I’ve always had a slim frame for a guy.
My build suited me as a teenager and a young man, and I gravitated towards endurance sports like running, cycling and football. My slightness helped with agility and manoeuvrability, whether on a bike or running across a football pitch.
Self-confidence mainly came through sport, and in school I was well known for being in the running team. I used to finish near the top in cross country and athletics races, and my body was built for long-distance.
My physique runs in the family, and I’ve had a high metabolism for as long as I can remember.
It’s not something I actively monitored growing up, but I began to feel more conscious of my body in the latter half of secondary school (high school in the UK).
It’s no surprise that my body consciousness coincided with puberty and a growing awareness of the wider world in my teenage years.
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When I first began to experience chronic pain at 21 years of age, I felt like my sporty identity was stripped away. Football was replaced with rest and running turned into short walks.
I wasn’t sure who I was anymore.
With a lack of hobbies or interests outside of sport – I fixated on my pain, trying to do anything to make it feel better.
The pain came on as aches, sharpness and at times, nervy – like a constant pins and needles type pain. I was very fearful of hurting myself further, and so I drastically reduced my physical activity.
Not only did this have an effect on my physical state, but also on my mental wellbeing. I thought the best thing to do would be to ‘recover’ by doing very little until the pain went away.
When my pain graduated to my lower limbs, I would avoid standing up for periods of more than 5 minutes. I dreaded everyday tasks like washing dishes or vacuuming. If it required me to be on my feet, then I had a problem with it.
However, this meant that I lost muscle tone through living a sedentary lifestyle and I became thinner as a result.
Needless to say, the pain didn’t go away no matter how much I rested. I experienced some relief, but as soon as I got up again, the pain came back.
As I became thinner, I disliked how I looked. I compared myself to friends a lot of the time.
I’m sure my pain levels coincided with how I was feeling within myself.
It was like living in an endless negative cycle.
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Men are pointed towards the ideal male body type through advertising, social media and sport, to name a few examples.
This looks like upper body muscle, low body fat, rounded shoulders, large biceps and so on.
There’s no room for alternate body types – it’s black and white messaging – conveying a right way to appear.
From a young age we see male action figures with exaggerated six-packs and muscles, and these physiques are often idealised in films and video games1.
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When my pain levels started to improve, I started to go the gym and lifted weights for the first time in my life.
However, I found it difficult to gain and maintain muscle, not least because of my high metabolism – but also my pain levels at the time meant that I could only manage one visit to the gym a week.
I used to get frustrated that I couldn’t get in shape quickly, and felt a lot of shame at the same time. I would often think that people’s ‘eyes were on me’ as I approached the weight lifting area of my local gym.
Not only had I not been able to go for long runs or play football anymore, but if I couldn’t gain muscle then I saw myself as a failure. I thought I wasn’t desirable, and my body wasn’t what I wished it to be.
My mind had adjusted to black and white thinking – and there was no room for failure.
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Personally, I can trace back the ‘right or wrong’ thoughts to childhood experiences, but I also believe it coincides with the portrayal of the ideal male body type in media and advertising.
Growing up, I saw an ideal body type for men in superhero films, TV shows and in magazines. Having a muscular body was what I wanted – it was valued.
It didn’t occur to me that our differences make us who we are.
Maybe adding muscle would bring a sense of happiness for a short while, but it wouldn’t be enough – and it would be easy to move onto the next goal.
What would it look like as men to feel content in our bodies? If we have the means to stay healthy and exercise, then shouldn’t that be good enough?
Recently, I read that Zac Efron and Chris Hemsworth had spoken out against unhealthy muscular physiques that they’ve portrayed in films. They mentioned unrealistic low body fat and constant eating schedules in order to put on muscle.
If two male Hollywood icons are criticising their workout programs, this further affirms to me that a healthy body image in men needs to be leading the conversation.
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In essence, male body positivity has a long way to go.
Tied to body image, there’s still an ongoing stigma around men talking about their feelings and their mental wellbeing.
This leads to men struggling, often on their own.
Historically, society has taught men to be strong, adaptable and to essentially forgo their emotional needs.
I’ve experienced these feelings and I’ve often felt isolated. I’ve felt embarrassed to admit that I wasn’t okay and putting on a mask seemed to be the easiest choice.
I’m not alone in feeling this way.
If we as men can talk more about our feelings and the unhealthy pressures of society, we’d see that our struggles are universal.
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I now have a much better relationship with my physical appearance, however, there are still times when I struggle. I’ve experienced comments about my lack of muscle and I’ve been called lazy when I’ve need to sit down for an extended period.
No one can fully understand what you’re going through – but kindness and acceptance can go a long way.
Focusing on the positives helps me.
I recognise that my balance is very good, I feel agile and I’m a healthy weight – despite experiencing chronic pain.
I’m strong despite my struggles.
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Whilst I adjusted to my pain, I found that I could do activities like cycling, hiking and even bouldering if I managed my energy levels and didn’t fall into an ‘all or nothing’ approach.
In my twenties, I picked up music again, and now play the guitar confidently. I sing and I like to write poetry.
In a way, I’m grateful for my pain because I discovered a more sensitive side of myself and learned that peak fitness wasn’t the be all and end all.
There’s ways that I can contribute to society through my strengths, just like each of us can.
I’ve learned that the only person who can give me confidence is myself, and no amount of muscle or strength will change that.
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Take good care of yourself.
Stephen
Sources:
1: https://www.verywellmind.com/where-do-men-fit-into-the-body-positivity-movement-5496295
Courage in Chronic Pain 