When Movement Starts Feeling Like Something You Have to Earn

There was a point in my life when I no longer entirely trusted my body. It happened slowly, through a period of chronic pain and fatigue that changed the way I moved through the world. Without consciously deciding to, I found myself becoming more cautious. I was restricting what I did, avoiding certain movements and quietly absorbing some of the messages about ageing and decline that seem to surround us.

At the same time, I was consuming all the usual wellbeing advice. Walk more. Strength train. Improve your mobility. Increase your step count. Some of it was undoubtedly useful, but much of it left me feeling as though wellbeing had become another job, another set of expectations to meet, another area of life where I wasn't quite doing enough.

That's why I was so relieved when I came across Wendy Welpton's work. Wendy is the founder of Reclaim Movement and author of Move Well for Life. When she joined me on A Thought I Kept, she brought a simple idea that has stayed with her for more than a decade: everyday movement is just as important as exercise.

At first, that might not sound particularly radical. Yet the more we talked, the more I realised how much of our thinking about movement has become tied up with workouts, achievements, measurements and goals. We have become so accustomed to counting, tracking and optimising that we can easily forget movement exists outside of exercise altogether.

Many of us have come to believe that movement only counts if it looks a certain way. A walk becomes something to optimise rather than enjoy. Exercise becomes something to complete rather than experience. We start looking for the ideal routine, the perfect number of steps, the optimum pace, the right time of day. Somewhere along the way, movement stops being something we do naturally and becomes something we perform.

Wendy's story began there too. She was doing all the things she thought she should be doing. Running. Exercising. Ticking every box. Yet she found herself living with chronic pain for four years. It was only when she began paying attention to how she moved during the rest of her day that something started to shift.

That distinction feels important because when most of us say we want to move more, what we often mean is that we think we should be exercising more. Those are not necessarily the same thing. One of the things I loved most about this conversation was Wendy's invitation to widen the frame. Movement is not just a run, a gym session or a yoga class. It is getting up from the floor. It is reaching for something on a shelf. It is taking the stairs. It is changing position after sitting for too long. It is walking because you enjoy walking rather than because your watch tells you to. It is all the small interactions we have with our bodies throughout the day, many of which have become so automatic that we barely notice them anymore.

The more we talked, the more I found myself wondering whether the problem is not that we are moving too little, but that we have narrowed our definition of movement so dramatically. We celebrate the workout while ignoring the twenty-three hours around it. We count the walk but overlook the ways we have stopped bending, reaching, balancing, squatting and playing.

And perhaps most importantly, we forget that movement affects much more than our physical health. It influences our mood, our confidence, our sense of capability and our relationship with ourselves. For Wendy, the journey out of pain was not about forcing her body to do more. It was about rebuilding trust. It was about becoming curious again, playful again and gradually rediscovering a sense of confidence in what her body could do.

If this conversation resonated, you can listen to my full episode with Wendy Welpton on A Thought I Kept, where we explore chronic pain, ageing, body trust, self-compassion and why everyday movement might matter just as much as exercise.

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Reframing the Mind-Body Connection: Learning to Listen to Yourself Again

A few weeks ago, a friend told me that she couldn’t remember the last time she truly felt in her body.

“I know I move through the world,” she said, “but it’s like I’m just a floating head. I think. I analyze. I make decisions. But my body? It’s just there. Until it’s hurting, or exhausted, or screaming for attention.”

She’s not alone in this. So many of us have been trained to treat our bodies as tools—things we push, manage, or ignore until they demand otherwise. We think of movement in terms of productivity or goals: Am I exercising enough? Eating the right things? Doing what I should be doing to ‘take care’ of myself?

But what if we shifted the way we see this connection? What if our bodies weren’t just things to be worked on but something far more profound—something to be listened to?

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What We Get Wrong About the Mind-Body Connection

For years, we’ve been fed the idea that mental well-being happens in the mind alone. That clarity, calm, or resilience are things we can think our way into. We read the books, listen to the podcasts, and try to force our thoughts into new, more positive directions. And yet, despite all the knowledge we gather, we still feel anxious, restless, disconnected.

That’s because the body isn’t separate from the mind—it’s the other half of the conversation.

Think about the last time you felt deeply stressed. Maybe your stomach was in knots, or your shoulders were locked up so tightly you had to remind yourself to breathe. Maybe you noticed your heart racing, or that creeping exhaustion that makes even simple things feel overwhelming.

This isn’t just coincidence—it’s communication. The body is always talking to us, offering signals about what’s happening beneath the surface. But we don’t always listen.

We override exhaustion with caffeine. We push through discomfort with sheer willpower. We rationalize away emotions rather than sitting with them. We think: I don’t have time to feel this right now. And slowly, we lose the ability to hear what our bodies are trying to say.

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Finding a Different Way

Rebuilding a mind-body connection isn’t about rigid wellness routines or strict rules. It’s about coming home to yourself again—learning to notice what your body is telling you and responding with something other than frustration or dismissal.

I used to think movement was only valuable if it had a purpose. A workout, a goal, something trackable. But then I started walking just to walk. No tracker. No agenda. Just time spent moving, paying attention to how my body felt that day. Was I tired? Energized? Stiff? What changed as I moved?

At first, it felt strange, almost pointless. But something shifted. I began to notice how movement changed my mental state. How a short walk could clear my thoughts in ways sitting at my desk never could. How stretching in the morning made me feel more present. How even the smallest physical shifts—unclenching my jaw, dropping my shoulders—changed the way I felt inside.

This wasn’t about doing more. It was about listening more.

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How We Reconnect

For some, the first step is noticing where disconnection shows up. Maybe it’s in the way you eat—rushing through meals without tasting them. Maybe it’s in the way you breathe—shallow, fast, like you’re always bracing for something. Maybe it’s the way stress lives in your body—tension in your neck, a restless energy that never quite settles.

For others, the shift comes from redefining movement. Instead of forcing yourself into a strict workout plan, what happens if you just explore what feels good? Maybe it’s dancing in your kitchen or stretching in a way that feels nourishing. Maybe it’s long walks or slow mornings with warm tea and time to breathe deeply.

And sometimes, it’s about learning to pause. Checking in. Asking yourself, Where am I? How do I feel? What do I need right now? Not in a way that demands an immediate fix, but in a way that simply makes space for the answer.

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A Different Kind of Well-being

The way we care for ourselves is so often framed around discipline—eat better, exercise more, think positive. But what if real well-being wasn’t about control? What if it was about kindness?

Because the truth is, your body isn’t something to fix. It isn’t something to push or perfect. It’s something to be in a relationship with. To listen to. To move alongside, rather than against.

This shift doesn’t happen overnight. But it starts with one small thing: the willingness to listen.

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If You Need Support, We’re Here

If reconnecting with yourself feels like an uphill climb, we can help. Our Well-Being Prescriptions are designed to help you create sustainable, gentle practices that support both your mind and body—without the pressure, the guilt, or the overwhelm.

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Because taking care of yourself should feel like something woven into your life, not another thing on your to-do list.

On Cycle Class

She wasn’t my first. There were others before, and there’ve been others since. 

But she was my favorite. I suspect she always will be.

Circumstances kept us apart most of the time, but for a few hours a week, I was entirely hers. And when we were together, an hour went by like an instant.

She was funny, but she could also be tough. Very tough. I worked so hard, trying to make her happy. When her lips would curve into a smile of approval, it made my day.

Sometimes she would invite others to come watch us, to get new ideas.

Our song was “Sandstorm” by Darude. She could even make the song shrink or lengthen, depending on her mood. She was tiny in stature, but she was that powerful. I still think about her often, and fondly. Even though I no longer remember her name.

She was the group exercise manager at the 24 Hour Fitness at El Camino and Hwy 92, and when she led a cycle class, you could count me present and accounted for, ma’am. She often climbed off her bike and prowled around the room, never making eye contact with any one individual but letting us know she was watching, always watching, as she barked orders. “Sprint!” “Jumps!” “Hill climb!” The aforementioned others who came to watch were her fellow cycle instructors; she insisted they sample one another’s classes to keep everyone at the top of their game.

I’ve been attending cycle classes for almost twenty years now, and I’ve encountered dozens of instructors. The worst are the throwback dudes who play Aerosmith and Guns ’n’ Roses—two bands I love dearly, thank you very much—but then expect the music (not them) to lead the class, and we all plod, plod, plod away at the same BPM for an hour. Actually, no, I stand corrected, the worst is when they command us to pump away at some other BPM than the music. Would a Zumba teacher ever tell you to dance faster or slower than the music? No!

I appreciate so many things about cycle class—the exercise, of course, but also the mental equanimity it brings. I have one of those brains that speeds, and when it’s not speeding it’s caught in a loop. Cycle makes the needle jump its groove and gives me some relief. I’m not overly sporty, and I’m about as adept with choreography as I am with, say, brain surgery, but I can do jumps on fours and eights like nobody’s business. I’m competition-averse, but eagerly imagine that I’m racing the guy next to me. And likely winning, considering how easy he seems to be taking things today, the slacker.

For an hour in cycle I get to think deep thoughts about the structure of music. Even pop music has a lot of structure, and a really skilled instructor will leverage it to make us work hard and make the time streak by. I also get to muse on personality types. In the old, less trusting days, the gyms would keep the bike seats in a padlocked locker between classes, and there was that one guy who never took a seat so he’d have to stand for the whole class. Hmm.

I became a freelancer so I’d never have to attend a meeting I didn’t myself schedule, but two or possibly three thousand times over the last twenty years I’ve gotten up at the crack of dawn, or snuck out of work early, or otherwise dragged my sorry ass to the gym for cycle class at some weird hour someone else decided on. And even when Mr. Guns ’n’ Roses is at the helm, it’s always felt like time utterly well spent mentally, not just physically. I’m sure others, sweating alongside me in the dark, trouncing me in their own imaginary races, think the same. 

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And for another take on cycle class, Jimmy Fallon (thanks Lindsey for the suggestion)!