💬 Let’s chat about exercise after trauma
For a long time, I was too traumatised to move my body
Next week, I’m launching the first episode of the Life after Trauma podcast. I’ve been dreaming about starting a podcast for a long time, so I’m excited to finally bring it to life. My first interview is with author
. We had a great conversation about exercise as a tool of healing, and I really recommend her book to anyone looking for a more holistic approach to exercise.Today, I’m curious about the intersection of exercise and trauma in your life.
How has trauma impacted the ways you like to move your body? Are there particular forms of movement that you’ve found helpful? Or unhelpful? There’s lots of research about the benefits of yoga for survivors, though I know a lot of people find it very triggering. (I was one of those people!) Some of the ancillary things around exercise can also be tricky to navigate. I’m thinking of the clinginess of most athleisure clothing, the misogynistic undertones of many mainstream gyms and the unhelpful overlap between exercise and diet culture, ableism and other forms of discrimination.
When I was in the depths of my trauma, I struggled to find a single resource that acknowledged how triggering exercise could be. I’ve since learned that it’s incredibly common. I remember hearing about one person who lived on the third floor. There was no lift, and they decided not to leave the house much because climbing three flights of stairs triggered enormous distress . Academic research has also explored how triggering many survivors of sexual violence find exercise, though it also found that many survivors believe that movement could also be beneficial to their recovery. It’s a messy, complicated thing, so let’s talk about it.
💬 In the comments below, share your experiences with exercise and trauma. I'll share some of my story to get us started.
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I had an incredibly difficult time rebuilding my relationship with exercise. I’ve practiced yoga since my late teens. In my twenties, I was one of those annoying people who actually enjoyed going to the gym, but I lost both of those habits in the tailspin of trauma. Exercise left me feeling incredibly anxious and dysregulated. It wasn’t uncommon for me to have to stop exercising because I was sobbing uncontrollably. Or to be so wired and strung out on adrenaline that I couldn’t sleep for days.
I wish I could point to some easy solution that turned it all around for me, but that’s not how it was. I had to very slowly rebuild my relationship with movement and my body. It took years and to be honest, it’s still a work in progress. One of the hardest things was feeling like I was completely over-reacting. All public health messaging talks about the value and importance of exercise. But I couldn’t find a single resource that acknowledged that exercise isn’t an option for everyone. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to have this conversation: to bring some much needed information to an under-discussed aspect of recovery.
I understand that discussions around exercise and mental health can sometimes feel frustrating. When someone is going through a tough time, a well-meaning friend might suggest something like, “Have you tried yoga?” While they have good intentions, such suggestions can sometimes come across as dismissive. That’s why I prefer to talk about movement instead. The word “exercise” often brings to mind feelings of obligation and performance, whereas movement can feel more like a gentle act of self-care and nurturing. Exercise is often offered as a silver bullet or panacea to those desperate for relief, particularly for those already marginalized. I gently ride a recumbent bike six days a week for an hour. That works for me, and I realize there's no single solution for everyone.