The Brave and the Free
a story of diet
I want you to know this is not a push for you to live in a certain way. We live in a world where, for better and worse, there are a dizzying amount of choices. At worst: we are barraged by people’s opinions, and sometimes their podium-standing posturing to sell their opinion. You will not find that here.
In my experience, there are times when truth can be subjective, fluid even, morphing as more information is revealed. That is the beauty of heading out on a path to heal; the twists and turns are personal, leading us to unique outcomes. In short, my motto is: follow your heart. Let the words and opinions of others be visitors in your world, lit by your flashlight, and sewn into the fabric of your life as your intuition sees fit.
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When I was in my early 40s, I realized never a day went by in which I felt all good. In fact, I hated that maxim - I was definitely not “all good.” I had week-long headaches, chronic digestive issues, acid reflux and I was always tired. I felt I lived a healthy lifestyle so I was confused (and depressed) about my health issues. In response, I did what many of us would do, I went to the doctor.
Meanwhile, my younger daughter was ill and missing most of her kindergarten year due to symptoms of her own: constant allergies and severe nasal congestion. She simply could not handle any virus without it blooming into a chest infection and vicious cough. She was always being prescribed different antibiotics. In the scariest moments, she was hooked up to oxygen.
I am not against doctors. I am not against pills. Simply, in this situation, under doctors orders, as time passed, we weren’t becoming well. I felt I would have to accept that I would feel like shit for the rest of my life. As for my daughter, they wanted to take her adenoids out- that gave me pause.
There is no wrong, there is only journey. Had I said yes to the surgery, that would have been one path, one route. I can’t know where it would have led us. I simply had a different thought in my head: can we avoid the surgery and get her well? I asked the head allergy specialist if he thought diet changes were worth trying. He said “No.”
In short, I didn’t listen. What felt right to me didn’t sound right to others in my life -and that was hard. But I went with my gut. I put my daughter and myself on a non-gluten, low-fat vegan diet that also eliminated corn and most oils (disclaimer: we had honey, so not technically vegan.) I had researched at length and there were plenty of people behind this lifestyle for health reasons. (There were also plenty of people who vehemently were not. )
We started our new lifestyle. We were eating plants galore, massive amounts of fruits and veggies -raw and cooked, quinoa, oats, potatoes and beans, seeds and nuts. We baked and had dessert, we had burritos, pasta, soup and everything else we used to have- just not with the same ingredients. Mac and cheese was legume pasta and a cashew based “cheese.” Ice cream was frozen bananas whipped up in a food processor with coconut milk. Pizza crust was made with quinoa flour. We drank green juice every day. A few shuddered in disbelief, as if I’d said we were climbing Mt. Everest in shorts. Others seemed a bit defensive and angry, as though they might need to alert the authorities. My husband wasn’t too stoked as you might imagine, nor our older daughter. They accepted it like champs and even (mostly) joined in.
My daughter and I began to lose our symptoms, one by one. She no longer needed a specialist, antibiotics, or any of the other drugs she had been given. I no longer had week long headaches, mid-day fatigue crashes, acid reflux or digestion problems. (Also, a surprise bonus, my skin became perfectly clear for the first time in my life.) We were glowing visions of health. Three years passed.
Then things morphed, just a little. I was working too much to deal with making green juice every day- I still made it, not regularly. I also brought in a morning cup of Joe (it was one of the happiest days of my life, third to the births of my children and my wedding day.) Besides those small changes, we forged on as we had done for five (yes, five) more years.
Then, one day, my daughter rebelled. Hard. She was a Freshman in high school. She wanted real grilled cheese and real pizza. She was DONE. And she was pissed. My internal response was a moment of worry that instantly melted into a beautiful vision: buttered wheat toast and a poached egg. Then a profound thought bubbled to the surface of my mind: I wanted to take my gluten-free bread and back over it with my car. We slowly started to broaden our culinary horizons again, our mouths watered, it was delicious.
Today we do as Michael Pollen says: “Eat food… mostly plants.” I like the physical results, and I vibrate with it ethically. I know what my limits are with ingredients like gluten, eggs and dairy. Limits I could only have found by keeping those foods away and bringing them back in slowly and in small amounts. As for my younger daughter, my guess is she outgrew some of her allergies, but she is still sensitive like me. She and my older daughter both know within themselves when it’s time to “clean up their diet.” I am so thankful they get to carry that knowledge with them into the world.
I know people who swear their healing was achieved with massive amounts of raw eggs. Other people do other things. If anything is “all good,” it is that. All we truly have is our inner voice and what we are individually, quietly driven to do, along with the bravery to do it, to try it. And when and if it’s time to shift… shift.
I had a large online community around me during those eight years- people who devoutly followed the same lifestyle. When I told some of them where our new path was leading, the response felt familiar: a few shuddered in disbelief as if I’d said we were climbing Mt. Everest in shorts. Others seemed a bit defensive and angry, as though they might need to alert the authorities.
I wandered down the grocery store aisles, seeking a bit of herbed goat cheese.