When I wrote my last blog, I shared how intensely trauma showed up in my body long before I could identify what was happening in my life. That story was raw and painful to tell, but it was also the beginning of a bigger conversation: how do you actually heal after life-shattering events?

For me, one of the most powerful tools in the healing process has been fitness. Healing is layered, complicated, and ongoing, but fitness has been and still is an anchor for me. It gave me something solid to hold on to when everything else felt unstable. It helped me reestablish trust within myself, regulate my emotions, and taught me that my body is not only a place where pain is carried, but it is also a vessel of strength and resilience. I’ll never forget when I first started lifting after my world had been turned upside down - I knew that if I wanted to make it through that season, lifting weights would be my lifeline.

Though, I want to be clear from the start: fitness doesn’t heal trauma by itself. It’s one tool among many - but for me, it has been the most powerful. I’ve also found healing through EMDR therapy (which I highly recommend for trauma when the technique can be safely applied by a professional), meditation, supportive relationships, and more. What matters most is finding the tools that work best for you.

In this blog, I want to share the ways that movement, consistency, and setting goals became pillars for me and also some insights into the things I discovered that weren’t as helpful in my healing process.

My hope is that my story gives you both encouragement and permission: encouragement to start where you are, and permission to know that healing isn’t about arriving at a perfect finish line. It’s about finding tools that help you move forward, little by little, in the middle of the mess.

Consistency as an Anchor

As I was beginning to rebuild my life in California, I started listening to podcasts about betrayal and healing from trauma, and the same theme came up again and again. When everything in your world unexpectedly and painfully changes, the most important thing you can do is create rhythms that bring stability to your mind and body.

That really resonated with me, because betrayal is uniquely disorienting - especially when it involves multiple people you were closest to. Everything you thought was true suddenly isn’t, and your nervous system feels fried from the shock. The advice I kept hearing confirmed what I was already experiencing: the gym had become my rhythm, my safe space, and my outlet.

*The picture on the right was only six months after I started healing. I had gained 20lbs and my health was fully restored at that point.*

When I lifted, it wasn’t just about moving my body. It became a space where I could be alone, process, and begin to regulate my nervous system. Sometimes, as I pushed through heavy sets, memories and emotions would rise to the surface. Throughout my gym journey, lifting gave me a way to release some of the pain so that it wouldn’t be stored in my body.

Endorphins and Natural Antidepressants

One of the things I love about movement is how immediate its effects can be. Science confirms what most of us have felt after a hard workout: exercise releases endorphins, which help regulate mood, reduce stress, and act as natural antidepressants.

When I was in the early days of my healing process, that chemical boost was something I desperately needed.

In my experience, lifting went far beyond a temporary mood lift - it became a way of rewriting my story. In the aftermath of betrayal, it often felt like someone else had taken control of the narrative, leaving me with a story that was dark and hopeless. But every time I showed up for myself, I was reminded that my story wasn’t finished.

*Shortly after we moved here. Trying to keep the littles active.*

Each session was proof that I had the power to build something good, something new, and something completely independent of what had been done to me. And, I had learned how to practice self-love. Lifting was my way of taking the pen back and declaring: this story is mine.

Strength training gave me proof that I could create change. Even on days when I felt broken inside, I could see progress in the gym. That progress reminded me that I wasn’t stuck - that I had the power to author a different ending. The endorphins, paired with the empowerment of visible progress, helped carry me through some of my hardest days.

Structure That Heals

I took so much comfort in the structure of weightlifting and following a training plan. A good strength program isn’t random - it is built on patterns and progression. The timing of workouts, the specific lifts, the way exercises are organized, and the focus on progressive overload all create a rhythm. Every week I could track what I was doing, see where I was getting stronger, and know what was coming next. That sense of order was really stabilizing for me.

What’s powerful about progressive overload is that it isn’t just a training hack - it is literally the engine of adaptation. By gradually increasing the stress on your muscles and nervous system—whether by adding a little weight, a few extra reps, or adjusting rest times - your body is forced to respond by becoming stronger and more capable.

That gave me a concrete way to see growth over time. Even when I felt like everything else was falling apart, I had visible and tangible proof that growth was still taking place somewhere in my life.

There’s something healing about having a clear plan: you show up, follow the structure, and over time you see results. When life is messy, it gives you a place where progress is predictable. That rhythm reminded me that while I couldn’t control everything in my life, I could still create patterns of growth for myself.

And here’s the really cool thing:

Structure in one area tends to create structure in others. As I became more consistent with my training, I naturally became more mindful of my nutrition and my sleep. If I wanted to recover well and keep progressing in the gym, I had to fuel my body better and go to bed on time.

Science actually supports this domino effect - regular exercise has been shown to improve sleep quality, regulate appetite, and even increase the likelihood of healthier food choices. How we use food for fuel certainly does have an impact on our longevity. In other words, the discipline of training doesn’t stay isolated in the gym; it ripples outward, shaping the way you live day to day.

Of course, strength training isn’t the only path to this kind of healing. For some people, the structure comes through yoga, running, or other athletics and sports. The point isn’t which movement you choose - the point is these practices often carry a built-in organizational aspect that can anchor you.

When your world feels unstable, the discipline and rhythm of movement can provide the scaffolding you need to begin rebuilding.

Mind-Body Connection: The Body Speaks First

One of the most important insights I’ve uncovered in this journey is that the body often speaks before the mind can understand. Trauma isn’t just stored in memories or narratives - it lives in the nervous system, in tension, disrupted sleep, and patterns of stress that show up physically. Long before I could fully process what had happened to me emotionally, my body was already carrying the burden of it.

Movement gave my body a language when words fell short. In the gym, I found a space where those communication signals could show up safely, and the act of moving gave them somewhere to go.

This idea isn’t just my own experience. As Bessel van der Kolk explains in The Body Keeps the Score:

“Trauma is not just an event that took place sometime in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on mind, brain, and body.”

That imprint doesn’t always dissolve with talk therapy alone, because the body holds information in ways words can’t always reach. Research on somatic therapies highlights how paying attention to the body—through movement, breath, and sensation—can help regulate the nervous system and release stored tension.

For me, strength training became a structured way to listen and respond to those bodily cues. When emotions surfaced mid-lift, my body was telling me something had to be released. The rhythm of the lifts, the breathing, the tension and release of muscles - all of it became a feedback loop where I wasn’t just building strength, I was reconnecting with myself.

Over time, showing up in that space helped me trust my body again and rebuild a sense of safety within it.

What Didn’t Heal the Trauma

As much as movement and fitness became anchors for me, I also learned the hard way what makes the process of healing more difficult. After trauma, it is natural to want to reach for something outside yourself - new community, new romantic relationships, or anything that feels like it could stabilize you.

But looking back, I can see that this pattern was part of what got me into the situation in the first place: placing my sense of safety and identity in the hands of others.

For me, that tendency showed up as codependency - looking to someone else to make me feel secure, worthy, or whole. For the first time, I had to restore a deep connection and trust within myself - one that wasn’t dependent on anyone else.

And while I would never tell anyone that the trauma they experienced is their fault, I also had to face a harder truth: there were patterns in me that drew me toward unhealthy relationships. That realization was painful, because it forced me to look in the mirror. I didn’t choose betrayal, but I had to acknowledge the ways I ignored red flags, silenced my own intuition, and allowed my worth to be tied to people who weren’t capable of honoring it.

Doing that inner work has been some of the hardest healing I’ve ever done. It has required me to be honest with myself, to notice my patterns, and to actively rewrite them. It taught me to have a healthy mindset around my inner and outer well-being.

A big part of that work has been learning to tell my story without clinging to an identity as a victim. There’s a balance between naming what happened and owning the pain, while also refusing to let it define me. Fitness gave me strength, but there is no substitute for building this type of self-awareness.

Over time, I’ve seen real progress. I’m learning how to choose differently, how to trust myself again, and how to step into relationships without losing the ground I’ve fought so hard to rebuild.

Healing, for me, has been layered. The gym gave me stability, structure, and visible progress. But the deeper work—facing my patterns, taking responsibility for my growth, and learning not to repeat cycles—has been, and still is, just as necessary. Together, these pieces have allowed me not only to recover but to begin creating a life that feels whole again.