C-PTSD meets powerlifting: reconnection of the self.

It’s a decent spring day. I’m horribly depressed. I’m stepping into a fast-food joint to pick up greasy junk food as it’s the only thing that makes getting fresh air worth a damn at this point in my life. On the way in, the camera pointed at my life zooms out. I’m watching myself walk up the parking lot. I have a distinct feeling that my legs don’t belong to me. I watch myself open the door to the smell of grease and I’m suddenly back inside my own eyes.

What just happened?

Dissociation is defined as the disconnection between yourself and your surroundings; that is precisely what I experienced. I was suddenly outside of my own body and watching my “life” from some ghostly, ethereal camera floating somewhere in a fast-food parking lot.

My C-PTSD was at an all-time high. I had been dealt a misdiagnosis of borderline personality disorder that slowed down the path to proper help. That was also when my binge-eating disorder was at its worst. I had starved 25 lbs. off of myself at the time, but during the harshest episodes of self-hatred, I would easily eat two days’ worth of food in a single sitting.

I wasn’t connected with my body, most importantly I wasn’t connected with the part of me that knew how to balance and nourish itself.

Fast forward two and a half years, a round of trauma-focused therapy, the full life cycle of a 15-month abusive relationship, and a non-commercial gym membership one freeway exit away from my work.

I’m making new friends at the gym and great progress in powerlifting.

My stats at the most pivotal time of my powerlifting journey were: 250 bench, 345 squat, 395 deadlift, 990 total. I was only 10 lbs. away from the 1,000 lb. club! I was obsessed with meeting the milestone and spent hundreds of hours researching across subreddits, forums, and YouTube videos for any crumb of knowledge that could push me past the current finish line.

To my surprise, the process of strengthening myself helped me wake up muscles I’d never used, thus waking up parts of me that never blossomed.

The Mind-Muscle Connection:

Proper weightlifting demands us to slow down and contract the correct muscles to attain our goals. The eternal, recurring message to newbie lifters has always been: put the ego away. If you can’t do it with perfect form, lower the weight and do it till you get it right.

This often leads to the lightbulb and eureka moments of “Oh shit, so THAT’s how it feels to work that muscle.” Isolating and working the right muscle is crucial, and that’s why it’s not just for show when someone finishes a hard set and flexes in the mirror. They’re not just flexing the gains, they’re flexing the connection. Thank the buddy who places a hand on your bicep and says “sheesh” while you crank out some curls. It’s a form of bonding that strengthens connections to each other, your body, and yourself.

Speaking for myself, this slow research in the iron laboratory helped me not to feel like a raw blob of flesh and bone, to give my body both form and function after years of being disconnected from my own breath, pulse, and limbs.

There’s a video I revisit every now and then titled The Pescatarian Diet of Kron Gracie, MMA Fighter. In this, Kron Gracie details his experience switching to a diet that he feels works best for him and allows him to progress his training. My favorite quote from this video describes my approach to powerlifting:

“I really enjoy being like, delusional and tired, you know? Like, dehydrated, overworked, broken down, sore. I really enjoy those feelings. It makes me feel alive, you know?

My best mornings are when I’m energized after a full night’s rest but absolutely WRECKED from a soul-shattering workout. Being overly beaten up by the weights makes up for all the years I spent numb from trauma and depression. It breaks my body apart and builds it back together to make something stronger inside and out.

The Accidental Body Positivity Of Powerlifting:

Many gym peeps pursuing big benches, squats, and deadlifts eventually make a common discovery: you get to be “good” at two out of three.

Strong squat and deadlift? Your bench is okay.

Strong bench and deadlift? Your squat is okay.

Strong bench and squat? Your deadlift is okay. That’s where I was at.

Deadlifts are still my hardest lift. They’ve slipped my ribs out of my place. They’ve made my eyes bleed (sorry you had to see that, specialty café gang). They’ve left me bedridden with doubt and despair in powerlifting. They’ve made me want to quit altogether.

Then, I learned that this weird game of two out of three is often due to leverages. I’ve got short arms, short femurs, and a long torso that set me up to have a big bench press. My buddy has long arms, long femurs, and a short torso that set him up to have a big deadlift. Our squats are the same, but our huge differences in bench press and deadlift manifest through our differences in proportions.

Turns out “built different” isn’t just a meme.

Once I accepted that my deadlift is gonna progress a little slower than everyone else’s but that many are gonna feel the same way about my bench press, I started feeling a lot better about my body and place in the gym.

My frustrations were beyond my control and I could focus on what was within my reach: trying my best, giving it my all, and playing it safe.