What I Learned Working for 14 months as “Gym Girl”
December 2023: I had an appointment with my psychiatrist. He said the “hope” was that I would work again. I clung to that, shellshocked. The disability process was painstaking. As 2024 began, I was panic-stricken about how I would support myself. Whenever I would interview, a migraine would spike, or I would become riddled with panic. Without income, I couldn’t show the ability to put a roof over my head. I felt like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz: trapped in an hourglass, with the sand pouring in and suffocating me.
My brain/body felt like I was constantly in a state of survival. I was in chronic pain. I was going stir crazy in my apartment. I didn’t live in an environment where remote work was conducive to success. I needed a reason to get up, dressed, and out of the house. I needed a reason to keep fighting. I needed to be held responsible for someone other than myself.
I saw an ad for a local park district. The responsibilities appeared to be low-level and low-stress. What hooked my soul was the shift: 4:45 a.m.- 9 a.m., Monday through Friday. I thought this could be a boot camp of recalibration. At 4:45 am, I wouldn’t have the privilege of thinking about anything except getting to work.
I was a wreck when I interviewed. I drove to the wrong location (rookie mistake). We had a brief, transparent discussion. We both knew I was overqualified. I said I was looking for something to help get me back, even if it were for a few months. I was giving myself grace. I thought the concept of the opening shift at a gym was a springboard. I thought the muscle memory would snap into place to make the leap to full-time realistic. A few days later, I was offered the job. I accepted.
And thus began a 14-month journey of repair as “gym girl”. I didn’t want to be the most important person in the room. My ego wasn’t hungry. I was broken. My spirit was crushed. I needed time with a routine that allowed me to heal.
I had two shirts, one hat, one mug, and one pair of gym shoes that were worn through. I came home after each shift and cried. Alas, I kept showing up. When my alarm went off at 3:45 am, I didn’t have time to think about hitting snooze. I was a key holder, responsible for being first on site to open up a 100,000 square foot facility.
How befitting that when I met with my psychologist - she said she worked out there. She could make observations outside of our appointments and offer insight into the challenges I would inevitably bring to our appointments. Seeing her was like having a mini check-in. She could sense if I was getting stronger, or when I was getting weaker. The path wasn’t a straight line from A to B.
When I met with my psychiatrist, I burst into tears, covered my eyes in shame, and said, “I used to be important. Now I hand out locker keys and towels. I’m a 'gym girl'. How did this happen?” (PS—that’s the ego.) He assured me I was in the right place. He said to keep showing up, and sooner or later, someone would notice my skillset and make an introduction.
The facility had an antiquated charm. It was refreshing to work for a district that was a bit behind the automated world. A spectrum of guests crossed the threshold daily. I made it a point to greet guests by name. I offered the warmest smile from the bottom of my heart. I saw people go through life events. No one was just a name or a card to scan. I genuinely wanted to know the answer when I asked how someone was.
I took those 14 months and gave it my all. I stood up the duration of my shift. I picked up every open shift I could. I worked through traumatic events and on painful anniversaries. I categorized and refolded those towels with such care - as if I were working at the Four Seasons. It helped me to stay mindful and not think about the terrifying variables I couldn’t control.
Every day was exposure therapy. I never knew who/what/where or when I would be triggered. I still don’t. I never know when a memory will break through the surface, what it will be, and I’m not numb with pills to not feel. I started authentically connecting with people. I made it a point to remember names and learn preferred locker numbers. Although I was petrified of bonding with people, it happened organically. That was a testament to being fortunate to work with intuitive, thoughtful, and caring colleagues/managers. As adamant as I was that I would never allow my place of employment to become a safe space or “family” again, I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that, despite my stubbornness, it did. The environment gently helped me adjust to working with people and build trust. The time gave me insight.
What did I learn?
Self-validation
Radical acceptance
A confidence I thought dissolved
Renewed determination
Patience
Humility
Resilience
Perseverance
Newfound perspective
Inherent value
After my shift, I worked out. At home, I applied for jobs. I fought to find legal counsel. I worked extensively in psychotherapy. I utilized holistic methodologies for trauma release. I did a boatload of research. As my memory came back, I wrote. The experience gave me a reason, in a season, that changed me. Despite giving it my all, I didn’t account for the inevitable fallout of the reality of my situation: I was working part-time, living in a one-bedroom, not able to pay rent, as my savings dwindled to zero.
I was told I didn’t earn enough to live in the “affordable housing”. I was told I was put on a wait list for low-income housing that was years out. The rising cost of living dug me further into the ground. My disability hearing was now at the federal level of appeals. I was stuck: The more I worked, the more I jeopardized my case. If I didn’t work, it was a matter of time before I would be on the streets. The exposure therapy was psychologically draining. I slept 12 hours a day. At the same time, I had hope that I could heal through the memories and find a way.
Add on the physical stress of navigating the legal waters without a guide, working with complex PTSD after a catastrophic injury, the 50+ lawyers declining me, while encouraging me, because everyone wanted to see justice be served - for a preventable situation. Accidents happen - but this was not an accident. The county sent in a referral to Legal Aid Chicago. I was declined. Other lawyers were perplexed, almost fascinated. Some didn’t respond. I was on a hamster wheel, twirling in flashbacks each time I had to summarize the events.
But - the hope - the hope was what pulled me through. .
What else did I learn?
Your title and job description don’t matter. You are not what people call you—you are what you answer to. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks - stay in your lane. Focus on your journey.
How you treat the person at the bottom rung of the ladder who can offer only a friendly smile and a good morning tells a lot about your character.
Learn to be comfortable starting over.
Trust takes time to build.
The answer to health is found in community, connection, and fitness.
The power of endorphins is real.
Connection matters; we were designed to be together.
Medication has a space - but, before you numb the pain with a prescription, unpack what haunts you in safe spaces.
Life is not a contest. There is no tangible prize. “The Best” is subjective. Check your ego at the door. Fast is slow. Slow is fast. In the end, you learn life is a race with yourself. Know the circle you’re running with, and know where you are going. Trust your intuition - exit stage left if it doesn’t feel right.
I was the sickest and “most successful” when sitting at a desk in a hospital. The healthiest I have ever been was when I was on my feet. We weren’t meant to be sedentary, staring at multiple monitors for 8 hours each day. I call it the death of the desk. Invest in a desk riser. Get a walking pad. Go outside. Feel the sunlight. Find a way to make movement part of your day. When you look at fitness as a critical component for health, you break through the matrix that big pharma has twisted us into. Movement is medicine.
Despite the difficulties, taking a leap backward to heal became one of my favorite memories.
I learned more that year than I can write about. I learned - not everyone can be with you when you’re broken. Losing it all and having nothing to give - I will never forget who stood by me, who checked in on me, who went the extra mile, and who abandoned me. I will never forget the people who showed up and rallied. The concept of “no one is coming” isn’t entirely true. Many people saved me. People shared my story. People checked in on me. Every act of support mattered.
Leaving the park district to attempt full-time work was a milestone. I wouldn’t know if I could stick the landing without trying. The goodbye was magical. The outpouring of love was so much—I’m still processing it, months later.
The people at this gem of a district patched me back together, changed my career trajectory, and saved me. What I lost in the unraveling, I found in the repair.
So begins the next chapter. Will I make it to work full-time, for the long haul? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m alive. All I can do is my best. I spent my life living for others, always putting myself last. I’m thinking this time, I live for myself.