Women’s Health UK – September 2019

Women’s Health SEPTEMBER 2019 | 51

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WHAT IS...

EXERCISE

ADDICTION?

Exercise addiction isn’t yet

formally recognised as a

mental health disorder. It

describes a pattern of

behaviour whereby the

person affected feels the

need to compulsively

exercise, often at the expense

of their physical and mental

health. Typically, the person

affected will perform an

excessive amount of

exercise, prioritising this over

relationships and working

life, and might experience

withdrawal effects when they

can’t exercise, like low mood

or anxiety. Treatment takes

the form of talking therapy,

but if conditions such as

anxiety and depression

co-exist, and are impacting

that individual’s ability to

engage with therapy, there

may be a role for medication.

Dr Sarah Vohra, consultant

psychiatrist and author

@themindmedic

For me, exercise used to be something

that other people did. Growing up, the

most physical activity I engaged in

was walking to school. As a teenager,

then a young adult, I was pretty

consistently a size 16, and a desire to

look like my slimmer friends set me

up for years of sporadic low-calorie

diets in an attempt to lose weight.

It was a period of mental ill health

at the age of 26 that led me to fall in love with exercise.

My job as a catering manager was incredibly stressful,

and my perfectionist personality drove me to take on

too much responsibility and work myself to the bone.

I was signed off sick with depression, and tried to piece

my mind back together with prescribed antidepressants

and therapy. My doctor recommended exercise, too.

With whole days stretched out in front of me, I

decided to focus on losing weight. If I could look healthy,

I reasoned, perhaps it would ease my mental anguish. In

the beginning, working out gave me a reason to get out of

bed in the morning. Classes allowed me human contact

by being in a room with people, without any requirement

for draining social niceties. But it wasn’t long before I felt

myself getting obsessed. I’d chase the adrenaline buzz by

pushing myself to do more and more – by lifting heavier

or going for longer. Within weeks, I was exercising for up

to three hours a day. I’d work out on the gym floor before

and after a class or do two or three classes in a row.

Sometimes I’d run to and from the gym as well. Friends

and family viewed my ‘gym bunny’ persona as a positive

thing for my mental health; the gym instructors loved my

commitment; and as I reduced my body fat and began to

show off my taut abs, the compliments rolled in. It all

added up to confirmation that I was doing the right thing.

But meanwhile, both my physical and mental health

were suffering. Back-to-back HIIT sessions and no rest

days left me with sharp shooting pains in my legs. But I

felt disgusted with myself if my muscles weren’t burning.

A family birthday dinner clashing with my

favourite weightlifting class would leave me

distressed, and I’d restrict my calories or

train harder the next day to compensate for

the exercise I’d missed. I began to withdraw

socially, too. I started using my boyfriend

Joseph as a social barrier, avoiding seeing

friends if he wasn’t with me to steer the

conversation. I felt like no one could

understand what I was going through, and

it only made me retreat further.

My identity had been so intrinsically

linked with my career that, when I was

signed off, my self-esteem was in tatters.

Fitness became something I could align

myself with; something I could use to prove

that I was worth something, and something

I could control. But in an effort to help

myself, I’d created another issue entirely.

My need for control peaked in the run-up

to my wedding in 2015. Upping my workouts

with the goal of looking good on the day left

me physically and emotionally exhausted.

I vividly remember looking around the

dance floor on my wedding day and having

this moment of clarity. Friends and family

• people of all shapes and sizes – were
  having an amazing time. I realised that I’d
  sacrificed spending time with all of them, at
  some point, to hammer my body in the gym.
  I felt like I was missing out on my own life.
  Changing your priorities, when exercise
  has always come first, is a really hard thing
  to do. Railing against my negative inner
  voice – the one telling me I’m lazy and not
  training hard enough – remains a struggle.
  But I’m becoming more self-aware; more
  able to recognise that voice, and know that
  it’s not the truth. I’m also trying to work on
  self-compassion, and respect the fact that
  my body isn’t indestructible.
  I’ve also learnt the importance of having
  a back-up coping mechanism. Exercise can
  be an incredibly powerful thing, but relying
  on one thing – whatever it is – can leave you
  vulnerable if that thing is taken away from
  you. I naturally stopped working out so
  much when I started writing; and my blog –
  and later my book – became another way of
  processing my feelings. Today, I’m a size 16.
  I train simply because I know it’s good for
  my physical and mental health. I work from
  home, so every day I make sure I get outside
  for a walk, and three or four times a week I’ll
  do some yoga, go running or do a gym class.
  I’ve accepted that I can’t have my ideal body
  shape and look after my mental health. So,
  while I’m in a place where I need to make
  a trade-off, I’m prioritising the latter.

Depression In A Digital Age: The Highs

And Lows Of Perfectionism (£11.99,

Inspirational) by Fiona Thomas is out now

THE CASE

STUDY

Fiona Thomas, 32,

an author from

Birmingham

The transformative power of exercise for those suffering with

poor mental health is well-documented. But what happens

when a healthy coping mechanism spirals out of control?

‘I’d feel worthless

if my muscles

didn’t constantly

burn with pain’

S T R O N G

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