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The case for fitness and therapy, by Tochi Okafor

The case for fitness and therapy, by Tochi Okafor

There’s nothing wrong with leaning on fitness during a difficult season. 

Turning to physical activity in times of personal hardship can be one of the most constructive ways to cope. When life feels uncertain or overwhelming, engaging in something physically demanding but mentally freeing can offer a much-needed anchor.

A healthy distraction isn’t about avoidance — it’s about redirection. It’s the intentional choice to channel your energy into something that uplifts, grounds, or simply gives your mind a break from the weight you’re carrying. In that sense, what better outlet is there than fitness? It offers structure, routine, and momentum at a time when everything else may feel chaotic or unpredictable.

I remember this from a chapter in my life: the season I lost all my money. It was humbling and devastating. One day, I had stability and a sense of security; the next day, it was all gone. The emotional toll was real. I cried. I grieved the loss. I sat with the discomfort. But after a while, I knew I couldn’t remain there indefinitely. I had to shift gears.

That’s when I picked up tennis again and signed up for personal training sessions at the gym — not to avoid my reality, but to navigate it differently. My money was gone, yes. But I still had my body, my breath, and my ability to move. That awareness was a turning point. Fitness gave me something else to anticipate, a new purpose if you’d like. Over time, it didn’t just strengthen my body — it lifted my spirit and restored something even more critical: hope.

Hope is underrated. It might not change the facts on the ground, but it changes how we relate to those facts. And when hope returns — even in small doses — it becomes easier to keep going, one day at a time.

In discussions around healing and coping, I often see people trying to compare fitness and therapy. It’s a debate that shows up on social media often, with some weighing the benefits of one against the other, as if they are mutually exclusive or in competition. I find that framing to be unhelpful. Fitness is fitness. Therapy is therapy. Both serve a purpose. Both can be transformative. And in some cases, both are needed.

For many people, fitness is probably one of the most accessible forms of support in difficult times. A brisk walk, a jog around the block, or a quick session on a workout app doesn’t require a referral, a schedule, or any financial investment beyond what you already have. It’s not that fitness is better than other forms of support — it’s that it’s often available in a way therapy may not be. Access to qualified mental health professionals, cost, social stigma, or long wait times can all be barriers. In contrast, movement is something most of us can begin right away, even in small, imperfect steps. And sometimes, that’s exactly what a person needs — a starting point.

I have personally experienced the healing, confidence-building, and clarity that regular exercise brings. And as someone who studied psychology and even considered a career as a certified therapist, I deeply respect the power of therapy, too. Therapy creates a space for deep self-reflection, for uncovering and working through complex emotions, for healing old wounds. I’ve heard countless testimonies of how therapy has been a lifeline for people in crisis or transition.

The key message is this: there is room for both. The existence of one doesn’t diminish the value of the other. It doesn’t have to be a binary choice. If you feel you need therapy, please don’t shy away from seeking it. It is not a sign of weakness but a profound act of self-love.

One of the most empowering gifts we have as humans is the ability to choose — even in the midst of pain, loss, or uncertainty. We may not always choose our circumstances, but we can choose how we respond to them. That power to choose, to take even the smallest intentional step, is where resilience begins. Whether it’s choosing to move, to rest, to seek help, or to start again — that decision marks the beginning of change.

Still, I’ll keep sharing what fitness has meant to me, not as the only way, but simply as something that has helped me personally. During uncertain times, it offered a sense of rhythm and steadiness. It gave me small wins when everything else felt shaky. Whether it was lifting a bit more weight or finishing one extra lap, those little milestones reminded me that I could keep moving forward. That quiet progress helped rebuild my confidence, one step at a time.

If you are going through a difficult period — whether it’s financial trouble, or something else entirely — I want to encourage you to find a form of movement that feels good to you. You don’t have to commit to a rigorous workout routine. It could be walking, stretching, dancing, or swimming. The important thing is to move your body in a way that connects you to the present moment.

You may not be able to control all of your circumstances, but you can choose how you respond to them. And choosing movement — even something as simple as a daily walk — can be your way of saying, “I’m still here. I’m still trying. I still believe there’s something ahead worth showing up for.”

Healing is not one-size-fits-all. But the body holds incredible wisdom, and movement can be a powerful way to access that. It’s not about escaping your emotions, but rather supporting your nervous system so you can face those emotions with more strength and stability.

In the end, whether you’re lifting dumbbells or simply lifting your spirit after a tough season, what matters is that you’re taking steps forward. Movement, in any form, can offer strength when things feel uncertain and clarity when the mind feels cloudy. Most of all, it can nurture hope — the quiet kind that grows stronger each time you choose to keep going, even when the road is hard.

Stay Strong.