I picked up my kettlebell yesterday. And swung it 30 times, just to be clear that I did more than pick it up.
There is so much trauma associated with fitness and strength for me. Not because it needs to be, but because it got filed in my brain that way. It took two years of therapy for me to figure out why I am so adverse to exercise of any kind, and why, on some level, I like being fat.
I often forget that’s the case, because it’s one of the hidden effects of PTSD for me. It rarely comes to mind and leaves me puzzled a lot until I can remember just how loaded with trauma “exercise” and “being fit” are. It has a lot to do with timing, and nothing to do with exercise or being fit in and of themselves.
So kettlebell was a big step forward for me. Exercising – even small efforts – this week in the middle of a lot of drama and struggle has been a big step forward for me. I kind of want to just say “Oh ok I took a step forward! Look at that! Done now, I took a step, don’t need any more!” But that isn’t going to get me far, so more stepping it is.