A blog post by Elena Overfield | Formerly Pepetoe

I am very good at pushing through. I used to think that was unequivocally a good thing. Tired? Keep going. Busy? Make it work. In pain? See how bad it actually gets. Something needs doing? I’ll do it. There’s a version of this personality that gets praised constantly. Dedicated, disciplined, resilient, hard-working. Sometimes it is all of those things. Sometimes it’s also: I have absolutely no fucking idea when I’m allowed to stop. So, when I was informed that my knee injury isn’t something to mess around with, and that I can’t play hockey, can’t run, can’t do the things I enjoy, and the things that my body used to force me to do, I had to confront this.

My body has forced me to confront this

Sport has always meant a huge amount to me. Exercise has meant even more complicated things. Being forced to stop because my body isn’t cooperating hasn’t simply meant that I can’t do exercise for a while, which is what it would mean to most people, instead is has challenged identity, routine, control and coping mechanisms all at once, – and my instinct has repeatedly been to negotiate.

Could I do a little bit? Could I push through? What if I rest tomorrow? How bad is too bad? As though my body needs to submit a sufficiently compelling legal case before I’ll grant it a day off. Trust me, none of this is true. Take it from someone who may or may not have played in a hockey match this weekend, and is now in crippling pain. The joys of wanting to push through to do things I enjoy, whilst also battling with this voice in my head telling me I’m not good enough, and that I need to be doing exercise.

I used to think stopping meant failing

There is something incredibly uncomfortable about admitting “I can’t do this right now”. Especially when you’re used to being capable. I’ve started learning that perseverance and self-destruction can look remarkably similar from the outside. Sometimes pushing through is brave. Sometimes stopping is braver. Sometimes discipline means doing the workout. Sometimes discipline means not doing it, despite every part of your brain demanding that you should.

For someone who has spent years battling with a voice in her head telling her she’s not good enough, and that she needs to be the smallest person in the room, needing to stop exercise has been tremendously difficult. That voice in my head surely is telling me to push through it, no matter the pain, masking it from my family and friends and teammates on the hockey pitch. Believe me, I pushed through it for a whole damn season! So, yeah, my brain is wired to think that this is all a failure. Someone caught me. Someone saw me in pain and said that enough is enough. What I have learnt, though, is that rest is so powerful. It allows me to do loads of other things too! And, as soon as I’m recovered (in both senses), I can step back on that hockey pitch, and show my body what it is capable of, without punishing it.

Rest doesn’t require justification

Coincidentally this has been playing through my head today. A day off work where I went to bed last night thinking “I played that hockey match this weekend, I deserve a day (one day) of rest”. Right there, that’s justifying it. And I’m so done with it!

This also extends beyond exercise. I don’t need to reach complete physical and emotional collapse before I’m allowed to have a quiet day. I don’t need to finish everything before I sleep. I don’t need to produce something valuable before I earn the right to sit down.

Rest isn’t the reward for successfully exhausting myself. It’s a basic requirement of being alive. I’m not perfect at believing that yet. Some days rest still feels uncomfortable, especially when I’m hungover for example! Some days slowing down makes my brain louder. But I’m trying to stop asking: “Have I done enough to deserve rest?” And start asking: “What do I need today?”

My worth isn’t measured by how much I can endure, and perhaps resilience isn’t always about proving I can keep going. Sometimes it’s respecting myself enough to stop.