Should I Workout in ED Recovery?

I think this is probably one of the most common questions that those in ED recovery wrestle with, and I know firsthand that trying to answer this question can cause truly debilitating distress and discomfort. I also am aware that every individual’s experience with disordered eating behaviors and exercise is unique; subsequently, there is (unfortunately) not a simple answer or a one-size-fits-all approach to movement in ED recovery (a fact that I know can be a source of tremendous frustration in and of itself - it has certainly been for me). Therefore, I want to first issue a major disclaimer before proceeding - the most important thing that you can do is consult your support team (dietitians, doctors, therapists, etc.). The professionals who are most qualified and those who know the details of your personal health situation will obviously be able to best advise you about what level of activity is appropriate for whatever phase of recovery you’re in. What has worked for me might not be the best option for you, and vice versa.

One of the factors that ultimately contributed to my desire to create this platform and to start writing blog posts actually stems directly from trying to discern whether or not I should be working out while in recovery. Therefore, I’m really hopeful that this post can offer comfort and validation, if you ultimately do decide to take a break from exercise (for a week, a month, a year, or however long feels right to you). Please know that you absolutely are doing the right thing. If you struggle with craving permission from others to take a step back from workout out, I want to reiterate that you undoubtedly are doing something so productive for your holistic health (even if that means eliminating working out altogether). If you sense that a break is the best thing for you to do, it is! Reaching this decision is scary, especially if exercise has been a consistent part of your daily routine for years. I think that wrestling with this question and ultimately coming to the conclusion that it is the best thing for your health to pause from exercise is actually a profound opportunity to tap into your own sense of knowing. I hope that you can begin to see how this is actually a sign that you’re re-learning (or perhaps learning for the first time) how to listen to your body’s needs and how vital rest actually is for your overall health.

Unfortunately, so much of the discourse in our culture surrounding exercise and movement suggests that working out means you have discipline, motivation, and a strong work ethic. The implication is, of course, that taking time off means you’re being “lazy” and “unproductive.” Trying to disassociate this sort of negatively-charged language from “resting” can be so difficult. Furthermore, if you struggle with body image and exercise-related obsessions, skipping one workout likely causes a lot of guilt and anxiety - not to mention the distress that skipping a week of workouts creates.

If you’re actively in ED recovery and/or trying to develop a more balanced and healthy relationship with movement, the decision to workout on any given day can feel very complicated. When I first began my healing journey, I hadn’t taken a single rest day in nearly three years. The thought of taking one rest day per week was absolutely debilitating. During those first few months of my recovery, taking a single day off from working out each week caused pure despair. Exercise had become a coping mechanism that I was incredibly reliant on as a means of reducing stress; eliminating it only caused more anxiety. Very gradually, however, taking a day off became slightly more tolerable. I worked with my dietician to eventually introduce two rest days per week (as well as to reduce the intensity and the time I was exercising on the other days), and my therapist and I worked on practicing new coping skills to handle life’s stressors. Even though taking rest days did get easier, I want to be clear that it was still extremely hard. When I knew I needed to take a rest day the following day, it would ruin my night. I dreaded it with every fiber of my being, even though I knew rationally that it was necessary for my body to heal. Over the course of the next two years, my ability to tolerate the discomfort of resting did increase. The way I thought about rest and its utility also changed, but it was a very, very slow and agonizing process. I could acknowledge that this was ultimately an essential part of recovery, so I continued to push through, trusting that it would be worth it.

At the beginning of 2024, about two years after I had began my recovery journey, I started to more honestly evaluate my relationship with exercise. Even though I had gotten to a point where I was taking multiple rest days per week (and even the occasional three or four days), I knew deep down that my relationship with movement was still very far from where I wanted it to be (and was still definitely somewhat “disordered”). I eventually was able to admit to myself that, even though I had made progress in this area, I still hadn’t developed a truly balanced or sustainable way of thinking about exercise. I still found myself pushing through workouts even when I was exhausted, and I still felt immense pressure to workout in order to have a “good” and “productive” day. I also really struggled with needing to do as much (or more) as I had done the previous day (i.e. if I hit X amount of output during a cycling class on Wednesday, I needed to hit at least that same number (preferably more) on Thursday). Over the first six months of 2024, I had stints where I either stopped working out entirely or significantly reduced the frequency for weeks at a time. Looking back, I think that these shorter breaks were a necessary step in my recovery journey, because I was slowly proving to myself that I could cut out exercise and still survive. Although these stretches of time off were undoubtedly a sign of progress, I felt as though I was trapped in a never-ending cycle - meaning, I could take a break for a few weeks, and then gradually start to incorporate moderate levels of movement back into my routine, but I would find myself eventually falling back into old habits and adding more and more each day. The first day back after a break always felt so good - I would do a perfectly reasonable amount of movement, not over-exert myself, and I would feel proud. The next day, however, I heard that voice in the back of my head telling me to do just a little, tiny bit more. The reincorporation of exercise after time off has proven to be such a slippery slope for me, and has consistently ended with me recognizing that I’m doing too much and pushing myself to a point of exhaustion - not listening to my body and responding to its cues appropriately - thus leading me to cut out all movement once again in order to give my body space and time to fully recover.

In May, a series of events (including one of my biggest panic-attack-spiral-breakdown situations to date), led me to decide that I really wanted to break this unhealthy cycle with working out and the mindset I had around movement once and for all. It had gotten to a point where, every night before bed, I was experiencing extreme panic about whether or not I should workout in the morning. I started to dread going to sleep, because I knew I would have to wake up and decide what to do. The back-and-forth in my mind about whether it was the “right” or “wrong” decision to workout became debilitating and exhausting. I felt like it was always a lose-lose situation no matter what I decided - if I worked out, it made me physically feel good, and it helped quiet the ED voice inside my head telling me I needed to “earn” the calories I was going to eat that day; however, by doing so, I also was very conscious that I was continuing to fuel an unhealthy dynamic with food and movement. Yet, if I rested, I would have to fight even harder throughout the day to fuel my body properly (which was already a challenge), on top of the additional and exhausting mental and emotional work I was doing (i.e. going to therapy, processing trauma, confronting the discomfort of my body changing, managing my OCD and chronic pain, etc.). In a moment of honest reflection with myself, I acknowledged that I desperately wanted to have a relationship with movement where the motivation to move my body stemmed from a desire to feel good, not to change something about my physical appearance or to maintain a certain weight. I concluded that, in order to truly break the belief in my brain that I needed to earn calories in order to eat, taking an extended break from working out would probably be necessary.

I decided to immediately cease all working out, but I incorporated two changes that made this experience different from my previous, shorter pauses from exercise. First, I resisted the urge to put any sort of deadline on this break (i.e. I didn’t go in with the mindset that I would take X amount of weeks off). This forced me to abandon the thought process that I “just needed to make it through two weeks” and then I could “reward” myself by working out again. A lack of a specific timeline forced me to ground myself in the present and to take things one day at a time. Second, and perhaps most importantly, I truly leaned into the practice of acceptance. Acceptance had always felt like such an abstract, confusing, and frustrating concept to me. I think that, during the first two or so years of my healing journey, I was physically doing the things I was supposed to (i.e. eating consistently balanced meals throughout the day, taking days off from working out, journaling, going to my nutrition and therapy sessions, going to my doctors’ appointments, etc.), however, I was mentally struggling to accept that my body would likely need to change as a consequence of implementing much healthier habits. Even though I was doing so many good things for my body - which was undoubtedly worthy of celebration - I was experiencing so much mental turmoil because I refused to accept that the body I inhabited while engaging in restrictive eating patterns and over-exercising was not my healthiest body (in fact, my body was sick, weak, and I was headed towards significant health complications). This summer, I feel like I was finally able to get to a point of true acceptance - I released my resistance to body changes and accepted that my health needed to be my top, non-negotiable priority. I started to consistently remind myself that I only had ONE body and ONE life, and that it was essential for me to take care of my body in order to live a long life. I recognized that I did not want to spend the rest of my life in a state of constant fear about my health, and I decided that I was going to refuse to allow the prospect of my body changing to rob me of living a full and happy life. For me, after years and years of pushing my body to its physical limits (and simultaneously failing to fuel it properly), I knew that allowing my body space and time to rest would ultimately be tremendously beneficial for my overall health. Eliminating working out also eliminated that debilitating panic I was experiencing every morning when trying to decide whether or not I was going to exercise. Overall, I truly believe that taking an extended break from working out was a pivotal point in my recovery journey, and I’m so grateful that I pushed myself to do it. While I have reincorporated some walking and very low-intensity movement, I haven’t yet resumed working out (and I don’t know when I will). For right now, I have peace that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

One of the mantras that has helped me the most during this time off from working out is, “By saying “no” to working out, I’m saying “yes” to my health.” I know that this break will most likely not be permanent for me, because I recognize that it is possible to have a balanced relationship with movement (and that there are certainly health benefits to working out in an appropriately fueled and mindful way). I also know, however, that I’m not there yet - and that is okay. I know that the discomfort of this season is temporary and that it will continue to gradually get easier.

All that to say, the answer to the question, “Should I workout in ED recovery?” is undoubtedly tricky and each person’s journey is unique. I do not think that there is only one right way to recover. However, I want to emphasize that, if you do decide to take a break, you should be incredibly proud of yourself. Resting is ALWAYS a fantastic decision, and you should absolutely not feel any guilt for taking time off. Giving your body time to physically recover is such a wonderful thing, especially if you haven’t given it the space to heal in the past. When I was in the thick of trying to answer this question for myself, I desperately wanted someone to tell me that it was okay for me to fully stop working out. So, if you find yourself in this position, I’m here to tell you that it is absolutely okay; in fact, your decision should be celebrated because it is a beautiful sign of the progress you’re making.

Note: I was not ever explicitly advised by my dietician, doctor, or therapist to take an extended break from exercise. This was a conclusion that I reached fully on my own, however, my care team was extremely supportive about my decision and has been so encouraging along the way. I think that, at least for the situation that I was in, it was necessary for me to come to this decision on my own. Since this choice actually came from a desire within myself to heal, rather than simply being something that someone told me I had to do, I have found it to be sustainable and less stressful. Learning how to listen to your body and to trust your own intuition can be such a messy and complicated thing when you have an ED, as it makes discerning your authentic voice versus the ED voice quite hard. All that to say, I would encourage you to always be as honest with your team and yourself as possible. No matter what, all you can do is your best - your life is your own and you have to make the decisions that are best for you!