I’m a Former Fitness Professional and I am Intentionally Deconditioning
Maria Scrimenti, Guest Contributor
By Maria Scrimenti, Guest Contributor
I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania where my dad was a politician. My family was in the public eye. Reputation was paramount. Image was important. Your worth lies in your status.
I was heavily involved in our community theater, on the front page of the local newspaper, always on stage and on display. Excellence was rewarded. Image was important. Your worth lies in your talent.
I went to a college prep high school where we were encouraged to be involved in a lot of things. I signed up for cheerleading and musicals and many different clubs. My classmates were high performers who went on to IVY league schools. Prestige was prized. Image was important. Your worth lies in your accolades.
I became accustomed to attaching my worth to external accomplishments. I received validation through achievements in academics, excelling in extra-curriculars and leadership positions, landing lead roles, getting voted on homecoming court each year, and finally, in senior year, dating the hottest guy in school.
But when it came time to graduate, it was all stripped away.
No more clubs to be president of, homecoming queen didn't matter anymore, and my boyfriend broke up with me.
Desperate to start over and make something impressive of myself, I decided to make a big move.
In 2012, Nashville, Tennessee would become my home.
I packed up all my belongings and traveled over 600 miles to a city where I knew not a single soul and would go from being a big fish in a small pond to a small fish in a big pond.
When I arrived at college, I was disappointed to find that no one knew a “Maria Scrimenti”. No one knew or cared about what made me relevant, popular, and admired before. No one knew anything about me.
Eager to shine, I searched for the quickest way to establish prominence so that I could prove to everyone back home (including the ex who broke my heart) that I was still good at stuff, killing it at this college thing, and thriving in Nashville.
It’s hard enough just to fit in in a new environment, let alone stand out.
I can look back now and have compassion for 18-year-old me who was deep down just trying to get her needs met. All humans need love, safety, and belonging, and it’s incredibly hard to establish those things in a place where you don’t know anyone, you’re on your own for the first time, and you’re essentially re-inventing yourself.
So in an effort to ease the discomfort of transition and fast-track the process of getting those emotional needs met, I thought "these people don't know me on the inside... how can I make myself the most palatable and attractive on the outside? How can I visibly stand out?"
So my body became my project.
It was my attempt to easily advertise my worthiness.
After all, we live in a culture where thinness is worshipped. Image is important. Your worth lies in your beauty.
I doubled-down on counting calories and "eating clean." I bitched about the food in the campus cafeteria. The Southern cuisine was “too buttery and fried” and there weren't enough "healthy" options. Most days I’d construct a "salad" at the salad bar, which was basically a bowl of dry spinach leaves and a hard boiled egg, hold the yolk. Before long, I was sick of it, so I stopped going to “the caf” altogether. Unfortunately, I lived in a dorm without a kitchen so I’d microwave veggie burgers, drink protein shakes, and call black coffee breakfast.
Every Monday, I was already planning Saturday’s "cheat meal" with my roommate at Taqueria Del Sol where I could get the cheese enchilada with lemon cream sauce and Mexican rice (I dreamt of this meal all week) or at the Pharmacy Burger in East Nashville where I could get the double cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate shake.
I hung "fitspo" posters in my dorm room that read "run hard and be nice to people." I had campus security on call to escort me to the fitness center at 5am because it was pitch black outside and no one was out (not the safest time for a young girl to walk alone on campus) but I had to get my workout in before the sun rose apparently.
In the afternoons, I’d go for runs through campus in the Tennessee heat, hoping boys would notice me. And they did. But I was still uncomfortable with my body. I was never thin or fit enough, despite training like an Olympic athlete. I periodically volunteered for grueling fitness tests where I’d score in the 99th percentile of physical fitness for my age and gender.
This was all recreational, mind you. I wasn't actually an athlete. I didn't have a college scholarship that depended on my fitness or physical performance.
Though maybe I wanted to be an athlete because they were cool and popular, had purpose, and found community in their teammates. But, despite growing up with 3 athletic brothers, I had no real interest in sports.
Instead, I opted to build a career in the fitness industry. I became a certified personal trainer and group fitness instructor. Because of my dedication to my body and, my genuine passion for teaching fitness, I once again found myself in the local newspaper, winning the “best bod” award in my resident hall’s superlatives (true story), mingling with celebrities, and on the social media accounts of "NashvilleFitMagazine" and the like. Muscles were required. Image was important. Your worth lies in your body.
The attention and validation felt good because it was familiar.
But this all sounds like a lot to maintain, no?
How was I even going to class, getting my assignments done, and having a social life, when my world revolved around my diet and exercise?
How did I even have friends when I consistently turned down social invitations because there wouldn’t be “clean” options and it wasn’t my “cheat” day?
The fitness classes I taught became well-known on campus. They were always packed…I made friends… and helped people fall in love with exercise, and I am proud of that.
But I wish I could go back and tell my 18-year-old self that she didn’t have to do all of that just to get what she really needed, which was love, acceptance, and belonging.
I wish I could tell her that her body is good, regardless of her body fat percentage.
I wish I could tell her that her worth didn’t depend on her accomplishments or her appearance.
I can see now that my obsession with food and my body was a natural response to my environment. It was a way for me to establish a sense of safety, control, and identity in a new setting.
According to the Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, the best-known environmental contributor to the development of eating disorders is the sociocultural idealization of thinness (Culbert et. al., 2015). Aka, diet culture, aka the air we breathe.
I realize how harmful that messaging is, and I’m sad that I bought into it and perpetuated it for so long.
So I’m committed to cleaning up my side of the street.
I’m unlearning and then unteaching that we need to be thin in order to be loved.
I am unlearning and unteaching that we need to have sculpted bodies and eat clean in order to be healthy and feel morally right & good.
I spent years obsessed with the conditioning of my body. It’s ironic that now, what I am most committed to is my deconditioning.
I’m questioning the thoughts I’ve been conditioned to believe in regards to a woman’s value and worthiness.
I’m unlearning fatphobia and divesting from diet culture and other systems of oppression that keep us small.
I’m learning to respect my current body and treat it with care, not punish it because it doesn’t fit perfectly into the current societal “ideal”.
I’m learning that my self-worth cannot be found in anything outside of me.
Author and esteemed researcher Dr. Brene Brown says “when you get to a place where you understand that love and belonging, your worthiness, is a birthright and not something you have to earn, anything is possible,” (Hai, 2012).
So I’m taking her advice.
I’m building a new value system where coming home to me is imperative. My outward appearance is not the most important or interesting thing about me. My worth is my birthright.
References
Culbert, K. M., Racine, S. E., & Klump, K. L. (2015). Research Review: What we have learned about the causes of eating disorders - a synthesis of sociocultural, psychological, and biological research. J Child Psychol Psychiatry, 56(11), 1141-1164.
Hai, Roxanne. (2012, March 16). Being vulnerable about vulnerability: Q&A with Brené Brown. Retrieved from https://blog.ted.com/being-vulnerable-about-vulnerability-qa-with-brene-brown/comment-page-2/
Maria Scrimenti is a Certified Intuitive Eating Counselor who helps women make peace with food and feel confident in their bodies without dieting. She specializes in "emotional eating", body dissatisfaction, and disordered eating such as chronic dieting and binge eating. She loves fresh flowers, singing and dancing around the kitchen, and leisurely Jeep drives through Nashville in the sunshine with the music loud. Essentially, she is passionate about living joyfully and freely and is dedicated to helping others live the same way. Maria has appeared on several podcasts and has been quoted in articles for PsychologyToday, PopSugar, Yahoo, MSN, the National Wellness Institute Journal, and more. She holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Exercise Science, and almost a decade of experience in the fitness industry with certifications in 7 different fitness modalities. She has completed 60 credit hours of Master's- level coursework in Counseling, is a Certified Health & Wellness Coach, and a fitness instructor at Vanderbilt University. She also completed the Yoga & Eating Disorders Mentoring Group in 2021. Maria adores her work and is on a mission to help women leave shame and “should’s” behind so they can embrace and connect to their truest, most vibrant selves. Follow Maria on Instagram @mariascrimenti.