A PureGym member’s journey toward strength and body confidence

I grew up running track and dancing ballet, and in both spaces I became hyperaware of how my body looked and how it performed. Each sport valued different lines and a different aesthetic, and I often felt like my silhouette needed to fit whatever that environment said an athlete or dancer should look like. Even something as ordinary as bloating could make me uncomfortable in my uniform or leotard.

For years, I also worried that lifting weights would make me look too muscular, even though strength training helped me perform. I was trying to meet one expectation about appearance while asking my body to meet another expectation about performance. The more I worried about how my body looked, the harder it became to appreciate what I was actually accomplishing as an athlete.

I could look at a strong body and still find something wrong with it.

That feeling followed me into adulthood. My body changed as my life changed. I became a mother to twins and went through multiple pregnancies. My training changed too. Track workouts became football workouts, and at different points I found myself following fitness trends or trying to return to a version of my body that belonged to another stage of my life.

The funny thing is, I knew better. As a trainer and an athlete, I understood that bodies change. I understood that strength doesn’t look the same on everyone, or even on the same person from one year to the next.

But knowing that and getting my own eyes to see it in the gym mirror could feel incredibly hard some days.

Changing that perspective has taken time. And I haven’t done it alone.

My daughters helped me see things differently through something the three of us have used since they were young: Power of Three.

Power of Three started as something bigger than body image. As a family, whenever life felt overwhelming, the three of us would take a moment to quiet the noise around us and the noise within us. It reminded us that whatever one of us was going through, she didn’t have to carry it alone. We had one another.

Eventually, that practice became a way for us to work through body image too. We would pause, close our eyes and think of a time our bodies had carried us through something we hadn’t expected to manage. We would try to replace a negative thought with something positive and true, and remind ourselves that whatever felt overwhelming could be shared instead of carried alone.

My daughters are athletes, but they’re artists too. They act. They draw beautiful portraits, design clothing and create sculptures. I grew up with visual and performing arts alongside sports, so watching

them develop both sides of themselves has reminded me that art and athleticism were never supposed to conflict. Art is an extension of life, and so much of my life has been athletic.

Looking back, I wish I had understood that relationship sooner. I could have used dance to express my athletic life and looked in the mirror to see my body as an embodiment of power, balance, poise and elegance, instead of judging its lines for being too muscular to feel feminine one day or too soft to look athletic the next.

I spent so much time asking whether my body fit the aesthetic that I sometimes missed the art it was already creating.

The same hands that create a beautiful portrait can catch a football. They can shape a sculpture and throw a stiff arm. The legs that carry you across a stage can carry you down a football field.

Our bodies don’t have to fit into one idea of what they should look like to be capable of creating something beautiful.

For a long time, I thought being an athlete meant looking a certain way. Now I’m learning there’s so much more to appreciate in a body than its appearance, including the art it can create and the experiences it makes possible.

I’m an athlete, a trainer and a coach, and I’m still figuring this out. I get anxious. I take photos and decide not to post them. Sometimes I step away from social media because I need to get back to myself.

And sometimes, standing in front of the gym mirror, I close my eyes and take a Power of Three moment.

It’s how I remind myself of something I want my daughters and the athletes I coach to understand: we don’t have to feel confident every day to keep participating in the things we love.

When I start getting caught up in how I look, I try to come back to one question: What did my body allow me to do today?