Finding Clarity in the Chaos of Recovery

Original publisher The Emily Program.
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**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.

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A graduate of the University of Miami’s College of Engineering, Abbey Griffith (she/her/hers) is an Eating Disorder Recoveree, N.A.S.M. Certified Personal Trainer, and Certified Body Positive Facilitator. She owns Clarity Fitness, Georgia’s first body-positive, weight-inclusive, eating disorder-informed fitness studio, and has devoted her life to helping people of all ages, shapes, and sizes find a wellness routine they truly enjoy. Abbey sees the dangers that come from an obsession with fitness and nutrition, and believes it’s time for us to see our bodies in a positive, empowered way — regardless of the number on the scale.

Like many of us out there, I am sad to say that I grew up absolutely hating my body. Diet culture found me young and convinced me that smaller meant better, more lovable, more attractive, more worthy, and I desperately wanted all of the above. In a misguided attempt to try to mitigate some of these feelings, I began personal training sessions at a local fitness studio. Fortunately for me, my trainers were kind, funny, and made movement feel like hanging out with a friend. They’re a big reason I became a trainer myself.

But underneath that fun was a less-than-empowered relationship with my body. I wasn’t moving for fun, enjoyment, or as an act of self-care; I was moving because I wanted to change everything about my appearance. As a fitness professional now, I firmly recognize and believe that you cannot hate yourself into a good relationship with yourself. I was working out to lose weight, which I thought would improve my body image — I didn’t know that I was actually working my way headfirst towards an eating disorder, if I didn’t already have one at that point.

Flash forward to college, and things got serious when my friends gently and lovingly raised some red flags.

Before telling more of my story, I want to point out that I share these details in hopes that, if you’re reading this and recognize some of these behaviors in yourself — but you’re not sure whether it warrants a check-in with a mental health professional — you give yourself unconditional permission to seek support. Please also know that there is no such thing as being “sick enough” to start working on your relationship with movement, food, and/or your body!

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Beginning Treatment

Some of my more vivid memories before my diagnosis are of how panicky I felt if anything “messed up” my food plans for the day. I obsessed over workouts, fitness metrics, and how I looked in pictures. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I “should” eat, when I “should” eat, or how to “undo it” if I ate “wrong.” The straw that broke the camel’s back was entering myself into a fitness competition. The pressures from a coach who was entirely overstepping their professional boundaries ultimately led to purging behaviors.

That, coupled with my friends’ kind and supportive words, became my wake-up call.

Starting treatment at first honestly felt like an overreaction. I thought I’d go to a few therapy sessions, get a little tune-up in my brain, and move on. Instead, I found out I had an entire belief and values system to unlearn. Therapy became less of a temporary fix and more of a long-term partnership. At first, it was out of necessity; now, it’s a choice I make for myself because of the positive impact it has on my life.

Rewiring my brain was, and still is, messy and beautiful and scary and awesome. Earlier on, it forced me to ask questions I had never asked before, like: What if I never had to change a thing about my body? What would movement look and feel like if I truly reflected on and listened to what I actually wanted? How would the fitness industry change if it centered around empowerment instead of aesthetics?

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Creating the Space I Needed

When I asked myself those questions — especially the last one — I went looking for answers. And guess what!? No eating disorder-informed gym existed. In my area, there wasn’t a fitness space that existed for people in bigger bodies looking to embrace themselves as they were. Nationally, there was little to no training on how to be an eating disorder-informed trainer. The fitness industry — the same place where so many of us develop disordered thoughts and/or turn to for temporary reprieve from the internal shame — was too scared to talk about eating disorders.

So, Clarity Fitness was born.

Clarity became the space I needed when I was younger. Clarity is a place where people can move without fear, where bodies aren’t projects, and where recovery and movement can exist in the same room without fighting each other. It’s a space where the 1 in 10 people in the US who are struggling with or recovering from an eating disorder can feel safe, supported, and celebrated.

I’m still in recovery and am still learning every day how to live in my body from a place of compassion and partnership. Fortunately, now I get to do it surrounded by people who get it. Clarity reminds me that healing is real, community is magic, and movement can be something we do because we love ourselves, not because we’re trying to fix ourselves.

If you’re reading this and wondering if your struggles are “enough” to warrant support, they are. You’re allowed to ask for help before it becomes a crisis. You’re not alone, and you’re not — and never have been — the problem. There is so much joy waiting for you on the other side of letting go of belief systems that don’t build you up.

I’d like to close this out with the mantra that felt like an a-ha moment in my recovery, and is now the motto at Clarity Fitness. If you take nothing else from this blog, I hope you can learn to fully believe this fact: You are enough.