Movement Is Medicine. But What If Movement Is the Problem?

“Movement is medicine.” We say it all the time. We put it on a t-shirt. It’s what we believe in. It’s who we are. At Empowered, that phrase isn’t just a tagline – it’s a belief that guides how we practice and how we think about the human body.

But what if moving hurts? What if movement is what caused your pain in the first place? What if you’ve never done any type of movement practice before and don’t even know where to start?

For a lot of people, movement comes with fear or anxiety. And the reason behind that fear is different for everyone. At Empowered, we don’t just preach the belief that movement is medicine, we help people see it as a reality. We partner with them to make a plan that not only feels good, but actually feels attainable. One that fits their life, their history, and their capacity…not just their diagnosis.

Because who walks through the door is far more important than the diagnosis attached to them.

Early in my career, I didn’t always practice this way. I found myself forcing my own narrative onto my patients, operating under the assumption that if something felt good to me, it would feel good to them. When that wasn’t the case, it often led to friction in the relationship. Or worse – detachment from the plan altogether. The plan stopped being rooted in the person and became rooted in the goal, and slowly people found themselves not only not moving…but not coming back.

Over the last few years, something has shifted for me. I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe I’ve had some sort of awakening. Maybe my own life experiences have softened my perspective. Or maybe the safety and security of building a thriving business took away the pressure of trying to make everyone stay, even when we weren’t the right fit. Whatever the reason, I’ve started to see things differently.

I’ll be the first to admit that when it comes to a good workout, nothing feels better to me than lifting heavy shit. In my opinion, there’s nothing more powerful than watching someone who once said, “I will never do that,” pull a barbell deadlift from the ground. The light in their eyes. The empowerment they exude. It’s intoxicating. And if I’m being honest, I’ve projected that feeling onto my clients more times than I care to admit.

But what about the individuals who don’t experience that same sense of elation? What about the people who don’t connect with lifting heavy, or “training”, in the way we often define it? How do we encourage them to do the things we know will help them feel better and live stronger, more independent lives without forcing them into a box that doesn’t fit?

The truth is, we have to lower the bar. We have to meet people where they’re at. We have to listen. People will tell you what feels meaningful to them, what feels overwhelming, and what they’re actually ready for. Our job isn’t to change that narrative, it’s to work within it. To make movement feel relevant, approachable, and personal.

I’ve learned that this looks different for every single person. I don’t need to force my own story onto others to believe in the power of movement. Instead, I can validate their experience, brainstorm alongside them, and help them find ways to move that feel supportive rather than intimidating. When movement feels safe and achievable, it stops being something people avoid and starts becoming something they trust.

And that’s when movement stops being the problem.

And starts becoming medicine.