Eleanor's Story
I grew up in a large and chaotic family, coloured by dramas that superseded creating a place of safety. Since studying childhood development, I can now see with hindsight that my blueprint for life dictated that threat is around every corner, my voice is not heard, and, most distressingly, that I am not enough. What I remember most from my childhood are my temper tantrums, attempts at running away, or hiding myself in small spaces, despite my claustrophobia. As a teenager I still had a lot of this anger, but also suffered from some extreme social anxiety and periodic depressions that made connecting with groups of people very difficult. When I entered my first serious relationship, the unfamiliarity of having someone to depend on was so overwhelming that I swung between frantic paranoia to debilitating depression, and at times turned to self-harming to sooth the confusing and undefinable pain I was in.
When I left university and started my first job, I led myself straight into the environment that most resembled the chaos I knew best. I worked in corporate public relations, which involved juggling multiple clients and responsibilities, constant hyper-vigilance and little sleep. My anxiety went into overdrive and I developed a binge eating disorder that served as my new form of self-harm. I had turned against my body and all of the gut feelings that might have been pointing me in the right direction; my digestive and reproductive systems shut down, and I was disgusted by the way I looked. My internal narrative was that being busy and stressed was a sign of success, but in reality I was a shell of myself, without enough consciousness to even see the trance I was in.
I eventually found yoga, which at first was simply an outlet for my anxious energy, and quite frankly a physical punishment for overeating. I had never done any sports, and I rarely did any exercise, so starting to move my body was like discovering a whole new aspect of my human being. At first I struggled with the stillness and silence of the relaxation at the end of class, but I soon came to cherish those few minutes as some of the only true rest I allowed myself to have. A tenuous yet undeniable connection between my mind and body had begun.
As I delved deeper into yogic and then Buddhist philosophy, I became aware not only that I was riddled with emotional triggers and obsessive behaviours, but also that I had the power to change these patterns. I am immensely grateful for the free information available at our fingertips today, because YouTube and podcasts became my university. Teamed with reading books and taking courses, I was diving deep into self-development, meditation and Buddhism. I had been opened up into a world in which transformation from pain to peace was possible, and I was addicted.
This philosophical study brought into the fore something that I had been denying to myself: that I was very much caught up with an eating disorder. I had always thought that eating disorders involved purposeful starvation or purging, and suffers were ‘successfully’ able go slim down to an unhealthy weight. My situation looked more like substance addiction, as I saw food as a way to alter my physiological state for a moment’s relief from the pain and anxiety I felt on a daily basis. Because I never became unhealthily overweight, I at first found it hard to talk about my addiction. When I did I was often met with eye rolls and accusations of having body dysmorphia. The assumption is that a true food addiction will make you obese, but this assessment ignores the pain, shame and guilt that accompanies these uncontrollable and obsessive behaviours.
I set off on the journey I am still on, dedicating myself to various forms of psychotherapy, hypnosis, meditation, psychedelics, breathwork, and much reading. I also wanted to address the physical side effects of mental health problems, such as issues with digestion, sleep, and chronic pain. I invested in osteopathy, physiotherapy, chiropractic, functional medicine, nutritional therapy and more. While I was learning a lot, overall my condition was not really improving. I realise now that, although my desire to heal was genuine, I was still relying on practitioners outside of myself; I still believed that I was powerless.
Despite making giant strides, I still hated the way I looked and felt, I still suffered from general anxiety, anger triggers, and still retained my obsessive behaviours around food. I was also losing my patience with the yoga scene, which I discovered was ironically riddled with egotistical efforts to appear skinny, bendy, and perpetually cheery and peaceful.
It was when I found weightlifting and functional fitness that I really started to feel empowered to take control of my health. The physical feedback of external resistance and finding new ways to better overcome that resistance made me feel present and powerful in a way I’d never experienced. Seeing and feeling my body grow stronger gives me the motivation and energy to progress in every area of my life. And my hunger to learn and experiment more means I constantly have more to share with my clients to help them along the same path I am on.
But still there was inconsistency in my self-discipline, and my anxiety and low self-esteem continued to be prominent. Life has certainly felt like a game of snakes and ladders, allowing me leaps and bounds of progress, only to send me back down a hole of emotional pain without warning. But no matter how low I’ve been, I’ve never thought twice about giving up.
As I continued to explore new practices, I eventually found Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. I was attracted to the creative use of movement and strength — disciplines I’d already been exploring. But I was truly hooked when I started to observe the way a fighter develops, and all the lessons that come along with that journey. The satisfaction isn’t so much about improving proficiency — in fact, you’d be left frustrated if you though it would be a steady climb of attaining skill. The journey has no end, and along the way there is no consistency. And this has quickly become a life lesson; finally I’m able to experience the previously intellectual concepts of uncertainty, groundlessness and impermanence, which I first came across in Buddhist philosophy.
The parallels between Jiu Jitsu and mental development continue. I’ve finally found a worthy cause to focus my self-discipline; this art has given me direction, made me set goals and move forward, so even when my motivation wanes I still have a trajectory. As someone who has felt lost my entire life, I can’t begin to describe how much it means to have direction, to have a clear mission that keeps me going. I have less space for anxiety and rumination, because although I’m no professional athlete and my livelihood doesn’t depend on this endeavour, the clear goal of improving my performance takes away that insidious fear that I’m going nowhere and my life is worthless.
Jiu Jitsu has also taught me the power of community, being in the trenches with others on a similar trajectory of progress and having fun along the way. It’s amazing to have a group of people together every day, supporting each other, exchanging advice, with an empathetic ear when we meet the inevitable challenges. It’s what I would want more explicitly for life in general, but having it in this context makes me feel more connected and supported.
With already numerous injuries under my belt, this craft has also taught me more than any discipline to listen to my body. Clearly I was only able to hear my body’s messages in shouts, not whispers, and I now have more respect than ever for this physical form. I now dutifully complete remedial exercises and am conscientious about my recovery. I still catch myself pushing myself beyond my body’s signals, but I’m continuing to rein in the voice in my head that tells me a need to do more to be enough.
So this is where I have come to now: passionate about creative ways to meet resistance physically and mentally, and passionate about sharing these lessons with others. I will never pretend to be a perfect enlightened being, but I know my struggles are what make me an effective coach; they are what gift me the compassion to hold space for others, and the humility to always be life’s student.
