Healing My Body by Healing My Mind: How I’m Changing the Way I Work Out

The past few months have been a roller coaster for me, to say the least. After starting talk therapy at the beginning of the summer—triggered by a really stressful event in my life—I finally began to understand just how much my mental health has been affecting my body over the years. I was diagnosed with PTSD and realized I’ve been living with depression and anxiety my entire life without recognizing how deep it ran.

What I didn’t realize was how much all of this was showing up in my body, especially after what happened earlier this year.

Back in March, I injured my rotator cuff. I went from lifting regularly to barely being able to move certain ways without pain. I started physical therapy and slowly began improving inch by inch, week by week. I finally felt like I was getting somewhere.

Then everything crashed again.

Out of nowhere, I was hit with some of the worst panic attacks I’ve ever experienced. Ones that didn’t just affect my mind but completely changed my body. My ribcage and lungs were basically stuck in a lifted, “on-alert” position. My muscles wouldn’t release. It felt like my entire body was locked in fight-or-flight. My fibromyalgia flared harder than it had in years.

I wasn’t sleeping. My anxiety was constant. And everything I had pushed down mentally was exploding physically.

Before therapy, the gym was my outlet. I used it as a coping mechanism that helped… until it didn’t. Eventually, pushing too hard became another form of stress on my already overwhelmed nervous system. I had no choice but to slow down—truly slow down—for the first time in my life.

This is when I learned the lesson no one really teaches you: healing requires balance, and listening to your body is not optional. Especially when your brain is used to running the show.

Now, I move in a way that supports my nervous system, not punishes it. I train based on what my body is communicating—not what my anxiety is screaming for.

What I’ve Been Doing Differently With My Workouts (And Why It’s Helping)

These small shifts have made the biggest difference in my healing:

• Slower, intentional strength training- I’m rebuilding my shoulder safely, focusing on control, breathing, and proper form instead of intensity. My nervous system responds better to intentional movement than chaos.

• More walking + low-impact grounding movement- Walks became my go-to during panic attacks. They help regulate my breathing and reduce overstimulation.

• Stretching Daily- This has been huge for my fibro flare, tight ribcage, and overall tension. Stretching is the first time in years my body has felt like it can “come down” from survival mode.

• Nervous system resets before and after workouts- Sometimes it’s 30 seconds. Sometimes it’s 2 minutes. But it makes my entire workout safer and calmer.

• Training based on stress, sleep, and symptoms- If I wake up tense, overstimulated, or in pain, I choose movements that support recovery instead of intensifying the stress response.

• Rest days without guilt- Rest used to feel like failure. Now it feels like alignment.

Learning to Move with My Body, Not Against It

Slowing down hasn’t been easy for me. I’ve pushed through stress, pain, and exhaustion for most of my life because stopping felt unsafe. But healing has taught me something I wish I knew sooner:

Your body isn’t dramatic. It’s communicating. Your symptoms aren’t random. They’re messages. And your nervous system doesn’t need intensity—it needs safety.

Once I started paying attention to how my workouts influenced my panic, my sleep, my fibro symptoms, and even my breathing patterns, everything changed. I stopped chasing the hardest workout and started choosing the one that supported my healing.

And honestly? I’ve never felt stronger—not because I’m lifting heavy, but because I’m finally connected to myself again.

If you’re navigating trauma, anxiety, chronic pain, or a body that feels like it’s always “on,” here’s what I want you to know:

✨ You don’t have to earn rest. ✨ You don’t have to push harder to be worthy. ✨ Gentle movement is still progress.

This is only the beginning of my healing journey. I’m still learning, still rebuilding, still untangling my relationship with movement—and my relationship with myself. But for the first time, I’m doing it with compassion instead of pressure.

One workout. One breath. One day at a time.