I recently completed a 21-day love affair with greens, veggies and all kinds of wholesome goodness that enabled me to bring into my very body the massive decluttering and purging of my external environment that I’d achieved in recent months.
With the compassionate guidance of my rock star nutritionist, I navigated the daunting waters of giving up indulgences like chocolate and French fries and found new love in green juice and lentils in a 21-day cleanse. I’ve done cleanses before, from the extreme of living on cayenne lemonade for ten days to more gentle supplement-based programs, but this was my first entirely food-based cleanse.
Through a process of beginning with complete elimination of foods that often are unknown irritants (ie., dairy, wheat, nuts, etc.; I ate a Vegan diet for the first several days) and reintroducing them gradually, I gained an unprecedented feeling of lightness and purity and a wealth of knowledge about why and when I eat and what my body appreciates, and what she doesn’t.
I’ll be the first to admit I was scared shitless to take this on. Among other concerns, I couldn’t wrap my mind around not having the comfort of my morning (and often afternoon) coffee for at least two weeks as recommended for the cleanse. Jumpin’ Geronimo, it was actually easy! Easy. Get. Out. Of. Here.
I discovered that comfort and ritual were key drivers in why I reached for coffee every morning. Later in the day, coffee was a clutch to help me through mid-afternoon yawns. I learned that my afternoon energy dips are a part of my body’s natural circadian rhythm, so instead of automatically seeking coffee, I now consider a high quality source of protein like tahini or peanut butter with an apple or celery.
I also gained new awareness and perspective around the meaning of food in my life. As a child who grew up in a family-owned restaurant, food was – and still is – how we showed love for one another. This is even more amplified for me as the daughter of a culture so richly steeped in food.
It’s been mind-blowing to finally see that my body has been trying to communicate with me all my life, only I’d never listened to her before.
During my freshman year in college, my high school sweetheart and I broke up. I was so devastated from the loss of my first love, the axis of my teenage universe after my father died, that I didn’t eat for a week.
That situation sent my body into a tailspin that doctors and specialists eventually diagnosed as irritable bowel syndrome, or IBS. After all kinds of invasive tests and years of meds, IBS became the experts’ default explanation because they couldn’t definitively identify a cause for the crippling cycles of cramping, diarrhea and constipation that pervaded my life until my early 30s.
Finally, I now understand what really was going on all those years ago. My body had begun to shut down, no longer processing and digesting food because I had begun to shut down emotionally. My body thought she was broken, like my shattered heart.
I’ve probably had all my life the gluten sensitivity that wasn’t diagnosed until 2010, but without this knowledge back then, I’d consoled myself with starchy carbs that likely only exacerbated my condition.
After more than a decade of coexisting with IBS, I had a major turning point when my body tried to show me that I do, in fact, have control over how I could respond to stress.
I went to my doctor for an especially painful bout of IBS after my first post-divorce relationship turned sour, a bitter experience that my stomach literally had embodied.
My doctor was on vacation, so I had to see his partner, whom I’d never met before. We had a gratuitous conversation about the sadness and stress of divorce, he wrote me a prescription and sent me on my way, assuring me, “This will get better.”
I didn’t look at the script until I got into my car. When I saw that the SOB had suggested I medicate with Prozac, I declared, “Screw this! I am done with this, and I am taking my body back, right here, right now!” I tore up the prescription, and from that very moment I never looked back on IBS. The strength of my conviction and my intention healed me.
The evidence has been here all along that my body is infinitely wise and strong. She knows what she needs, and she tells me. My only job is to be a good listener
Words to live by, from Juice Generation in New York City.
With the holidays almost upon us, how will my newfound relationship with food show up? How will I wish happy holidays to the eager, expectant recipients of my holiday baking? I’ll bake, and I’ll even indulge in a cookie or two, gluten-free, of course.
The enduring purpose of managing our diets is to optimize intake of what nourishes and nurtures our bodies. It is not about living a miserable life of gastronomical deprivation. The 80-20 rule tells us that so long as we live in protocol at least eighty percent of the time, we’re doing our bodies justice.
I’ll toast a green juice to that, and to my amazing nutritionist without whom I might never have recognized my healthier, happier, more insightful body for all her wisdom.
