I walked forward to take communion last Sunday and was faced with something I didn’t emotionally prepare myself for. In front of me was a cup of wine, a cup of juice, a broken loaf of bread, and a small bowl of gluten free “bread.” I was doing a simple act I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember, but I hesitated. I wasn’t sure what to take.
I’ve been on this restrictive diet, trying to figure out what is wrong with my body. My issues are nothing serious, nothing debilitating. Yet. But I know the potential is there and if I can find a simple solution in the way I care for my body, then that’s what I’m going to pursue. It’s been more complicated than I thought for reasons I didn’t anticipate.
My typical diet is healthy by food pyramid standards (although I know the pyramid is now a plate and the formula has been tweaked—you get what I’m saying). But this diet required me to cut out dairy, gluten, caffeine, sugar, soy, nuts, nightshades (I did not even know what these were, but it turns out I eat them almost daily), certain vegetables and for a short time, all fruit. I spent the first week constantly hungry because I was so confused about what I could eat. I was frustrated. And I felt so isolated within this weird broken body.
For a long time I’ve been able to mostly ignore my body. It has been the tool that allows me to do the things I want to do. And when it fails me, I punish it or ignore it more. Infertility made me angry with my body and I’m not sure that we’ve spoken much since that diagnosis 15 years ago. I think somewhere deep in my heart I started to believe my body was the enemy and I had to keep it from standing in my way.
My current situation hasn’t allowed me to continue treating my body in the same way. My body is requiring me to pay attention to it. And I resent that. Continue Reading →