Using Physical Signs of Distress to Support Mental Health
Loss of appetite, hives, or muscle soreness might be your body’s cue to give your brain a little extra TLC
For the last seven days, I haven’t been very hungry.
My distended, bloated, aching stomach makes the mere thought of even my favorite foods seem incredibly unappealing. I’ll often attempt to make or eat a meal, only to be completely uninterested by the time my fork sinks into the random concoction I prepared.
I’ve also been hyperaware of the way my swollen body feels in clothes, straining against the elastic waistband of my tight yoga pants and bubbling over the top of my sports bra.
The disordered part of my brain — remnants of my former eating disorder — tell me it’s good I’m not hungry.
It says, “You’re bigger than you used to be. You probably should skip a meal or two to slim down.”
Yet the rational side of my brain knows I’m not full, as I clearly haven’t been eating much, and that this weight gain has been essential to supporting my recovery.
The compassionate part of my brain tells me to push past the physical and psychological discomfort and nourish my body with the food it craves and needs.
And the therapy-trained part of my brain reminds me these physical cues are beautiful signs that my mental and emotional states are begging for attention.
I’m distressed…though I didn’t realize it until my body told me so.
These past six months have been mentally, emotionally and physically taxing. Between the pandemic, racial injustice, wildfires and countless other obstacles, 2020 just hasn’t given us a break.
On top of these widespread issues, we are each struggling with unique matters in our own lives.
While we might be aware that these difficulties have placed a great deal of strain on our mental health, we might not always be aware of just how tasking these events are. We might even be failing to recognize our own distress because we aren’t looking for the right signs.
In my own experience, the physical manifestations of stress — lingering symptoms and behaviors from my previous eating disorder — are immensely powerful in helping illuminate when I need to slow down and engage in self-care.
Here’s how I identify and use my body’s powerful physical cues to identify and remedy underlying, often suppressed mental and emotional distress.
Recognizing the signs
When we think of stress, depression and anxiety, among various other flavors of mental health conditions, we often consider the mental and emotional symptoms — irritability, lack of focus, or feeling scattered and flustered, just to name a few.
To protect us, the brain sometimes adapts in ways that suppress these obvious signs of mental health distress.
Thought suppression — a strategy to cope with unwanted thoughts or emotions — occurs when a person actively attempts not to think about those uncomfortable thoughts or feelings. Thought suppression is increasingly prevalent in times when we are desperate to keep ourselves and loved ones healthy and safe, like during the current pandemic.
While such suppression is helpful for our stability in the moment, it’s counterproductive. This behavior often causes us to consciously ignore, bury, or sometimes unconsciously miss when we might be experiencing mental health distress. These neglected thoughts will inevitably come back, often more intense than in their original presentation.
That’s why I find it essential to tune in to my physical body — not only to help serve as a litmus test for my mental and emotional state, but to help address those unwanted or troubling thoughts in the here and now so they aren’t exacerbated in the future.
I’ve always been prone to losing my appetite in times of extreme stress or anxiety. Now having battled the most extreme version of malnourishment — an eating disorder — any breakthroughs of that former illness are beautiful cues to take a step back. Then, I’m better able to identify the true problem and give myself a little extra self-care.
Perhaps you’re on the opposite end of the spectrum as an emotional eater, or maybe like me, you notice your digestion worsens and you get rather bloated when you’re suppressing mental distress.
Another obvious sign for me is poor or restless sleep, no matter if my mind is racing or not.
Sometimes we can literally “see” our stress on our bodies in the forms of hives, sweat, acne, or unusual amounts of hair loss. Other times they can be found “under the surface,” including joint and muscle aches or tenderness, shortness of breath, and heart palpitations.
Any deviation from the norm, no matter how subtle, might be your body’s way of telling you to give a little extra TLC to your brain.
Using the physical signs of mental health distress to your advantage
When I was fresh out of the eating disorder recovery process, I used to shame myself for having any lingering disordered behaviors or loss of appetite. I so desperately wanted to be free of those remnants of that dark time in my life.
These feelings shifted when my therapist opened my eyes and taught me how those physical signs of stress can be used as leverage to know when I need to take greater care of my mental and emotional health.
So, what does it mean to leverage the signs your physical body is giving you to take care of your mental and emotional health?
For me, it begins with recognizing the signs.
Sometimes those cues might be obvious.
When I’ve lost my appetite, my food intake goes from three meals and three snacks a day to skipping my snacks altogether, having a late breakfast, or avoiding dinner after a long day.
It’s also obvious when I don’t get a good night’s sleep. I need a solid eight to nine hours of uninterrupted sleep to be my best self, so if I get anything less, it’s easy to see.
More subtle cues, like muscle soreness or heart palpitations, might be easily overlooked, or in the case of soreness, might be explained away by exercise or twisted sleeping positions.
To tune in to my physical body, I perform full-body scans when doing seated breathwork or meditation. I also find that a regular yoga practice helps keep my mind and body connected so that I’m primed to those sometimes-nuanced physical sensations.
Like I said before, I used to get caught up in a sea of negative emotions when I noticed these physical cues. Now, I try to observe my body from a place of curiosity and compassion as opposed to a place of judgement.
Once I recognize the cues, I aim to meet those physical needs in the moment.
For me, that means feeding myself nutrient-dense foods, even if I don’t feel hungry, or getting to bed a little earlier to ensure I get enough sleep.
For others, that might mean they engage in mindful breathing to slow their heart rate or rapid respiration. If experiencing aches and pains, one might lessen their energy expenditures and partake in a gentle, restorative yoga class.
I find that once my immediate physical needs are met, my body is stable and able to support my mind and soul.
Once physical needs are met, I dig a little deeper — look under the surface — for what’s truly distressing me.
First, I name what I’m feeling: anxious, sad, angry, defeated, nervous, frustrated, exhausted.
Then, it’s time to find out why I feel that way.
Like the physical cues, these underlying triggers or reasons may be straightforward or subtle.
The pandemic, for one, is a clear source of my stress. It’s apparent in the apprehension I have when getting physically near someone other than my husband, or the anxiety I have surrounding the state of my job.
Other times, it’s not so easy. I might intuitively know — thanks to my body’s cues — that something is internally awry, but I might not know what or why.
Again, I return to a practice of mindfulness to discover the true source of my mental distress, like meditation, breathwork, or journaling.
And when all else fails, I vent to my husband.
Just simply coming to him, letting him know how I’m physically and emotionally feeling can help unravel the “why” behind those sensations and distress.
Identifying, naming, and finding the source of my distress is half the work in overcoming, or at least more gracefully navigating, challenging times to ultimately support my well-being. Once the physical body has turned on the lightbulb in my head, I’m better able to address the distress, either alone or in therapy.
Though it took me a few days to notice my pattern of under-eating and heightened negative physical awareness, I was able to meet those needs and identify the true sources of my anxiety:
Embarrassment and shame regarding my post-eating disorder body.
To be able to discover, name, and now work to address those sources of my mental and emotional angst was all made possible by my physical body’s cues.
Though it’s difficult for me to admit that I may never be completely free of my former eating disorder, I’m grateful that I can rely on those now atypical thoughts and behaviors to point my attention inward.
