So, you are in recovery from anorexia, and you ask the question, “Should I exercise?” If you wonder whether or not you should, chances are very great that you SHOULD NOT exercise. Why do I opine so? Because any wavering in anorexia recovery usually means that you should do the recovery-oriented option, not the anorexic, nor the “greater-society’s-judgment” option. And exercise almost always falls into the “anorexic” category. Even further in the case of exercise, I advocate flouting the “medical/scientific-data” option, because we will simply fuel the anorexic circuitry in our brains if we introduce exercise before we are recovered 100%.
While my belief may be radical and bold, I stand by it; from my own experience, I know that exercise too early in recovery – and “too early” means “ever” in the case of older adults who have suffered with this disease for a long time – will only charge the anorexic neurons in my brain. Rewiring all my beliefs about food, body, and myself takes a long time, and it also takes a lot of energy. I can count on my brain being vulnerable for years, and thus I just have to get comfortable with keeping my movement to a minimum for, yes, years. “Idle” connotes a lot of negative images in our anorexic minds, but “idle” is just what we need to be, for years.
Yet, given that you spend years in recovery, and you do a good job and eat and rest for a long time, you inevitably gain weight, and you start to feel rather buoyant and energetic. You may begin to feel antsy with all the sitting and resting. You think, “Years of YouTube and Netflix in all my downtime (i.e., time outside of work or tasks we all have to do)? Surely you jest!” I jest not.
And of course I realize this position will prove very difficult for you. It has, for me: I have gained 40 pounds already, and I am within the “normal” BMI range, and I do feel more energetic (though, truth be told, I have frequent periods of extreme exhaustion, which is a sure sign that my body needs a lot more rest and food), and in this “idle” time, I feel very anxious. I have no idea what to do with myself. In these moments, I can cajole myself with “a nice little walk outside will only benefit me; it will ease the anxiety and take up some of the long hours in my day,” but this kind of inner chit-chat comes from my anorexic circuitry. A “little stroll” on a nice afternoon is another way of convincing my brain that I need to suppress my bodyweight to some degree, or that I actively need to utilize all the food I have eaten. These thoughts, seemingly so innocent, simply underscore my brain’s paranoid, anorexic fears that I am still in the famine that has plagued my life for decades.
I realize that all of the above leaves you, if you are in the middle of recovery, in a bit of a panicked position; you may not have passed the phase of food-obsession yet (even if it has lessened somewhat), and you have not cultivated a passion that is not physical in some way, so, what the heck do you do with yourself? I cannot offer many suggestions, other than to have faith that this tough period will pass. Hang on to your courage and determination. And of course, being the music lover that I am, I suggest watching music videos or simply listening to a song on one of your devices, then look up more songs and spend an hour investigating music. Or do the same kind of thing with books/movies that strike you as interesting.
If you cannot get interested in anything other than your next meal, I understand. And I repeat: this frustrating time will pass. I personally must remind myself that I do have the necessary courage and tenacity to transcend the toughest parts of recovery, like sitting for years, watching my body grow larger. This part of recovery will end at some point. My body will cease to ask for so much food and my weight will stabilize. Ideally, my thoughts will shift out of panic mode and into relaxed, reassured mode. I will not judge my body size (becoming non-judgmental will take a lot of time and rewiring; I need to work on my patience here!), and I will not dream of food all the time; when I want to eat, I will do so with enjoyment.
FOR THOSE WHO FIND THIS RECOMMENDATION TOO DIFFICULT TO CONSIDER:
All of the above outlines the basics of my theory on the “NO EXERCISE, EVER” in anorexia recovery. And yet I realize that many circumstances hamper the simple plan I have described. Sometimes, we live with people who have eating disorders themselves, or who train as athletes, or who may not suffer from eating disorders but who immerse themselves in current diet trends and exercise fads. The get-up-and-go drive in others close to us can osmose right through our skulls, into our anorexically-aligned synapses, and we cannot help but react. Often, our reaction involves a jolt of energy (usually anxious energy) and an inner mandate telling us that we must exercise. Our closest loved-ones thrive on exercise and diets; how can we coexist with such influence and not take part in it somehow?
In my own life, I live with very active people whom I also happen to love. These same people judge others quite a bit based on weight; this judgment really is not unusual – their assessment of people’s body size is a common trait among all human beings. Whatever the case may be, I sometimes find living with constant diet chatter and constant movement (e.g., my loved-ones’ daily trips to the gym, or hikes on nice days, or training with professionals in the wee hours of the morning, etc., or cleaning binges – that’s a thing – and on and on) overpowering.
As a result, since I have gotten into recovery, I have taken walks with these people on nice days, and I have justified my doing so with thoughts like: “Maybe this walk is ‘wrong,’ but the day is so nice, and I have gained so much weight, and I need to socialize more.” The problem with that thought is the phrase, “and I have gained so much weight,” because right there, my eating disorder tips its hand. My awareness of my weight gain is just a little too present as I analyze this situation; in other words, I am not comfortable with the weight gain yet, and I have not rewired the belief that a person in a larger body should exercise to some extent. The other excuses to go on that walk sound very plausible, and they make sense. However, for a person with my sort of history – i.e., a lifetime of undereating and compulsive movement – these excuses turn into invalid reasons for joining in on physical activity, when I know inside that I am not yet okay with my size or how much I am eating, nor am I really okay with continuous rest, for that matter.
Therefore, I have to get especially tough here and turn down the offer to join in even on a simple walk. Sure, during recovery we will all have times when we are more physically active. For example, my family and I took a trip to the western part of the United States last year, and we did some walking through the natural wonders we encountered. Yet even during that vacation, I was aware how compulsive movement, instantly, became necessary each day – on the days that we drove more than we got out of the car and snooped around, I felt more anxious and overall worse about what I had accomplished. And these thoughts occurred while I was on vacation!
For those who live with elite athletes, or for those who have been elite athletes; or for those who live in cultures where exercise is almost a form of antidepressant, just know that I understand you face special challenges. The message remains the same, however. If you come from a long, depleted past with a lot of compulsive movement in the mix, you need to still yourself. You deserve the rest, perhaps many years of complete rest. The anxiety might drive you to suicidal ideation (I get that), but you CAN LIVE through this; the anxiety will lessen – I have noticed it with myself – and eventually you will not care that your loved ones, or the culture surrounding you, all expend energy differently than you do. Your energy happens to be well-spent on your body’s repairs. I know you cannot think of what possibly could be so damaged that it takes years to repair, so what is all this nonsense about repairs, but consider yourself a victim of drawn-out, suspended torture: you desperately need a lot of repair. And you desperately need to rest, for as long as re-wiring your tortuous mindset takes.
