My decade-long gym obsession finally meets its match
For more than ten years, the gym wasn’t just a place to sweat; it was a compass. It told me when to wake up, what to eat, how to talk about my body, and even how to measure my worth. I’m Zahra Khozema, a Pakistani Canadian journalist living in Toronto, and I’m writing this First Person column to tell you what happens when obsession meets its limits—and what comes next when you decide to let go.
The email that changed everything
Last month, I sent one of the hardest emails I’ve written all year. It wasn’t about a deadline or a source; it was a note to myself, a confession that I had built a safe prison around my routine and called it discipline. The gym had become a script I repeated: more reps, longer cardio, stricter macros. And with every repetition, a small part of me questioned whether I was chasing health or chasing certainty.
From obsession to balance
What did letting go look like in practice? It started with questions I’d avoided: What if my body doesn’t look a certain way on the scale? What if my mood isn’t better after every workout? I began to notice mornings that felt lighter when I skipped the gym, and conversations with friends that didn’t revolve around workout plans. I also realized I had formed a habit of using achievement as a mirror for self-worth, a mirror that reflected back a narrow image of “good enough.”
Moving toward balance didn’t mean abandoning exercise. It meant reimagining what health could mean when it wasn’t policed by a stopwatch. I explored movement for joy—dancing in my living room, a winter walk through Toronto’s neighborhoods, or a gentle yoga flow that honored my body’s limits. I reminded myself that rest isn’t a failure; it’s a responsible act of care.
The cultural layer
As a Pakistani Canadian navigating multiple identities, I’ve carried expectations from family, community, and media about what a successful body should look like—often shaped by western fitness culture that equates discipline with severity. Letting go became not only personal but political: a quiet act of self-preservation in a world that often equates self-denial with virtue. I began embracing a more compassionate voice, one that acknowledged the pressures and still chose a kinder path forward.
What I learned about myself
First, obsession isn’t a badge of honor; it’s a weathered costume that can hide anxiety and fear. Second, healing isn’t linear. Some days I miss the routine; other days I’m grateful for the freedom to choose. Third, community matters. Sharing this shift with friends, mentors, and readers reminded me I’m not alone in redefining health on my own terms.
What comes next
I’m building a new normal—one where movement is a source of energy, not a measure of worth. I keep a calendar, but I’m looser with it. I track how I feel, not just how many sets I completed. I practice mindful eating without guilt, recognizing that nourishment is multi-faceted: physical, mental, emotional, and cultural.
To anyone else standing at a similar crossroads: you deserve a life where you can be honest about your needs. If a ten-year plan can be rewritten, so can yours. Letting go isn’t a surrender; it’s a courageous pivot toward a healthier, more compassionate relationship with yourself.
Notes from the author
This piece reflects a personal journey through gym obsession, mental health, and cultural expectations. It’s not a universal prescription, but a message of hope for those who feel trapped by perfection in any form.
