I vividly remember the day when I felt that familiar bulge returning around my waist. The day had been a whirlwind of biking through temples in Japan, savoring warm, sensory-igniting ramen, and singing to my heart’s content in a dimly lit karaoke bar. It was one of many similar days on my Remote Year adventure, a program that lets location-independent professionals live and work in 12 different cities globally, each for a month.
During this journey, every day felt rich, intense, and thrillingly exhausting. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was how profoundly it would transform me and push me to confront parts of myself I’d been too scared to delve into before.
Ironically, the most significant obstacle I encountered was not navigating new languages or battling homesickness, but recognizing and confronting an eating disorder I hadn’t known I had.
Before I embarked on my Remote Year, I’d been residing in New York City for seven years, juggling a thriving freelance writing career and a position at a trendy fitness start-up. During those years, I developed a passion for boxing, and high-intensity interval classes, and even managed to pull off yoga headstands.
My newfound active lifestyle led me to diet, which resulted in a dramatic weight loss of 35 pounds over three years, dropping me from a size 10 to a size 4. This experience, though mostly healthy, significantly altered my view of food and fitness, to the point where I feared the thought of gaining weight back.
As I traveled, I faced the inevitable reality: my jeans were growing tighter, and I could see a belly roll forming. This sparked a wave of anxiety but also triggered a realization: my life had shifted from being about my appearance to being about my experiences.
Over 14 months, across 20 different countries, I realized that I couldn’t resist the exotic spices of Thai street markets or the home-baked empanadas from a grandmother in Argentina. I embraced the joy of sharing jugs of wine with my travel companions in the Adriatic Sea and opted for an extra round of beer to survive 12-hour bus rides through the Andes Mountains. I did gain 15 pounds, but I also gained an invaluable sense of control over my self-esteem.
Today, my self-worth isn’t tied to my body size, the number of workouts I complete in a week, or whether I consume something considered “bad.” My life revolves around joy, connections with my loved ones, and self-care. I’ve regained some health since my nomadic adventure, but my everyday choices are no longer dictated by diet and exercise obsession.
While I can’t say for certain whether I had a diagnosable eating disorder, I can’t deny my obsessive-compulsive behaviors around diet and exercise. Perhaps what I battled was “anorexia athletica,” a term used to describe an overpowering urge to exercise excessively while limiting calorie intake.
Shaking up your routine can be a powerful way to break free from self-destructive habits. For me, losing control over my schedule due to my travels forced me to break from my restrictive rules. Changing up your workout routine to include enjoyable activities that aren’t seen as punishments can also be beneficial.
While traveling the world for a year might not be feasible for everyone, understanding the symptoms of compulsive exercise and seeking help from professionals can lead to recovery. Surrounding yourself with a supportive network can also make a world of difference.
Remember, life is not about the numbers on the scale but the joy we derive from it. Embrace changes, lean into discomfort, and always reach out for help when in doubt. My journey toward self-love began on foreign soil, but yours can begin right where you are.
