MOVEMENT
When Movement Feels Like Something You Have To Survive
You probably already know that movement is good for you.
In fact, if you've spent years trying to lose weight, you've probably been told countless times that you simply need to "move more."
But what if I told you that movement itself may never have been the problem?
The way you learned to think about it might have been.
Perhaps you've exercised to earn your dinner.
Gone for a walk because you felt guilty about what you'd eaten.
Promised yourself you'd "burn it off tomorrow."
Or chosen the workout that burned the most calories rather than the one you actually enjoyed.
Maybe you've started ambitious exercise plans full of determination...
Only to find yourself unable to keep up with them once life became busy, stressful or exhausting.
And when that happened...
You didn't question whether the routine was realistic.
You questioned yourself.
You told yourself you lacked motivation.
That you weren't disciplined enough.
That you just needed to push harder.
Perhaps you've even reached the point where movement feels exhausting before you've even started.
Not because your body can't move.
But because your mind has come to associate movement with pressure...
Punishment...
Or another way to measure whether you've been "good enough."
If any of that feels familiar, I want you to know something.
You are far from alone.
And more importantly...
There may be nothing wrong with your relationship with movement that a different understanding can't begin to change.
My Story
Looking back now, I can see that movement had become something I felt I had to earn... or something I had to use to earn something else.
I rarely exercised because I enjoyed it.
I exercised because I believed I should.
Because I'd eaten too much.
Because I wanted to lose weight.
Because I felt guilty.
Because I wanted to make up for yesterday.
Movement became part of the negotiation I was constantly having with myself.
"I'll go for a walk later."
"I'll burn this off tomorrow."
"I'll make up for it at the gym."
It never felt like something I did because I respected my body.
It felt like something I did because I was disappointed in it.
And because my goal was always to lose weight as quickly as possible, I believed I had to do the workouts that burned the most calories.
The harder they were...
The more uncomfortable they felt...
The more I believed they must be working.
So I'd create these ambitious routines that looked great on paper.
From Monday I'd exercise every day.
I'd push harder.
I'd become one of those people who never missed a workout.
The problem was, I was creating routines for the person I wished I was...
Not the woman I actually was.
Some weeks I had plenty of energy.
Other weeks I was exhausted.
Some days life got in the way.
Some days my body simply didn't feel capable.
Yet every routine I created expected me to show up at one hundred per cent.
When I couldn't I didn't think,
"Perhaps this routine isn't sustainable."
I thought,
"I've failed again."
So I'd stop.
Feel guilty.
Promise myself I'd start again on Monday.
And without even realising it, movement had become another part of the regain cycle.
Not because movement was the problem...
But because of the relationship I'd built with it.
Understanding Why This Can Lead To Weight Regain
For years, I believed the biggest mistake I could make was not exercising enough.
Looking back now, I don't think that was my biggest mistake at all.
My biggest mistake was believing movement only mattered if it helped me lose weight.
Because when movement only has one purpose, it becomes incredibly fragile.
Think about it.
If the only reason you exercise is to burn calories...
What happens when you don't see the scales move?
What happens when life becomes busy?
When you're exhausted?
When you're in pain?
When you're struggling with your mental health?
When you're going through menopause?
When you're recovering from illness?
If movement only has value because it burns calories, it's very easy to decide it's no longer worth doing.
And that's exactly what so many of us do.
Not because we're lazy.
Not because we don't care.
But because we've unknowingly attached movement to an outcome instead of a relationship.
We've been taught to see movement as something we use to change our bodies.
Not something that supports them.
That one misunderstanding can quietly become part of the weight regain cycle.
Because movement becomes another all-or-nothing behaviour.
You're either exercising properly...
Or you've failed.
You're either following the routine...
Or you've fallen off track.
You're either giving one hundred per cent...
Or you tell yourself there is no point doing anything at all.
The problem is, real life doesn't ask us to show up at one hundred per cent every day.
Real life changes.
Our energy changes.
Our responsibilities change.
Our bodies change.
Some days we're full of energy.
Some days we're simply trying to get through the day.
If our exercise routine only works when life is perfect...
It isn't really a routine designed for life.
And perhaps that's one of the biggest misconceptions we've been taught.
We've been encouraged to admire routines that look impressive...
Not routines that actually last.
Yet the routine that helps you lose weight isn't always the routine that helps you keep it off.
They're often two very different things.
When movement becomes something that supports your body instead of punishes it, something interesting begins to happen.
You stop asking,
"How many calories did I burn?"
And you begin asking,
"How is this helping me?"
Because movement does so much more than influence your energy expenditure.
It supports your sleep.
It helps regulate stress.
It can reduce physical tension.
It supports your mood, your confidence and your emotional wellbeing.
It improves strength and mobility, making everyday life easier.
It can even help reduce chronic low-grade inflammation, something many people living with excess weight experience without even realising it.
Sometimes you don't see inflammation, but you feel it in low energy, aching joints, feeling as though your body is working harder than it should. Supportive movement helps create a healthier internal environment long before the scales begin to reflect it.
Some of the greatest benefits aren't measured on a fitness watch at all.
Have you ever noticed how a walk can clear your head?
How a problem suddenly feels easier to solve?
How emotions don't feel quite as overwhelming afterwards?
Movement doesn't just move your body.
Sometimes it moves your thoughts forward too.
That was the shift I wish someone had taught me years earlier.
Movement isn't simply a tool for burning calories.
It's one of the most powerful ways you can support the body and mind you're asking to carry you through a lifetime.
What This Understanding Meant For Me
This understanding gave me something I hadn't had for years.
It gave me permission to start.
Not once I'd lost some weight.
Not once I'd got a little fitter.
Not once I felt more confident.
But exactly where I was.
And where I was back then was so physically limited that seated exercises in a kitchen chair were all I could do consistently.
Years earlier, I would have looked at that and thought,
"What's the point?"
I would have compared myself to people running, lifting weights or doing high-intensity workouts and convinced myself that what I was doing wasn't enough to make a difference.
But I wasn't trying to become someone else anymore.
I was simply taking the first step from where I actually was.
That changed everything.
For the first time, I realised movement didn't have to look impressive to be worthwhile.
It didn't have to leave me exhausted.
It didn't have to burn the most calories.
It didn't have to be perfect.
It simply had to become something I could return to again and again.
Because every lifelong relationship starts somewhere.
Mine just happened to start in a kitchen chair.
Perhaps the biggest shift of all was letting go of the belief that I had to show up at one hundred per cent every single day.
For years, I'd created routines that expected me to perform like a machine.
If I couldn't complete the workout I'd planned...
If I needed to slow down...
If I missed a day...
I believed I'd failed.
But life doesn't ask us to show up at one hundred per cent every day.
We're human.
Some days we wake up full of energy.
Some days we're emotionally exhausted.
Some days we're physically struggling.
Some days we're carrying the effects of poor sleep, stress, illness, caring responsibilities, or simply the weight of life.
That doesn't make you weak.
It makes you human.
Once I stopped expecting perfection from myself, I stopped feeling like a failure every time life happened.
Instead of asking,
"What's the hardest workout I can do?"
I started asking,
"What does my body need from me today?"
Some days that was a longer walk.
Some days it was strength training.
Some days it was dancing around my kitchen.
Some days it was gentle stretching.
And some days, it was giving myself permission to rest without believing I'd ruined everything.
Ironically, when I stopped making movement all about losing weight...
It became something I could finally imagine doing for the rest of my life.
And I think that's one of the biggest misconceptions we've been taught.
We've spent years searching for the exercise that burns the most calories...
When perhaps the better question is,
"What kind of movement can I build a lifetime relationship with?"
Because lasting weight loss isn't built on the routine that burns the most calories.
It's built on the one that supports your body, fits your life, and is gentle enough that you can keep coming back to it, on your best days, your hardest days, and everything in between.
Before We Continue..
As my relationship with movement began to change, something unexpected happened.
I realised it had never really been about exercise.
Just as food had become tied to guilt...
Movement had become tied to my worth.
A "good" workout made me feel like I'd been successful.
A missed workout made me feel like I'd failed.
I wasn't just measuring my progress by what I did.
I was measuring my value by it too.
Looking back now, I can see that food wasn't the only thing I'd built an unhealthy relationship with.
Movement...
The scales...
My reflection...
Even my own thoughts.
They had all quietly become ways of deciding whether I was enough.
And perhaps that's one of the hardest burdens to carry.
Because when your worth depends on your progress, every setback begins to feel personal.
It wasn't until I started questioning that relationship that another piece of the puzzle began to reveal itself.