Life Happens While Bodybuilding

Originally, I had this whole reflective post planned; something about how life happens while bodybuilding, how discipline carries you through chaos, how growth isn’t linear, and how we’re all supposed to find meaning in the mess. Something poetic and aesthetic. But here we are instead.

Life didn’t wait for my outline. And instead of sitting here feeling stuck in limbo (which, let’s be honest, has been the vibe for weeks), I decided to write about this; the real-time in-between. The part where everything feels a little uncertain, a little fragile, a little too human. The part no one wants to talk about because it’s not triumphant and it’s definitely not built for 'gram.

Photo by Rachel @ Saros Creative

Everyone has health issues. But mine have been loud lately. And I’m not a young twenty-something anymore who can pull off an “all or nothing” routine day in and day out - like it's really nothing. I have a family to care for, animals to tend to, land and a home to maintain - and those things come before my little strength training goals. And now, in addition to my depression, epilepsy and general anxiety - a new health concern looms on the horizon.

So, at the moment, it’s more like: how do I keep showing up for my goals while also navigating something that scares me? How do I stay committed when my body, the thing I’m working so hard to sculpt, is also the thing giving me anxiety?

I’m not sharing specifics yet because for one thing I don't know enough, I'm waiting to see a specialist, I'm waiting for results - just waiting for next steps. Sitting in the phase where you don’t even have the language formed, where everything is still being processed, where every thought feels half-finished and simultaneously too big. But what I can share is how bodybuilding has been the rope I’m holding onto. The thing grounding me, structuring my days, keeping me connected to myself when my mind wants to spiral.

Depression hits different when your health is involved. It becomes layered like a mental heaviness wrapped inside physical uncertainty. But bodybuilding has forced me to keep moving, even on the days motivation is a ghost. Not big heroic movement, sometimes it’s just a 20-minute shoulder pump, or a walk to unclench my thoughts, or slow mobility because that’s all I have in me. But it’s something. And something matters. Something shifts the fog.

And I need to remind myself, there’s actual science behind why it helps. Routine builds dopamine pathways that stabilize my brain when it’s working against me. Resistance training reduces depressive symptoms - sometimes as effectively as cardio - by nudging serotonin and lowering cortisol. And focusing on form grounds me in the present moment in a way nothing else does. When I’m doing a heavy set, I’m not catastrophizing. I'm counting. I'm breathing. I'm here.

Then there's the food side of things. Right now, anti-inflammatory eating is my quiet way of fighting back: berries, greens, turmeric, ginger, nuts and seeds, whole plant foods, omega-3s, proper hydration. It’s support. It’s nourishment. It’s me saying, “I’m still in this body, and I’m still caring for it even when it scares me.”

And in the background of all this is the fear - the one we don’t like naming. The “what if this is serious?” whisper. I’m living with that whisper right now. And bodybuilding, weirdly, is what keeps me from disappearing into it. Every rep becomes a tiny act of defiance. Every meal becomes a message. Every step says, “forward, even if slow.” Every routine reminds me that I’ve survived everything so far and I’m still here.

It means I want to live with intention. I want to care for myself now, not someday. I want to move, strengthen, nourish, and be present inside this body, not because it’s perfect, but because it’s mine.

Right now, my life is not aesthetic or balanced or “on track” in the neat little way social media likes to frame healing. It’s more like a tightrope walk: one careful step at a time, trembling a little, focusing hard, still moving. Bodybuilding isn’t fixing the problem, but it’s keeping me grounded while I navigate it. Discipline becomes kindness. Structure becomes medicine. Movement becomes momentum. Fueling myself becomes respect. And showing up imperfectly still counts as showing up.

If you’re reading this while going through your own fog; health issues, depression, some heavy mix of both - I hope this reminds you to take things one day at a time. One breath. One meal that nourishes you. One moment of movement that reminds you you’re still here. You don’t need to conquer the whole mountain today.

Just today is enough. Just today is everything.