The Spiral of Wellness

It’s weird, isn’t it? How something so seemingly positive – wanting to be *healthy* – can spiral into this… thing. A thing that feels less about well-being and more about a checklist, a performance. It started subtly, I think, like most things do. Scrolling through Instagram, seeing all the people who seemed to have *figured it out*. Not just skinny, but sculpted. Lean and strong. The kind of bodies that looked like they were perpetually on magazine covers.

My dad, predictably, made comments. Nothing overtly mean, just the little digs. “You’re spending a lot of time at the gym. You're already fine.” He meant well, I think, but it felt like an accusation. Like I was doing something wrong, aspiring to something I shouldn't. Mom, she’d just smile and ask if I was eating enough. That supportive but clueless smile. She doesn’t really *get* the internet, or the pressure of it, the constant visual barrage.

I've always been okay with my body. Not thrilled, but not actively hating it either. I liked feeling strong, being able to keep up with my friends, playing volleyball in middle school. But something shifted, I guess, when I started noticing the nuances. The little tweaks people were making, the diets they were following, the exercises they were obsessing over. Suddenly, *okay* wasn't good enough. Suddenly, there was this constant low hum of dissatisfaction.

It’s different for girls, I think. There’s this insidious layer of comparison, of feeling like you need to be desirable. It’s not just about wanting to be strong, it’s about wanting to be *seen* as strong. I remember seeing Phoebe Bridgers last spring. The crowd was electric, and I felt this overwhelming sense of connection, of being part of something bigger. But even then, I noticed the girls in the front row, all impossibly thin, all radiating this quiet confidence that I craved.

The worst part is the double standard. Guys can be muscular and it’s applauded, seen as a sign of dedication and power. Girls who have muscle are often labeled as “butch” or “trying too hard.” There's this unspoken expectation that women should be a certain kind of fit - toned, but still feminine, still approachable. It's a tightrope walk, and it's exhausting.

I’ve caught myself doing things I know aren’t healthy. Skipping meals, obsessing over calories, pushing myself at the gym even when my body is screaming at me to stop. It's not about feeling good anymore, it's about achieving this arbitrary goal, this impossible ideal. It's a weird compulsion, almost like a ritual. I'll be on the elliptical, staring at the numbers, feeling this anxious energy thrumming beneath my skin, and I'll think, *just a little more. Just a little faster.*

It's scary to think about how easily this can spiral. My friend Sarah, she went through a really tough time last year. She started exercising obsessively, restricting her diet, and it just… consumed her. Her family had to intervene. It made me realize how fragile this whole thing is, how easily it can become destructive. It made me think about National, standing in the pit, feeling connected to everyone around me, and how I could have gotten lost in something like Sarah's struggle.

Maybe the problem isn’t that we want to be healthy. Maybe the problem is that we’ve created this narrow, unattainable definition of what healthy *looks* like. And maybe, just maybe, the first step towards actually feeling better is to dismantle that definition, to redefine it on our own terms. To stop chasing the perfect image and start listening to our bodies, to find joy in movement, not punishment. It's a hard thing to do, especially when the pressure feels so relentless. But it's a start.