Fitness Professionals Deal With Body Dysmorphia, Too. Here’s How They Heal.

I became a certified barre instructor in 2021 at the age of 23. I wanted to teach because I loved the workout. I loved the feeling of pulsing to a beat, of flowing through postures with my legs shaking and sweat dripping down my back.

I also loved what the workout did for me: I lost weight. I noticed muscles that I didn’t realize I had. I saw my arms getting more toned and my waist getting smaller. I started to see my body as a collection of parts that could be changed. But I couldn’t help but compare my body to those of the people around me.

At the studio where I first taught, I was the only instructor of color. I was comparing my body to people who looked nothing like me. I was one of the curvier coaches, and I was terrified of being too big, of sticking out even more than I already did. From experience, I also knew that my margin of error was smaller than that of my peers. Clients were hesitant to take my class; if it wasn’t perfect, they wouldn’t come back. I had to be the best, and I applied that expectation to both my performance as an instructor and my body. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw my hips and my skin. I saw what didn’t fit. I saw exaggerated versions of myself, versions that I convinced myself were real even though they didn’t match my features and my shape.

It’s not uncommon for fitness instructors to begin their careers amidst their own experiences with body dysmorphia. And while I was never formally diagnosed with body dysmorphic disorder, the fixation I had around my appearance was just one way that body dysmorphia manifested in me. Since I’ve started teaching, I’ve encountered more and more colleagues who have had similar experiences. Here, I examine why body dysmorphia is so prevalent among the fitness community, and how these pros deal with it.

Body dysmorphic disorder (BDD) is a medically diagnosed mental health condition that, per the International OCD Foundation, affects up to 10 million people in the United States alone. BDD is characterized by an intense focus on physical appearance and can manifest in symptoms like skin-picking, excessive styling or grooming, and perfectionist tendencies, according to the Mayo Clinic. The foundation also notes that almost a third of those diagnosed with BDD experience an eating disorder at some point in their lifetime.

During my training, I was knee-deep in over-exercising and under-nourishing. I was acutely aware of my stomach: how tight it was on any given day, how it hung when I walked out to a plank. I was told by my mentor at the time that my form should be aspirational, and I understood “my form” to mean “my body.” I practiced in the studio and outside of it. I got a watch to track my calories, and I’d eye the number as it ticked higher throughout the day. I ate just enough to get me through each class and started each day in front of the mirror, spine long and tummy pulled in.

Christian Nelson coaches spin and lift classes at Groundwrk, a boutique gym in Arizona that he co-owns. He’s an ACE-certified personal trainer and has been a fitness instructor since 2018. “I thought going into the industry would give me a more elevated sense of confidence around my body. And in some ways it helped, but it also made it worse,” he tells PS.

Body dysmorphia kicked in during his first training job at a bodybuilding gym. “I’m lean, and I was comparing myself to these bodybuilding trainers in the gym that I was working at,” he says. “That definitely contributed to the existing relationship I had with body dysmorphia, and not feeling like I was ever going to meet this standard or expectation.”

Nelson says he had a number in his head — a benchmark weight and size that he felt he needed to meet in order to be credible in this industry. “I feel great right now, and my weight has dipped below that number. I’ve been able to escape the idea that I should be a certain size or weight as a man by realizing that there are plenty of instructors who teach weightlifting classes and are lean. But three years ago, I would have looked at myself now and thought that I looked awful and that I should be bigger. That’s what happens when we create these expectations that are generalized for women and men,” he says. “Your body image isn’t directly related to what you’re seeing in the mirror. And what we see in the mirror is always a little bit distorted by the preconceived ideas or opinions that we already have about ourselves.”

Gabbi Chernak, who has been teaching barre, strength training, and yoga for 10 years, also felt the pressure of credibility. “It took me a long time to trust that I was a credible source of fitness information, simply because my body was curvier and heavier than other professionals’ when I started. In the beginning, I felt like I needed to overcompensate for my curvier body by being absolutely exceptional in other aspects of teaching,” she says. “The refrain is ‘practice what you preach.’ When it relates to fitness trainers, that has long meant managing our weight, looking toned, eating ‘clean,’ being exceptionally charismatic, and having a specific personality type. Clients will not inherently trust you as a trainer if your body doesn’t match what the product is promising.”

Nelson encourages trainers to find ways to build a foundation of self-love into their daily habits, and he does the same for himself. “I have certain rituals, whether it’s working out on my own outside of my studio, yoga, or acupuncture,” he says. These rituals are a practice he can return to when negative thoughts start to creep in. “Body dysmorphia smacks you in the face. I always go back to the last time I felt good. I have to remind myself that my body did not change this drastically in 24 hours, or from three days ago. I remind myself that I felt good then and I can feel good now, because nothing has changed.”

BDD doesn’t just go away. Healing from body dysmorphia is non-linear. As Chernak so eloquently puts it: “You’re battling against decades-long societal conditioning that has taught us to equate body size with morality and worthiness.”

For her, connecting with other fitness pros navigating the same feelings is hugely beneficial. “It makes a world of difference when you know everyone is going through a similar struggle and you have people you trust to open up to,” she says. Chernak has also found that creating safe spaces for clients has, in turn, helped her create safe spaces for herself. “A fitness studio is an incredibly vulnerable space. Everyone is aware of what they look like, especially when you have a mirror at the front of the room. I’ve often found myself calling [that feeling] out for what it is to break the ice and help clients feel more at ease and less attached to the comparison game we all subconsciously play. When you shine a light on it, it loses its power.”

In my own classes, I’ve made more conscious efforts to not adjust how I look. To let my tank top roll up or down as I move, to let my hair frizz around my face. The more I’ve let myself just be, the better I’ve gotten at seeing my body as it is, rather than a vision of what it could be. I wish I could have looked in the mirror at 23 and seen this reality. And I wish I could have recognized my body for what it was: strong. Every day is a new one. I tell my body I love her, and I mean it. I will be practicing this love for the rest of my life.

So to the instructors who know these feelings, I am here with you. Let us take care of ourselves and each other.

Arya Naidu is a writer, editor, and fitness instructor based in Philadelphia. She has an MFA from Arizona State University, where she earned a Swarthout Award in Writing. Her work can be found in PS, Vestal Review, Wig-Wag, and elsewhere.