Wool Goddess

The other day, I was deep in conversation with someone who shared their “go-to” advice for struggling mental health: just go to the gym. That phrase got me thinking. Not because exercise doesn’t help, it absolutely can, but because it made me reflect on my own long journey with mental health, and how misguided that single piece of advice can be when offered as a cure-all.

My battles with my mind began in my teens, back in the 1980s, a time when mental health issues were cloaked in silence and shame. There was no language, no validation, no safe space for those of us fighting internal storms and busy minds. So I did what many of us did, I blamed it on the way I looked outside and decided that when I was “perfect” my life would be also. So, I turned to the gym. I threw myself into health, fitness, and an endless loop of aerobics classes. Admittedly, I did this back then at a dangerous level, but since the teenage eating disorder days I have adopted this mindset of if I change my exterior it will solve all my problems.

And it worked… sort of.

On the outside, I was sculpted, glowing, magnetic. I received compliments from men and women alike. People told me I looked amazing, strong, confident. But on the inside? I was broken. All the toned abs and lean limbs in the world couldn’t stitch together the invisible wounds I carried. The gym gave me a temporary high, a way to mask pain with sweat and smiles. It was a goddess costume I wore to survive.

Over the years, my mental health rose and fell like waves. Recently, I found an old USB stick filled with photos of me across the decades. So many pictures, so many moments captured in time. I was so pretty in so many of them. In some, my body looked so bloody amazing!. But here’s the truth that no photo can tell: I remember exactly what was going on in my head in each of those pictures. And much of it wasn’t good.

Now, at fifty three, with more life experience than I could have imagined and qualifications in holistic health, I can say with complete honesty: I have never felt happier. And it has absolutely nothing to do with going to the gym.

Exercise is a wonderful tool. It moves stagnant energy, boosts endorphins, and helps keep our bodies mobile and strong. But it’s just one cog in a very complex wheel. True healing requires so much more.

You can’t outrun pain. You can’t squat away grief. You can’t lift your way out of trauma.

What you can do is this:

Feel every single emotion. Don’t box it up or pretend it’s not there. Trust me, those boxes will eventually burst open. Let it rise. Let it roar. Let it heal.

Get therapy. A good counsellor can help unravel the knots you’ve learned to live with.

Feed your body well. Good nutrition changes everything, your mood, energy, even how you see the world.

Learn to love who you are, not who the world says you should be.

Work on your inner demons. Know that they may never disappear entirely, but you can learn to live peacefully alongside them.

Support your nervous system. Get out of fight-or-flight mode. Breathwork, grounding, cold water therapy, and rest can all help.

Find a medication that works, there is no shame in using antidepressants if needed.

Support yourself holistically with adaptogens, functional mushrooms, and gut-healing foods to build serotonin and balance your mood naturally.

Smile, laugh, cry, dance, and above all: fall in love with living not bullshit social media worthy living but real messy, complicated, joyful living.

So, next time someone says “just go to the gym” as a fix for mental health, I’ll nod gently and say, “It’s a start, but it’s not the whole story.”

Because healing isn’t about hiding behind a perfect body. It’s about coming home to your whole self and finally feeling safe there.

Love & healing hugs