did not belong there. I did not know if there was a place I would ever feel like I belonged. My intense, shameful feelings of being inherently wrong, different, misunderstood, and lonely were shoved into a pressurized container and sealed shut. We’re just gonna deny your existence, k bye! Acknowledging these hurts has been its own huge unraveling. All of that gaslighting myself and bypassing my pain *surprise surprise* didn’t make it go away.

Only in the past few years have I felt called (and ready to) crack that container open. Much of that readiness is thanks to the foundation of physical and mental strength I have built over the past 10 years of lifting.

Lifting saved me from disappearing altogether.

I remember moments growing up when I hated myself so much that I would rather not exist than be too big.

My body was the problem; the reason things weren’t as they should be in my life. It was THE thing I felt I had control over, and GOD DAMMIT, I was gonna control it. Make it my subordinate. Make it do what I needed it to do to get what I needed to get.

But, through my strength practice, I’ve realized…

I do possess power.

I do have agency in my life.

I do matter,

regardless of what I look like

or how much I can do on a given day.

I can fully experience the most unsettling of feelings and survive.

I can be seen as I really am…and be loved for it. (The horror!)

I can make bold choices for myself, 

whether or not they are understood,

accepted,

or make people uncomfortable.

Not sure how to wrap this up except to express how grateful I am to my body for protecting me in the scrappy, ingenious ways it could with the tools it had. It fought for me when I needed it to, and though its logic was misguided, I see now how it has been a true advocate for my survival. 

Without its efforts, I couldn’t be here today telling this story of how I started to move beyond survival and instead, toward something beyond it.

I’m sharing this for anyone who sees themselves in any part of my story to know they are not alone in it. I know that pain well.

Also, to share that healing is possible (and I’m just getting started.)

References:

1 “Masking is when a person with ADHD acts in a “socially acceptable” way to fit in and form better connections with those around them. This usually involves camouflaging their symptoms by controlling their impulses, rehearsing responses, and copying the behaviors of those who don’t have ADHD.” - Understanding ADHD Masking

2 Hat tip to Dr. Tee Williams’ Self Awareness For Social Justice Class and Critical Liberation Theory for the language & concept of “Experiential Contradiction.” An Experiential Contradiction is an activity or experience that someone can engage in that directly contradicts a harmful core belief we hold about ourselves that causes us to behave in unauthentic ways that uphold systems of oppression. For example, if I hold the belief that I am not powerful (because I have been socialized as such as an Asian woman) and I lift weights in such a way that allows me to access an embodied sense of power, that is an Experiential Contradiction. The purpose of contradictions are to erode the core belief and subsequently allow us to act in ways that are more aligned with our truest desires, values, and vision. 

3 Socialization: “We are each born into a specific set of social identities, related to categories of difference [sex, race, class, etc.] and these social identities predispose us to unequal roles in the dynamic system of oppression. We are then socialized by powerful sources in our worlds to play the roles prescribed by an inequitable social system (Hardiman and Jackson 1997). This socialization process is pervasive (coming from all sides and sources), consistent (patterned and predictable), circular (self-supporting), self-perpetuating (intradependent) and often unconscious and unnamed (Bell 1997).” -from an in-depth read on The Cycle of Socialization