The first thing I noticed wasn’t my mood, but my capacity for open and honest reflection. A few years after being diagnosed with bipolar II disorder and generalized anxiety disorder during college on my 21st birthday, I caught myself staring into the mirror longer than usual. My mental health was finally becoming more stable, as things with treatment were finally clicking into place. Therapy was working. The constant exhaustion of bipolar depression had eased, and for the first time, I felt hopeful.

But my body hadn’t quite caught up to my mind.

The medications that helped me reclaim my life also came with physical side effects. My metabolism slowed, I gained weight, and I felt tired. I noticed that I didn’t feel like myself physically anymore, even though mentally I was healthier than I’d been in years. That disconnect between my mind and my body surprised me.

I never questioned whether taking medication was the right decision as it gave me my life back.

But after talking with my doctor, I realized that recovering mentally didn’t mean I could ignore my physical health because I was getting better. If I wanted to feel like myself again, I needed to care for both the mental and physical.

So I asked myself a simple question: What kinds of movements have ever made me happy?

The answer came almost immediately. Walking. Swimming.

Neither felt like punishment. Neither required me to become someone I wasn’t. They were simply ways to move through the world, and I was never one for competitive sports or running at the gym.

I started small, taking walks that gradually grew into about 10,000 steps a day. At my local gym, I eased back into swimming a few times each week. Most importantly, I stopped measuring success by distance and started measuring it by how I felt afterward.

Almost every single time, I left feeling lighter. Every time, I left glad that I had gone.

For me, movement has always been less about changing my body and more about caring for myself

Of course, that doesn’t mean every day has been easy.

There are still mornings when the couch feels far more inviting than the gym. But I’ve grown so much along this journey, and the most important lesson I’ve learned is this: I deserve to feel good in both my mind and my body.

Recently, I’ve started branching out even more. My gym offers a variety of fitness classes, and I’ve discovered that I genuinely enjoy yoga. In a few weeks, I’ll be attending a sound-bath yoga class that combines mindfulness with movement. I’m excited to see where that experience leads.

As I write this, my family and I are spending a few days at the beach, soaking up the first stretch of hot August weather. Every year, my uncle and I continue a tradition of walking several miles along the shoreline. The waves crash beside us, and its been our thing for at least half a decade.

Years ago, I would never have described myself as athletic. I’m still much more likely to be found with a book than anywhere else. But I've learned that exercise doesn’t have to look like a competition for it to matter.

Sometimes, it looks like a quiet walk on the beach, or swimming laps with no one keeping score, or simply looks like choosing to show up for yourself — and that’s the most important thing.

For me movement has become another way of caring for my mind. It’s not about chasing perfection or trying to become someone who is naturally athletic. Rather, healthy movement is about honoring the body that has carried me through some of my hardest days and giving it the same compassion as I’ve given my mental health.