I didn’t stop doing barre because I didn’t like it.
I stopped because I didn’t feel “good at it” and that mattered for some reason.
This was an unconscious consensus for sure.
And it stuck.
The way subtle pressures rest on our body before the brain ever checks them.
I’m realizing now that a lot of my movement history lives there.
In the quiet decisions.
In the things I stopped trying without ever officially quitting.
This is my Body can, after all.
Not my body should.
Not my body used to.
Just what my Body can do. Right now.
And lately, my body can do five minutes of barre.
Five minutes.
That’s it.
And somehow, that’s enough.
If you want to keep thinking about this with me, you’re welcome here.
Discovering Barre in a Body That’s Changed
I didn’t expect to like barre this time around.
It turned up in a recommended video on YouTube after a fascia video I was doing was over.
That surprised me.
I like the complexity.
Arms doing one thing while legs do another.
Balance, then wobble, then balance again.
It turns out I like movements that ask my brain to stay present.
Simple doesn’t always feel right for me.
Hard and focused does.
It was like that in school with spelling.
I could never remember the simple words
but the hard ones I always got right.
They were a challenge and that kept my attention.
What also surprised me about barre was how much permission mattered.
I’m doing this at home.
I choose the depth.
I choose the intensity.
I choose when to stop.
In the past, barre meant classes.
Full classes.
Start to finish.
That didn’t work for me.
I’d get so sore I wouldn’t want to come back.
Not because I was lazy.
Because pain isn’t motivating for me.
So I stopped trying.
Now, I start small.
Three minutes became five.
Five will become six.
Eventually, ten.
I’m in no rush.
What I’m after isn’t the end result.
It’s the feeling of coordination returning.
The quiet satisfaction of getting stronger over time. Not all at once.
A Childhood Experience That Shaped My Exercise Mindset
But if I’m honest, the physical part isn’t the whole story.
It never is.
When I was four, I was enrolled in ballet.
I don’t remember loving it.
I don’t remember hating it.
I remember the awkwardness.
I remember not wanting to do rolls.
I remember being scared of my neck.
I remember the body shaming.
It was quiet but also loud. Like another person in the room.
I didn’t get body shamed when I climbed trees or rode my bike.
This was odd for me.
Movement usually felt like freedom and curiosity moments before this.
Even so, I don’t remember why I wasn’t reenrolled.
I never asked.
What I do remember is deciding, very early on, that ballet was for small bodies.
And mine wasn’t one of them.
That idea stuck.
Through childhood.
Through adolescence.
Through adulthood.
Ballet became shorthand for something I wasn’t allowed to want.
Something I wasn’t built for.
Something other people could enjoy.
So I didn’t.
Exercises to lose weight were okay for my chunky frame but elegant and skillful exercises were left to smaller bodies.
That was the messaging I absorbed.
Body Image, Size, and Avoidance in Midlife Exercise
Even when barre got popular years later, I hesitated.
I told myself it wasn’t for me.
That was easier than examining why.
What I’m noticing now is that nothing actually stopped me from returning.
Nothing external anyway.
No rule.
No real barrier.
Just a narrative that never got updated.
I’m not doing this with regret.
I’m not mourning lost time.I’m noticing.
I’m noticing how often my Body gets blamed for decisions my mindset made.
I’m noticing how environments shape what feels possible.
When I first moved to Los Angeles in the early 90s, something cracked open for me.
There was more room for different bodies.
More flexibility in how people were seen.
Curves weren’t a problem.
my Body wasn’t a mistake.
That shift mattered more than I realized at the time.
It showed me that there isn’t one way to exist physically in the world.
There isn’t one lens people use to judge you.
That realization loosened a lot of things.
So I went once to 1 barre class.
One.
I pushed myself way too hard to prove I was worthy of being there (my hang up, not theirs).
And could barely walk for a week after.
I thought that was a sign that I was wrong to try it. And I never went back.
Rebuilding Movement Slowly and On My Own Terms
Now I’m here.
In my living room.
Doing five minutes at a time.
Some days it kicks my ass.
Some days it feels elegant.
Most days it feels satisfying.
I’ve also stopped thinking in terms of rest days.
Instead, I think in terms of different movement days.
Barre one day.
Bands another.
Fascia work next.
And once a week, I experiment.
I revisit those one minute movement videos that started this whole thing.
I try them again.
I notice what I like.
If something sticks, I follow the thread.
A YouTube video.
A program.
One small addition at a time.
No pressure.
No overhaul.
Just curiosity.
What my Body can Do Now
I don’t know what my Body will be able to do six months from now.
I don’t need to.
Right now, I’m more interested in questioning the rules I absorbed without consent.
The ones that told me what kind of movement belonged to what kind of body.
The ones I interpreted correctly and the ones I interpreted incorrectly.
They all need investigating.
my Body can try.
my Body can adjust.
my Body can stop.
And that feels like enough to keep going.
If this resonated, I’d love for you to share it with someone who might need permission too.
And I’m curious. What’s one off limits exercise you’d like to try again, on your terms? You don’t have to try it if you type it here. But you can if you want to. I mostly just want to know.
See you next week,
Steph
