Exercise, Ableism and Accepting Your Limitations

“The body positivity movement has contributed to a reframing of physical exercise as a key pillar of mental wellbeing, not just a weight-loss method. The heroin chic look is no longer in vogue, and no one can quite believe that Kate Moss ever uttered the words “nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels”. The movement has by no means accomplished all of its aims, which would necessarily include fat acceptance, and body image issues are still rampant, but the cultural shift over the past few years is undeniable.    

People use social media, namely Instagram, to document their daily wellness routines, with users often focusing on the transformative power of exercise on mental health. Hashtags and dedicated accounts help to connect like-minded users to create a sprawling virtual community of gym bunnies. And it’s not just average users, models in particular partake in this activity: presenting their exercise regimes as being not just part of the physical work needed to book the most coveted jobs, but an antidote to the hectic nature of modern life. 

Another aspect of this reframing emphasises that focusing on what your body can do physically rather than what it looks like can boost self-esteem. In a study of 2,500 British women conducted by Women’s Health magazine, 38% claimed that exercise was a positive trigger for body confidence. Not only this, but exercise is frequently touted as a way to combat the symptoms of mental illnesses, such as anxiety and depression.

However, as someone who suffers from both of these mental illnesses, I can’t remember the last time I released a single endorphin during exercise, if ever I did, and I can’t relate to feeling better about myself after having exercised. On the contrary, I find that exercise can make me feel anxious, self-conscious and dispirited. Exercise puts my body out of its comfort zone, and I often end up feeling inadequate. 

The focus on what our bodies can do can also inadvertently evoke ableism by assuming that everybody has the same or similar capabilities. The Instagram mini movement “athletics not aesthetics”, for example, redirects focus away from how exercise can tone and shape, towards how it makes us feel, but fails to address the fact that not everyone can be athletic. As body positivity advocate Suma Jane writes, “Too often, the message of body positivity seems to take the shape of loving your body for all of the ways that it functionally conforms to social expectations, even if it departs physically. We shouldn’t be striving for bodily love to only be accessible to those who can meet these rigid and ableist standards.” This is seen, for example, in the fact that larger bodies are only celebrated in the wellness movement if they are fit and strong.

“ Self-love has to come from a place of unconditional acceptance to be truly liberating.”

Beth McColl writes: “Fitness culture […] can be a very toxic and intimidating space, often populated by ableism and fat-shaming. People with mental health issues – who may also have disabilities or invisible illnesses, or have larger bodies – may find exercising in a public setting all the more off-putting.” So, while the wellness movement might seem wholesome and full of acceptance, some of us don’t feel like we fit in at all. 

I’m not against having a healthy attitude to exercise by any means (believe me, I would love to have one of those), but self-love based on what our bodies can do seems to me only a minor improvement from self-love based on looks. Both are conditional and both are exclusive to the able-bodied. If we only love our bodies because, for example, they’re the vehicles that take us from A to B, what happens if we get sick or if we’re in an accident that disables us in some way? Self-love has to come from a place of unconditional acceptance to be truly liberating.

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Despite having taken dance classes throughout my childhood, having let exercise fall by the wayside since school, I find myself embarrassingly unfit for someone in their twenties, or so I feel. Trying to exercise when you have a mental illness can be a huge struggle. One debilitating symptom of depression is fatigue, which makes the idea of even slight exertion feel insurmountable. Depression and anxiety also tend to go hand-in-hand with low self-esteem and negative self-talk. I find that when I exercise, I’m plagued by a little voice in my head telling me how terrible I am and how pointless it is to try to improve. 

In addition, I have felt like I was experiencing panic attacks during exercise. This is a known phenomenon that occurs because the natural consequences of exertion: shallow breathing, a fast pulse, chest pressure and sweating happen also to be symptoms of a panic attack, which can make exercise feel terrifying rather than exhilarating. Overall, my current level of fitness, my woeful willpower and my negative inner thoughts come together to form an almighty exercise-resistant trio. 

Therefore, while it’s often said that starting is the hardest part of any journey, I find that it’s the carrying on that’s more difficult. The more negative experiences I have, the less likely I am to stick to it. And of course, without consistency it’s hard to build up my fitness levels adequately.

This is not to mention how hard it is for people with disabilities and chronic illnesses. Having formerly experienced a bout of chronic fatigue and all-over body pain, I can tell you how unhelpful it is to receive the (often unsolicited) advice that exercise is a cure for all ills. In fact, only when I took several weeks off work and rested did my symptoms abate. 

What’s worse is being encouraged to push yourself beyond your limits and being told that your mind is stronger than your body. This, too, is ableist, and suggests that individuals are incapable of listening to their own bodies. If anything, I wouldn’t be surprised if people with disabilities and chronic illnesses were more in tune with their bodies than average, given that their conditions force them to think about their bodies all the time.

Because high levels of exertion can trigger anxiety for me, I tend to avoid high-intensity activities and gravitate towards things like dance, pilates and yoga. These activities happen to be done in classes as opposed to individually. I like the structure of a class and the fact that it’s easier to hold myself accountable. The downside of a class, however, is that I find myself feeling embarrassed if I can’t do a particular move and have to sit a sequence out or even leave the class entirely.

However, I recently tried again. I bought a course of five reformer pilates classes from a local studio. I did this in part because, not one to waste money, I knew I would go to all five classes and therefore have a better chance of sticking it out. 

Reformer pilates is really hard. It’s a total body workout where tiny movements feel like they’re burning muscles you didn’t know you had, but I’ve been keeping at it. In my third class I had an instructor I hadn’t had before who began by going around the room asking everyone how they were and if there were any injuries. I admitted that I felt nervous because I was a beginner, and she reassured me that everything would be fine, telling me to call on her if I needed any help. 

Midway through the class she leant down by my ear and whispered, “What were you worried about? You’re totally nailing it!” While I suspect she was only being nice, her encouragement did wonders for my confidence in that moment and made it my best class to date. 

Sometimes you just need the right support, not tough love. I’ve accepted that I might not be able to do every move in every class, but if I can do most of it, that’s progress enough. If you’re in the same boat, it might even help to tell the instructor about your worries before the class and to tell them that you might need to stop every now and then. 

As chronic illness blogger Natasha Lipman has pointed out, “often [it’s] our physical health that impacts our mental state not the other way [a]round.” This means that the sense of disappointment and shame triggered by feeling let down by our bodies is an entirely valid emotion, one that our minds alone can’t always resolve. Sometimes it’s okay to just sit with your feelings. It also means that the impact of our physical health on our mental health has been severely overlooked in favour of (sometimes blind) stoicism. 

Only we know our limits and we have to trust ourselves to only go as far as we can handle. Giving up doesn’t always mean that you’re lazy and you don’t have to push yourself in order to feel accomplished. Tough love might suit some people, but it doesn’t suit me. If I’m going to stick to exercise, I need encouragement, not to be told that I’m not working hard enough. Maybe it’s this final acceptance of the power of my own self-knowledge, limitations and all, that will finally help me to stick to an exercise routine.”

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To read more from Genevieve you can follow her on Twitter at @genev_ieve or on Instagram at @genevienerichardson!