'It's Time To Try Defying Gravity'

On Mobility + Recovery

For a long, long time, surviving was the only goal I had. Not thriving. Not optimizing. Not becoming the best version of myself. Just surviving.

When my agoraphobia was at its worst, success meant getting through the day without having a complete and total meltdown. It meant managing panic attacks well enough to function. It meant convincing myself to go outside occasionally, even if it was in the middle of the night.

What I didn’t fully understand at the time was that while my mind was fighting to survive, my body was quietly adapting to the self-imposed confinement.

Apparently, my body adapted by deciding we would someday walk like a giant toddler recovering from back and foot surgery.

One of the hardest things for me to admit about being a recovering agoraphobic is how much physical strength I lost during those years in the “cave.” How much muscle disappeared. How much weight I gained.

Somewhere along the line, my mobility decreased to the point that I barely recognize my own body anymore. I used to be big, tall, and strong. Flexible. Capable. Mostly comfortable moving through the world. Today, my body feels big, stiff, awkward, and weirdly unfamiliar to myself.

For a long time, I told myself it was just a phase. That I simply needed to be patient with myself. But at 53, I’m starting to realize patience is not actually what I need. No, I’m realizing I need to start treating myself like a patient.

These days, standing up too quickly makes my knees ache. My back complains if I walk too far. I get winded going up a flight of stairs. Sometimes I genuinely feel like Bambi trying to figure out how legs work in real time.

The truly strange part is that mentally, I feel better than I have in years.

Nobody warns you that muscle atrophy and morbid obesity are possible side effects of agoraphobia. People talk about the anxiety. The fear. The isolation. They don’t talk about what happens to a body that spends years not doing anything and not going anywhere.

In my head, I imagined emerging from the “cave” as this cinematic transformation sequence where the clouds part and suddenly I emerge stronger, wiser, moisturized, and bathed in flattering lighting.

But my actual recovery has been awkward and uneven.

Emotionally, I may be growing. Spiritually, I may be evolving. Physically, though, I still need a break between showering and getting dressed.

It turns out you can conquer fear and still have weak knees. You can reclaim your life and still get winded carrying in groceries. You can absolutely defy gravity emotionally while gravity itself continues kicking your ass physically.

That disconnect messes with me sometimes because part of me still expects my body to instantly catch up with the progress my mind has made.

Tomorrow morning, I have a doctor’s appointment, a blood pressure check-up, which feels appropriate for this phase of life because middle age is basically just a nonstop series of increasingly humbling medical conversations. And because the universe enjoys comedy, tomorrow afternoon, I also have a therapy session. Depending on what my doctor says, I might need my therapist more than usual.

Honestly, the fact that I even made both appointments feels significant to me.

A few years ago, I would have avoided them. I would have canceled. Rescheduled. Ignored symptoms. Anxiety has a remarkable ability to turn avoidance into a lifestyle. I stopped taking care of myself because simply existing already consumed all my available bandwidth.

That’s one of the cruelest parts about long-

term anxiety disorders. They shrink your world so gradually you barely notice it happening. Your routines get smaller. Your confidence gets smaller. Eventually, your life gets smaller too.

And then one day I finally stepped back out into the world and realized my body wasn’t as ready for the world as the rest of me.

Still, I‘m trying not to shame myself for any of this anymore.

Maybe this chapter is not about magically becoming who I used to be. Maybe it is about building something sustainable from where I am now.

Some days that feels meaningful and profound. Other days it looks like stretching carefully before attempting basic household tasks.

But at least I’m showing up now.

• I make the appointments.

• I leave the house most days.

• I talk honestly about the humiliating parts. Especially the humiliating parts.

And maybe that’s what recovery actually looks like once you strip away the inspirational music and movie lighting. No dramatic transformation. No sudden rebirth. Just a guy slowly learning how to live in their body again after years of hiding from the world.

Messily. Imperfectly. Occasionally wheezing a little.

Still moving forward anyway. Defying gravity one unsteady step at a time.

Keep calm and keep trying!
Clint 🌈✌️

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thru 05-31-26

FROM THE ARCHIVES

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BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY

• 05-27 = Allan Carr (1937-1999) = American playwright and producer 🌈

• 05-27 = Chris Colfer (1990- ) = American actor and singer 🌈

• 05-27 = Marijane Meaker (1927- ) = American writer 🌈

• 05-27 = Siouxsie Sioux (1957- ) = English singer-songwriter 🌈

• 05-27 = Vincent Price (1911-1993) = American actor 🌈

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MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY

VINCENT PRICE

“A man who limits his interests, limits his life.”
Vincent Price