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Barre3 taught me that compassion is my power source
“Ask your body what it needs.” If you’ve taken a barre3 class, you’ve probably heard your instructor say this at some point. And while the sentiment is simple, the act itself can be challenging—especially in a world that regularly insists that it knows what our bodies need better than we do. But, as client Matigan learned, the more you practice tuning into your body, the easier it becomes. Read on to learn how Matigan’s barre3 practice helped her tap into her needs, and how that act alone has been instrumental in helping her recover from an eating disorder.
Toward the end of my freshman year of high school, I developed a nagging voice in my head, one that was hyper-aware of how my body looked, especially in comparison to the bodies of everyone else. While walking down the street, I would take note of each figure and self-consciously check my looks in the next window, always sucking in my stomach a bit tighter. Every mirror, window, or other reflective surface became a crutch on which I depended to feel safe in my own body.
This obsession with appearance, in addition to other painful behaviors—caloric restriction, counting bites, an unhealthy preoccupation with everything I put into my mouth—were the manifestations of an internal bully: an eating disorder. Exercise too, was a practice the eating disorder seized upon. Moving my body, like looking in a mirror, was something to check off on a list—something I did solely to appease the mean voice in my head. It was formulaic. It was appearance-driven. It was a means to an end, that being the “achievement” of what I had deemed to be the ideal body.
When I first discovered barre3, this was my mindset. Barre3 was a way to exercise—a way to lift, tone, and sculpt. But I began to notice that this exercise program did not use such language. In fact, they hardly mentioned physical manifestations of “success” at all. I heard the instructors talk about strengthening the core to protect our lower backs and improve posture. They worked the glutes in order to lift heavy things, including children. Every instructor told me to focus on how the movements felt as opposed to how they looked.
Then I began to tune into my body. I actually looked forward to exercise and regarded it as a form of self-love and compassion. My barre3 practice morphed into an experience where I could show up, as myself, and move with freedom. This, I discovered, is what exercise is meant to be.
…
As a result of my eating disorder, I also developed a condition known as amenorrhea, or lack of menstruation. I had been pushing my body too far while simultaneously withholding from it the proper amount of nourishment. My body could not make a baby in this state, so it focused instead on keeping me alive. A future child could wait; we had more pressing things with which to concern ourselves.
I needed to reevaluate the way I was exercising, focusing instead on more nourishing movement that did not put too much stress on my chronically overstressed body. Barre3 is certainly challenging, and I often feel those glorious shakes and relish that signature b3 glow, but my body does not feel broken after a workout. I will often feel sore, yes, but not punished, not depleted. Rather than pushing my body further than it wanted to go, barre3 taught me to trust in its inherent wisdom. It taught me to breathe through difficulties and embrace change. It taught me to love my body where it was. And perhaps most importantly, it rendered the futility of comparison more concrete.
We are all told about the evils of comparison, the ultimate “thief of joy,” but such messaging, though I knew to be true, had not resonated with me. I just went on comparing myself.
But then my mindset started to shift. I saw people like Dustin and Andrew dropping to their knees during plank or putting down their weights for a few reps. I witnessed Christa joy and Jordan and Allison take water breaks. These practices of self-compassion were not considered weak; instead, they were a way of standing up for oneself. It had never occurred to me that adjusting my routine to reflect my current physical and emotional state could in fact be a source of power.
…
Barre3 trained my body to stand taller and grow stronger, but it also trained my mind. My far healthier (and constantly evolving) relationship with exercise has been one of the most refreshing and impactful results of my recovery process. I have grown to love movement and am now less focused on how the way my body moves differs from my fellow exercisers. And though I have yet to regain my period, I know that barre3 will continue to provide the deeply nurturing exercise my body requires to keep moving toward balance.
And I have come to profoundly appreciate balance. One can exercise for hours on end every day, eat the “perfect” diet, and sleep nine hours each night, but what is balanced about that? It is clear that such a lifestyle is missing one of the most essential nutrients to a fulfilling life, one that barre3 most certainly has in abundance: joy.
“Ask your body what it needs.” If you’ve taken a barre3 class, you’ve probably heard your instructor say this at some point. And while the sentiment is simple, the act itself can be challenging—especially in a world that regularly insists that it knows what our bodies need better than we do. But, as client Matigan learned, the more you practice tuning into your body, the easier it becomes. Read on to learn how Matigan’s barre3 practice helped her tap into her needs, and how that act alone has been instrumental in helping her recover from an eating disorder.
Toward the end of my freshman year of high school, I developed a nagging voice in my head, one that was hyper-aware of how my body looked, especially in comparison to the bodies of everyone else. While walking down the street, I would take note of each figure and self-consciously check my looks in the next window, always sucking in my stomach a bit tighter. Every mirror, window, or other reflective surface became a crutch on which I depended to feel safe in my own body.
This obsession with appearance, in addition to other painful behaviors—caloric restriction, counting bites, an unhealthy preoccupation with everything I put into my mouth—were the manifestations of an internal bully: an eating disorder. Exercise too, was a practice the eating disorder seized upon. Moving my body, like looking in a mirror, was something to check off on a list—something I did solely to appease the mean voice in my head. It was formulaic. It was appearance-driven. It was a means to an end, that being the “achievement” of what I had deemed to be the ideal body.
When I first discovered barre3, this was my mindset. Barre3 was a way to exercise—a way to lift, tone, and sculpt. But I began to notice that this exercise program did not use such language. In fact, they hardly mentioned physical manifestations of “success” at all. I heard the instructors talk about strengthening the core to protect our lower backs and improve posture. They worked the glutes in order to lift heavy things, including children. Every instructor told me to focus on how the movements felt as opposed to how they looked.
Then I began to tune into my body. I actually looked forward to exercise and regarded it as a form of self-love and compassion. My barre3 practice morphed into an experience where I could show up, as myself, and move with freedom. This, I discovered, is what exercise is meant to be.
…
As a result of my eating disorder, I also developed a condition known as amenorrhea, or lack of menstruation. I had been pushing my body too far while simultaneously withholding from it the proper amount of nourishment. My body could not make a baby in this state, so it focused instead on keeping me alive. A future child could wait; we had more pressing things with which to concern ourselves.
I needed to reevaluate the way I was exercising, focusing instead on more nourishing movement that did not put too much stress on my chronically overstressed body. Barre3 is certainly challenging, and I often feel those glorious shakes and relish that signature b3 glow, but my body does not feel broken after a workout. I will often feel sore, yes, but not punished, not depleted. Rather than pushing my body further than it wanted to go, barre3 taught me to trust in its inherent wisdom. It taught me to breathe through difficulties and embrace change. It taught me to love my body where it was. And perhaps most importantly, it rendered the futility of comparison more concrete.
We are all told about the evils of comparison, the ultimate “thief of joy,” but such messaging, though I knew to be true, had not resonated with me. I just went on comparing myself.
But then my mindset started to shift. I saw people like Dustin and Andrew dropping to their knees during plank or putting down their weights for a few reps. I witnessed Christa joy and Jordan and Allison take water breaks. These practices of self-compassion were not considered weak; instead, they were a way of standing up for oneself. It had never occurred to me that adjusting my routine to reflect my current physical and emotional state could in fact be a source of power.
…
Barre3 trained my body to stand taller and grow stronger, but it also trained my mind. My far healthier (and constantly evolving) relationship with exercise has been one of the most refreshing and impactful results of my recovery process. I have grown to love movement and am now less focused on how the way my body moves differs from my fellow exercisers. And though I have yet to regain my period, I know that barre3 will continue to provide the deeply nurturing exercise my body requires to keep moving toward balance.
And I have come to profoundly appreciate balance. One can exercise for hours on end every day, eat the “perfect” diet, and sleep nine hours each night, but what is balanced about that? It is clear that such a lifestyle is missing one of the most essential nutrients to a fulfilling life, one that barre3 most certainly has in abundance: joy.
