Growing up, it was always my mum forcing me into sports teams and classes, rather than me begging her to let me join every single one I learnt about. I despised team sports, the competition aspect of them really threw me. I remember pleading with her to take me out of my gymnastics competition as we walked home from school. No, I don’t have performance anxiety (you should see me on Karaoke nights at the bar), it was just every fibre of my being did not want to compete against other people. 

Instead I was the girl that did dance, circus (and horse riding) growing up. I found brilliance in the artistic and emotional expression of these sports, being able to merge imagination with athletic strength was exceptional. And I loved it all. I didn’t have to do Saturday sports in the unpredictable Melbourne weather, or worry about tearing my ACL, and especially not (god forbid) being the player that lost the team the win. 

But then I stopped circus, and dance lessons, and had to (unfortunately) focus on my school work. Yet in the midst of all this, I went to the gym. During my senior years of high school I went about two days a week, mainly group fitness classes, and the odd attempt at running on the treadmill, which came to a glaring halt at covid… of course. What I didn’t realise back then, was how settled I felt at the gym. Lifting weights lets my brain go calm, and my heart restore itself. Because it turned out, I have anxiety. And the gym soon enough became a remedy. 

This all came about during my semester abroad here at UEA last year, I found a lot of peace in the gym. No, not in the music I listen to, or the heft of the weights… or the scary gym bros in compression t-shirts, but in the routine and the discipline it has taught me. Bringing myself to the gym became a reliable coping mechanism to calm my rapidly berating heart and nauseous stomach during any moment of panic. Over everything, through my whole life I wanted, needed, craved, control. If everything went the way I had planned, life would be golden. But we all know this is not the case. Anxiety is tough in that sense, because so little of life is within our jurisdiction. So I took on finding where I had control in life, and somehow the gym was the biggest factor. The gym is a ‘myself against myself’ competition, I am the only one I am working against, my body vs my brain – the dumbbells are just there as witness. It was hard work, day in and day out, six days a week. But it was bliss, and I started to get some control back. 

However, September 2023 threw me through a loop. After my semester abroad and months of travelling, I was home in Melbourne, angry, lonely, sad and confused. My brain was tired, my heart was sore and my body was unwell. I didn’t recognise myself in many ways, my body looked different and my head was conflicted. But I knew that if I had nothing else in those moments of despair and grief, I could at least get my strength back. So I spent 3 months sober and within that time working back up to my usual weights and routine. I was able to come back from disarray and learnt that if I could push myself, and deal with the pain of weightlifting, than barely anything else could hurt me. I was putting myself through physical and mental challenges, training in a way that I can now say has built me into a well recovered (and relatively buff) person. 

Growing up, there was something about competing against other people that I couldn’t bring myself to do – but competing against myself, to challenge my strength and grit is where I have found mental peace. The gym lets my brain go quiet except for the push that I can do more. I am stronger than I realise and I know it is just my mentality holding me back. There was something so impressive to me about being able to build yourself the way people do in the gym. The lifestyle is rigorous and time consuming, but to know how strong you are – and being able to see it as well –is a feat of strength I am proud to say I have a little bit of. 

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