a writer’s dilemma: do we fear balance?

For what feels like centuries, I have been traveling along the healing path.

Healing from what? Who knows.

Healing from every dark stare and all the secondhand smoke that has infiltrated my lungs.

Healing from every whispered shout of Shh! Not now.

Healing from ounces of food withheld from or shoveled through my lips.

Healing from all of this and more. Much of it not mine, originally, but rather absorbed through my empathetic pores, spread through my veins and clogged-up channels. Thousands of muffled cries and dried-up tears and pleas and prayers for protection from all the darkness that exists here on Earth.

Some of you would call this a dramatic interpretation of the current, human state.

I would tell you, those who fear the drama, that there is no reason to run from the rising curtain and that rather, this is merely the gift of sensitivity, bringing to light the energy that lies beneath the rug.

The threads of life binding us all together. The spirits within and without and the ever-fluctuating state of the pieces that make up the whole.

And this sensitivity, this aliveness, it deserves to be felt.

At the same time, though, there are very real things that we can do, here on Earth, as protective mechanisms from certain elements of spirit becoming too much for our fragile frames to handle.

And as I explore these countless healing mechanisms, I continue to learn what works and what does not so much, for me, personally.

Because a lot of what they swear by are simply sugar pills filling bottles of deception.

Be careful of what you adhere to. That is all I will say on that note.

In my opinion, true healing takes account of the whole and brings us to a state of balance.

Thousands of routes, no two alike.

And in my quest for balance, I’ve come face to face with many of the qualms that will prevent me from ever finding such a thing. The latest surfacing of which is something I fear far too many of us artists, deep-feelers and writers alike share. The deep-seeded fear of happiness.

Because happiness is a fickle houseguest. She brings in her bag treasures that we cannot quite put our pinky finger on. We feel the blind taste of sweetness on our lips, or we catch a waft drifting across the shore, without ever quite holding the fruit in our palm.

We can stroke her soft cheek and know everything is right with the world, for that one split second of time. And then we spend years allowing the memory of it to fill us with glimpsing pulses of energy unlike anything else.

Years ago, I gave up the quest for happiness. And then I realized that my heart beats the pulse of a happy home within, telling me everything always is, actually, okay. Even when it’s not.

But still, I fear the unique ring of happiness that I associate, in my mind, with the balanced state of being. I fear that when balanced, I lose the ability to create.

The artistic path is like walking blindly through dripping tunnels, using my hands to feel my way along rocky crevices. Sometimes, fairly often, I fall to my knees, and crawl through a mess of tangled branches. Other times, I stand tall and dance. A weird and wildish dance. The true dance of when no one watching.

But then there are moments when the tunnel falls away, and I find that I am floating in a capsule of space.

In those rare bits of time, Spirit takes over and transcends through my fingertips. And those moments, however few and far between, make the whole journey seem so beautifully perfect.

Yet those moments, for me at least, haven’t always come from being balanced and happy. Rather, they’ve come through feeling. Feeling every last bit of life coursing through my veins. Letting all the feeling swirl around in my cells until my fingers can make form of the nonsense and carve something tangible.

Not thinking about what the words might possibly mean, but rather just writing the waves as they come.

If I become balanced, do I lose this ability?

If I protect my energetic orbs from taking on everything that is happening around me, do I lose the ability to write from a deep place of feeling?

These are all questions I hold, loosely, in my palm, as I decide, once again, that if it does happen, it is okay.

And in the next moment, I will tell myself, again, it is okay.

And again in the next one.

Because as each of these fears arise, they really just shine the light on the roots growing deep in the muck. The fear of not being enough. The desire to be loved. Writing to generate that very love or attention, rather than just for the sake of writing. Every human qualm clouding my soul. Every broken bell sounding out over my voice.

When I asked my Ayurvedic practitioner if, once balanced, I would lose the ability to write, she assured me that, on the contrary, I would uncover a deeper story within, that of my true self emerging.

That sounds nice to me.

But, even if that doesn’t happen, even if I never write another word in my life, it is going to be okay.

We are given so few breaths, so few heartbeats, so few pangs to feel within our chests. All I can do is spend them living. Balanced and happy, or not.

And I would tell you, fellow writers who fear the happiness, that this morning as I write these very words, I feel pretty damn happy, and lucky to be alive. So maybe your voice does not actually ring from the darkness, but rather the life within, screaming to get out…

… the life that contains a unique blend of sprinkles of happiness, despair, indifference, love, and a myriad other emotions.


This post was published on Rebelle Society.

you never know where life will take you

A few months ago, I wrote a piece that generated far more attention than I’m used to. Part of the reason I write is because I am introverted, and my thoughts and feelings don’t always translate verbally, but for whatever reason, when put into written words, I can articulate what is inside a bit easier. I tell people I write because I ‘can’t talk’ and while, to give myself the benefit of the doubt, this isn’t necessarily true all of the time, it stems from the reality that physical forms of communicating such as writing and movement come more naturally, to me, than anything else.

Anyway, people I didn’t already know responding to (or even reading) my words was a new experience for me. I felt grateful and overwhelmed and inspired and uncertain, all at the same time.

Some of my responses were certainly far less than graceful. I was caught off guard, surprised by the attention, and truly just didn’t know what to say. For that, I apologize, while giving myself grace and recognizing that I, like everyone else, am only doing the best I can in any given moment. And sometimes that looks clumsy and stupid and confusing.

One person who reached out to me was the editor of Birth Institute, who asked to set up a time for us to connect, because she wanted me to write for their website. At first, I thought it was a mistake. I scanned through the adorable baby photos on their home page, thinking, “This sounds nice, but I know nothing about doulas, babies, pregnancy, birth or any of the above.” I automatically ruled myself out based on the notion in my head that I was not qualified for this, and therefore had nothing of value to contribute. But then I decided to chat with her anyway, because a phone call never hurts.

Fast forward a couple of months and I’m now published on their website here. In the process of writing this piece, I learned a great deal about my own capabilities to research and organize. I had the privilege of having conversations that left me captivated, with birth workers who have tons of valuable insight and wisdom to share. Through interviews, I fell in love with the idea of doula work, even thinking to myself at one point, “Maybe I should become a doula.” But then again, maybe I just want to be a writer. So I can explore and fall in love with each of these people, places, and things. Every moment, and more.

the real reason i started practicing yoga

I have a confession to make. There’s a bio floating out there (somewhere) about my yoga background and it is – get ready for it – a lie. Not a whole lie. A half-truth. And one made unintentionally. But I want to come clean all the same.

I started practicing yoga from a dvd in my bedroom, when I was about 11 or 12 years old. My partial-truth bio claims “as a complement to dance”. Which is true. I was a dancer (a not very good one) and I thought increased flexibility, which I heard I could get from yoga, might make me better. So the way I remembered it, I bought a “yoga for flexibility” dvd. I vividly remember practicing it in my bedroom – for some reason seated twists stand out in my memory. Maybe that dvd had a lot of them.

Memory is a funny little selective animal. Often it cages out the aspects on which we don’t want to focus our attention. Last winter, in the middle of a move, I came across that dvd again. The title was actually “yoga for weight loss”. Not flexibility. Aha – now all the twisting-postures make sense. The reality is, when I was in middle school, I had an eating disorder.

I used to limit myself to less than 1,000 calories a day. I worked out obsessively –running, swimming, dance, and, apparently, yoga, as long as it promised to turn me into a size zero.

The irony of it is – I started practicing because I wanted to be smaller, but instead, yoga had the opposite effect.

I have heard that eating disorders often originate a means for control. Which, in my case, makes sense. As a kid, I was an oddball. I got made fun of, and had a hard time fitting in. I remember one time, riding the bus home from third grade, a girl telling me the clothes I wore were weird and that I should dress more like her. She was wearing blue-jean overall shorts with bright flower patches sewed on in random (“fashionable”) places. That same day, shopping with my mom at Kids R’ Us, I saw those shorts. I asked my mom to buy them for me. That girl and I ended up becoming friends, when she realized I had the same shorts she did. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

We didn’t have cable until I was eleven, and to this day I still don’t know how to play video games. I think those were the kinds of things that made you cool back then, but I’m not entirely sure. I remember making a new friend when we moved in sixth grade who, upon realizing how shy and awkward I was, stopped being my friend. I have always been an introvert – and in middle school, being quiet and shy was just plain not cool.

I think the combination of getting picked on, and my sensitivity, led 12-year-old me to subconsciously realize that I could never control other people and what happened around me. As a means for coping, I gripped at controlling the one thing I thought I could – myself. Namely, my body. I became obsessed with being perfect. I thought perfection equated happiness. Because people who, in my eyes, appeared perfect, also seemed to be happy. I forgot that inherently, I am happy. Always have been. My mom claims she never met a happier baby. And as a child, I may have been a goofy weirdo, but I loved every minute of being a goofy weirdo.

That “yoga for weight loss” dvd led me to my first “real”, instructor-taught yoga class, which I took at my high school. It was taught by the gym teacher, a marathon runner who I doubt had any kind of yoga-teaching credentials. This was back before yoga was all that popular in the US (and a smidgeon of the size it is now in DC). I told someone about this and he told me I’m “like an original hipster of yoga”, because I did it before it was cool. I think that comment will make my family laugh. At the time, armed with a field hockey stick and a slew of pink hair ribbons, I was the epitome of a catholic schoolgirl, and basically the opposite of hipster. I think the most ironic thing I did was go to a Fall Out Boy concert. And, apparently, do yoga.

I have nothing but fond memories of my freshman-year yoga class. I went to a large public school, and felt lost there. I had very few friends, and spent many an open-lunch period wandering the halls by myself, because I couldn’t find anyone to eat with. But in yoga, none of it mattered. Students of all ages and social statuses took the class, and in the “yoga room”, we were all equal. The teacher would write on a chalkboard the poses we were going to learn that day. Every Friday, she put on meditative rainforest-sounding music, and we did savasana (i.e., corpse pose, otherwise known as the yoga version of naptime), for the entire class. It was awesome.

My first yoga teacher did not wear lululemon (if that even existed then). She did not chant or take photos of herself doing fancy poses, or teach us rigorous flow classes with a peak pose (at least, not that I remember). What she did do was offer us a safe space, in which to explore our bodies through the practice of yoga. She read the room, and gave us what we needed (deep rest). She planted the seeds of yoga, which, for me, have since cultivated into a lifelong practice.

That year, I started eating again. I also, unknowingly at the time, learned to listen to my intuition. I made the challenging choice to transfer to a smaller, all-girls school, where I felt less lost and more at home to be myself.

At first, eating again had the opposite effect – I went through bulimic episodes, and frankly, blew up in size. My journey with food has been a long, hard-fought, solitary battle. It took me years to get to a place where I did not count calories or feel guilty about what I ate. Today, I eat a highly intuitive diet that works for my body. I focus on whole, unprocessed, natural foods, and have eliminated foods that don’t serve my body’s health. I have written briefly about my journey with food here.

Exploring my sensitivities, and which foods do and do not work for my body, led me to another version of my former eating-disorder behavior. This time, instead of focusing on loving myself because of how I looked, I turned my focus to loving how good I felt, as a result of practicing yoga and meditating everyday, self-care rituals, and living a clean, healthy lifestyle. Yet I was still missing the point. Because both of those versions of living involve conditional love – loving myself because I look or feel a certain way.

I realized this recently, when several instances of control-related issues emerged in my life. I believe we attract into our lives what our souls require for higher growth and learning. And I needed to learn the ugliness of the control-gripping monster.

Last week, I saw a photo of myself, and I realized that I was viewing it in a different way than I was accustomed to. A great deal of my life, I’ve seen my photo, and immediately began analyzing the parts. But last week, I looked at my face, and saw the whole person. I looked at my image just like I look at other people. I think this is what it means, to love myself unconditionally. Loving myself in entirety, no matter how I look, what I can do, or how I feel.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading about the beginning stages of my yoga journey. I think this is why I love teaching yoga to all ages, but especially kids and pre-teen and teenage girls. I have visions of one day starting a mindful living club for teenage girls, where we practice yoga, meditate, and talk about mind-body health.

For me, yoga is (and was) a game-changer, the gateway to my own healing. I began practicing because I wanted to be a size zero, and I thought “yoga for weight loss” would get me there. I think a lot of us start a yoga practice because we want something specific. Writing this reminds me of the song lyrics – “you can’t always get what you want/ but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need”. I never did become a size zero, from that dvd. Instead, I got exactly what I needed.

I intentionally don't keep photos around from my disorderly phase. Instead here's one from the peak of my "awkward phase" - 15 or 16 years old. Back when I thought it was okay to cut my own bangs. And apparently I really liked pink.
I intentionally don’t keep photos around from my unhealthy-eating period. Instead here’s one from one of my prime “awkward years” – 15 or 16 years old. Back when I thought it was okay to cut my own bangs. And apparently I liked pink.
Ten + years and so much growth later <3

an apple a day (or not)

Last night I lie, writhing, on my (filthy) group house kitchen floor, alternating between moans of agony and laughs at the absurdity of the “apple baby” growing in knife-like twinges in my abdomen.

As soon as I saw the bright slivers of juicy fruit on my lunchtime salad, I remembered the sickness I experienced last week, when, without thinking twice, I added a few slivers of apple back into my diet. Nevertheless, I took a bite or two of the yummy fruit. It really was the most delicious apple I think I have ever eaten, paired beautifully with my honey-dijon salmon salad. I carefully chose not to eat all of the apple slices, pushing the remainder to the edge of my bowl.

A bite or two is all I needed, to be hit with wrenching stomach pain a few hours later. I am a highly sensitive person, and I have learned through much trial and error that my sensitivities extend far beyond the emotional and interpersonal realms. When it comes to food, I am the quintessential example that a one-size-fits-all approach to health simply does not work. I mean, take apples. These little guys are famous for keeping the doctor away, yet I have one bite, and feel as though I am about to give birth to a slew of your sharpest kitchen knives.

Not just apples. A host of other foods praised for their health benefits simply do not sit with me. Among others, kale, cauliflower, broccoli, my body rejects. Even “superfood” goji berries have sent me to a near-hospitalization rate of deathly illness.

In my quest to feel better, I have learned that food intolerances are relatively common. There are a ton of resources available to help me understand my body’s dynamic response to various foods. I have learned to view food as information, revealing a great deal about the miracle that is human life. My only job is to listen to the messages my body sends in response to what I eat.

In general, food allergy generates a quick response (i.e., a peanut allergy causing the throat to swell), through triggering antibodies in the bloodstream, immunoglobulin E, or IgE. IgE is the most aggressive defense system our bodies have. These antibodies operate by releasing large amounts of histamine, causing swelling, mucus, and congestion. Food allergies are relatively rare. On the other hand, food intolerances are more common and far sneakier than allergies, and can appear in surprising places, especially for those of us who are highly sensitive.

Food intolerance symptoms are normally delayed until hours or even days after consumption, thereby making it difficult to link the food to the symptom. And among the umbrella term food intolerance, there are different types of intolerance, including both true intolerance and food sensitivities. True intolerance means a person’s body has trouble tolerating certain foods, such as gluten, lactose, or MSG, often because the intolerant person is genetically lacking a chemical or enzyme they need to digest the food. Food sensitivities are similar to food allergies in that they occur as an immune reaction, mobilizing antibodies (immunoglobulin G, or IgG), which produce a range of symptoms.

Food sensitivity symptoms appear as a myriad of bodily signals, including congestion, seasonal allergies, diarrhea, constipation, headaches, puffiness, bloating, heartburn, gas, bad breath, sleep problems, inability to focus, depression, moodiness, itchy skin, rashes, joint pain or stiffness, dark under-eye circles, low energy, weight gain, and the list goes on. Because every body is unique, symptoms to various foods, and which foods cause reactions, varies from person to person. According to Dr. Alejandro Junger, author of Clean and Clean Gut, the most common foods that cause symptoms of intolerance, “Wheat, dairy products, and eggs as well as corn and soy are allergic triggers in a large number of people. This is partly because of the way these foods are produced today, with chemicals, antibiotics, and lots of pesticides, but also partly because the human intestinal tract didn’t evolve to produce them in mass quantity.” He elaborates,

 If we ingest a food that triggers an allergic response, a host of processes are put in motion that consume even more energy and time. When the GALT (gut-associated lymphatic tissue), the immune cells that live close to the intestinal wall, get irritated, they start manufacturing substances – histamines and immunoglobulins – to mediate allergy, which in turn activate a series of responses, including the activation of the inflammatory system. Thus, food that cause allergies end up activating three bodywide systems: the digestive, immune, and allergic systems, all high energy consumers…simultaneously, they cause disruption all over the body – draining resources further. The chaos and confusion caused by irritating foods can drain the body, the patient, and the doctors, who typically don’t connect the problem to irritating foods or the eroded state of the intestines to the presenting symptoms.

Beginning the work of discovering which foods cause what symptoms can seem incredibly daunting. Because food sensitivities are so common, many of us become accustomed to living in a consistent state of varying degrees of illness. We put up with the symptoms because we have no idea the root cause. And over time, eating foods that do not serve our bodies causes greater detriment, often in the form of leaky gut, intestinal dysbiosis, and other intestinal problems, which in turn, can exacerbate allergic responses.

There are ways to break the cycle of symptoms caused by eating the wrong foods, such as completing a detox, an elimination diet or following programs designed to heal the gut. Methods such as these focus on rediscovering the body’s baseline health, through eliminating foods that potentially cause reaction. Once the body has had time to remove the accumulation effects from these foods, certain foods can be reintroduced, one at a time, paying close attention to any reaction. Through these practices, I have been able to slowly build eating protocol that serves my greater health. I feel great, and my body functions better than it has in years. Many of my symptoms have disappeared, including (among others) allergies, bloating, constipation, joint pain, as well as issues with attention and depression. I have found food to be a game-changer toward rediscovering how great my body is designed to feel.

Nevertheless, sometimes having food sensitivities becomes frustrating to deal with. Like when I eat the most delicious apple of my life, and my body responds with a blaring message of “you idiot”. In these moments of kitchen-floor agony, I now choose to remember the beautiful ones sprinkled in the mix. Like when I met Ryler.

I know it is no coincidence that I began babysitting Ryler on the exact day l discovered my apple sensitivity. Ryler has the same thing; apples make his tummy hurt. Age 4, last week he told me his favorite food is butternut squash. Kid after my own heart. Just like me, he is a sensitive artist just trying to get by in a world full of disastrous dangers like when his favorite Go-Go squeeZ snack has apples in it, and he (as well as his clueless new babysitter) realize too late. But, the beauty is, because of all my food sensitivities, I carry a purse full of natural remedies like fennel seeds and peppermint oil, and can now share the tricks I have learned work for me, with Ryler, when his tummy aches.

As I lie squirming amidst my cockroach house-mates (we do live in a city, after all), I remind myself of one of my favorite beautiful moments, when, just a couple days prior, the kids and I nailed a paleo pumpkin muffin recipe, and then got to share the treat with their parents. Anyone who has dabbled in the world of gluten-free baking knows it can be an excursion into a culinary wild wild west, full of sifting through endless layers of coconut flour to, every so often, strike gold. This moment was one of those gold-strikes. Sharing the tasty, pumpkin-y, (relatively) sugar-free (save for a bit of honey), cakes, knowing that what we were eating not only tasted good, but was good for our bodies — well that, to me, is pure magic. As is the fact that because of doing the hard work of uncovering my food sensitivities, I now (mainly) follow a dietary plan that works for my body, in which I can thrive. Every so often, something surprising like apples, or not-so-surprising like the extra glass of wine I probably should have said no to, throws me off. But the fact that I can feel the difference between foods that further my health, and those that hinder, is amazing. No longer numbed out, I have woken up to both the apple babies as well as the magic in a gluten-free pumpkin muffin.

I was addicted

I was addicted

I haven’t written here in awhile, mainly because the past couple months have been a whirlwind of positive change. I took a couple leaps of faith and have been riding the wave. The transformation I have witnessed has been incredible. I may write more about it later. Today I want to touch on one aspect.

This is something I cannot believe I am writing about openly. Something I have struggled with for years, keeping a tight grip on this “secret”. Yet I believe bringing light to our dark places has exponential effects. This is something I have overcome in my own messy way over the years, yet I do not believe that anyone needs to take the journey alone.

When I was in high school, I was diagnosed with ADHD. I began taking medication. At first, it was great. I finally felt awake – no longer floating through life in my usual daydreamy stance.

Whether or not you believe ADHD is “real”, or whatever combo of factors may or may not “cause” ADHD, I really cannot say. I can only speak to my experience, as I live it.

Taking medication was not something that I personally felt comfortable with. In college, it helped me get through courses that I would otherwise have struggled with immensely. As one doctor described it to me, it was like everyone else was moving on a flat road, while my own road was on an incline. Medicine helped even the playing field slightly, but not without side effects. The side effects were not easy to live with whatsoever. And in the end, what once served to help, ultimately ended up becoming an even greater challenge.

I am not sure exactly what an addiction is, but I think it’s safe to say that I was addicted to adderall. I tried to give it up more than once after graduating, and had waves of success. Mentally, physically, no part of me wanted to be taking it. Yet I couldn’t kick the habit. Recently, I had a job as an analyst on a capital markets trade floor (not as glamorous as it sounds whatsoever, I was their lunch gopher). Although I cut back on how much adderall I took to get through the day, I nevertheless needed to take it. Without adderall, I missed crucial pieces of information I needed to do my job. I struggled to listen during meetings and on the phone, and found myself in a constant battle with the spreadsheets I was paid to maintain.

Now that I am on the “other side” of it all – I realize the strength of the struggle as an indication. I knew deep down that I was not on the right path for me. The fact that I needed to take a substance to stay on that path was the flashing road sign that so many of us ADD-types will continue to fly by until boom we’re in the middle of the mess, wondering why and how we got there.

The last time I quit taking adderall, I remember it being really hard. I saw a therapist and journaled a lot – some pretty dark journal entries, where I drew swirling black pictures. I just want to be honest, because I know if I were reading this post three years ago when I was just contemplating giving it up, and I read some light and fluffy version of the truth, I would have been pissed off like none other when my experience turned out more difficult.

It’s easy to sugarcoat our way through. Reality is a deep and scary place but it need not be. We can just let it exist, acknowledge, shine light, think “yep, that happened” and (eventually, or maybe right away), move on.

This time, quitting adderall was a breeze. No exaggeration. I just figured out why, and I think it’s a pretty cool story so I want to share.

In the past 6 months or so, I have become obsessed with my gut and maintaining gut health. I did a couple gut-cleansing programs, and recently did a detox program with Spark Yoga. The 40-day detox with Spark was incredible for me, not because of the physical health benefits per say (as I had already done a lot of the detox “steps” on my own), but because I finally had found (without even looking for it) a community of people with similar interests, who were willing to take “weird” measures for health. The support I found was exactly what I needed to embrace my own weirdness and let my light shine.

During the program, a doctor came to speak with us, who recommended supplements he and his patients have found to be supportive of gut health. One such product, super activated charcoal, was something that I had never heard of, but sounded just crazy and weird enough – obviously, I had to try it. I picked up a bottle at whole foods, and voila – the first morning taking it, I remember thinking to myself “this is it – the missing piece for me.” I never looked into what it was doing, I just knew I liked the effects right away.

Over time, the charcoal stopped working so well, so I stopped taking it, feeling a little bit sad that it didn’t turn out to the be the miracle I thought it was initially. A couple days ago, I told sister about this experience. Now, my sister is very into health too, and she is way more organized about it than I am. Whereas I tend to get by through trial and error, feeling my way through, she does her homework and it pays off – I admire her for it. She researched charcoal, and yesterday explained why it worked like that for me – basically it does a sweep of your liver, removing chemicals, food, other build up there. So after a few times, there won’t be quite as much excess to sweep (hence why it doesn’t “work” for very long). You really only need to take it every once in awhile as an insurance policy.

Now here’s the cool part (my aha! moment) – charcoal can actually pick up and remove chemicals in your body. People have taken it after accidentally taking too much tylenol and other drugs, and then gotten themselves checked out and found they had no effects on the liver from the overdose. Amazing, right?

This is why I think quitting adderall this time was easier. I had already done the prep work, without even realizing that’s what I was doing. In addition to healthy, gut-friendly eating, over the years I have established a solid morning routine and self-care practices. Daily self-care work, pranayama, meditation, and yoga, combined with healthy food practices gives my body and mind the environment necessary to thrive. It is all connected. I know this, yet I still did not see how all of the things I was doing were helping me to overcome my addiction. The charcoal discovery helped me to connect the pieces. I thought back to when I introduced charcoal in my regimen. At the time, I remember feeling fuzzy in my mind and tired, yet calm and happy. I chalked that up to the fact that I had a lot of change going on. I had left my corporate job, was taking on various teacher trainings, adding more classes to my instructing schedule, and getting ready for a new job writing fairy tales. Oh, and I decided to move and rent out my condo. And this may not mean much to you, but Mercury Retrograde was happening – so naturally, I decided that’s why my brain was in a fog. Little did I realize that my body was simultaneously working to overcome addiction.

When I made the leap and quit taking adderall (once and for all), I could not believe how easy it felt. I haven’t had any dark and scary journal entries this time around. My journal has stayed pretty uplifting.

Prior to going cold-turkey, I teetered on the edge far longer than I needed to. I was scared of making that leap – and how hard I knew it could be. Was terrified I wouldn’t be able to keep up with life on my own, because I had already “failed” so many times before. Fear of the leap is normal. We all go through it. Yet I have found that the universe naturally works in a beautiful way, in preparing us ahead of time for the leaps we need to take. We may not see the prep work in all its power and glory until after the fact. Trust that it is there and it is all working, in due time. When the leaping moments do come, I am always far more ready than I could have ever imagined ahead of time.

Now don’t get me wrong – it hasn’t been a complete breeze giving up this substance. But now I am ready to embrace my natural self. To stop forcing myself to fit into some kind of mold. To stop living by expectations. That may mean things like time management and organization continue to be growth areas for me. That I have to write myself a million lists. That tasks that seem easy-breezy for others cause me headache. Yet even if I need to pay someone else to file my taxes, it doesn’t mean I’m not “smart” enough to figure it out. I can continue to move in my own way, however unconventional, disorganized, and messy. Because while I may have all these “challenges” to “overcome”, at the same time – I see and feel things that other people don’t. It might take me a little longer to get “there” (wherever that is) but once I arrive – magic happens. And that is something I wouldn’t trade for any of the organization skills or ability to count numbers and file things.

Wherever you are in your own personal journey, trust that you are exactly where you need to be. The leaps are not the hard part. Rather, leaping is easy. The real beauty is in the prep work. In showing up and doing the work even when you don’t know why. We will probably never see the full picture of how everything is working together so magically. But we do catch glimpses of the magic here and there. Those snapshots are enough to keep me rolling.

gut feeling

Last winter, I could sense something wasn’t quite right. I had anxiety, which often showed up misplaced or misinterpreted by my brain. I had meltdowns during holiday traffic when I wasn’t going to make it to yoga after work. To be 100% honest, I still get frustrated on gw parkway during a rain storm (what is it about DC drivers…one little drizzle and suddenly they emerge in multitudes from the woodworks). But now, I recognize my frustration as a passing emotion, just like any thought that flickers through my mind. Despite the occasional knee-jerk reaction when someone cuts me off, I still feel a deep, underlying sense of calm.

My emotional concerns, although telling signs, were the least of my worries. The physical manifestation occurring became increasingly unbearable. I had severe allergies, to the point where I could no longer breathe properly, even during a 90-minute heated vinyasa class. My back pains came on in full force, my throat constantly felt like it was closing, and the list goes on. I continued to believe that since I am healthy and do yoga, the signs I was observing would heal eventually, on their own.

Several instances caused me to finally take action.

I started seeking answers from all different angles without fully understanding why I was doing do. I just remember being in slight desperation mode, willing to try any and everything. Some endeavors definitely set me back in multiple ways.

The entire process felt uncomfortable, although I could not pinpoint why. Today, I am positive that my unease largely stemmed from seeking symptom-management solutions, rather than addressing the root cause.

In the midst of this inner confusion, at one point I went to Whole Foods after yoga, my regular Friday-evening ritual. In no rush that night, I found myself browsing the section at the front of the Georgetown store that I love soo much (you know, where they keep the nutritional supplements, beauty products, and health-related books). I spent way over an hour there, peacefully exploring and enjoying myself. Skimming several books, one in particular caught my eye. Clean Gut, by Dr. Alejandro Junger. I don’t know why it stood out – maybe it was just the cover. Whatever it was, I picked it up, perusing the pages, and immediately was drawn in. I remember feeling this was exactly what I needed. I had a flashback to conversations with my sister last year, when she initially began exploring leaky gut on her own. My sister is very inspiring – if you want to read more about her journey (and she shares recipes!), check out her

Anyway, I set the book down, deciding to buy it on Amazon to save a couple bucks. I knew deep-down that I needed to read it, but for whatever other reasons, I sat on it for a few months. Waiting probably only further complicated my mess, as I continued the trial-and-error process of seeking solutions elsewhere. Some symptoms started to clear up while others emerged.

Finally, I got around to reading it, cover to cover. Which, for me, is a pretty big deal – I’m a slowww, easily distracted reader. This past week, I committed to giving the clean gut program a shot. What really spoke to me about Dr. Junger’s approach is his focus on addressing issues from the root.

My yoga teacher, Patty, says “heal your body and the rest will fall into place”. So far in my brief experience this has proven incredibly true.

In just a few days, I have noticed so many benefits as my gut has started to heal. I won’t bore you with all the details, but I do want to share something I noticed on my mat right after beginning the clean gut program. In my lower legs and feet, where I’ve had symptoms of stagnation such as poor circulation, I have once again started to feel the rush of tingling nerve sensation. Wow. I can feel again. The effects of energy movement in the body never ceases to amaze me.

I’m not writing to advocate any specific diet or health plan. I firmly believe that we each must do what feels right for our bodies, which, like everything else, changes all the time. My purpose is rather to provide on example of gut intuition actually occurring in my life, and my experience of learning to listen to it.

I sat on my intuitive knowing for a few months. I think this is a perfectly normal reaction. Especially when it comes to something as intensive and burdensome as reading an entire book. I can only hope that with practice, it becomes progressively easier for me to act on intuition in the moment. I believe the more I wake up to true listening and trust in my instinct, the lighter this process will get.