The Wellness Bitch

When you start paying attention to your body, and even more specifically, when you start paying attention to how food affects your body, you’re easily freaked out. You start recognizing the horror film-like demons that live inside you.

For instance, when I am making myself an espresso, and I smell the espresso brewing, I feel aches in the back of my neck and throat. I get this same feeling right before I am about to eat sweets. And it’s a similar physical feeling I get after I’ve eaten said sweets or drank said espresso, and 20 minutes later, when am on the down swing from the rush.

Is there a scientific explanation for this? Because I attribute this other worldy response to the “yeasties” — the overgrowth of yeast in my gut that I imagine drive me to drink coffee and occasionally gorge on sweets. And, sometimes the yeasties team up with the pack of hormones, who gather like wolves inside me while I am ovulating and drive me to indulge in food that I know doesn’t make me feel good long term.

They all somehow know the food is nearby — and drive me to notice.

They’re not very sympathetic either. Once they get what they want, they are not shy about messing with my insides. Just like I notice the pre-response of eating certain foods, I now also notice the icky things that come out of me after;  when I eat too much wheat or dairy, for instance.  Icky things that have to do with orifices and mucous and stink — things we normally associate with monsters.

If we cringe when we see monsters on the big screen, why don’t we cringe when we recognize monster-like behavior inside us? The mood shifts? The temper flares? The mucous? The stink? A lot of which, if we only took the time to notice, relates to the food we eat?

Want to know one of the big epiphanies I had as a participant on a Zen Judaism retreat this past weekend in Israel?

When I have a migraine, I am completely present.

My mind is nowhere but on the experience of the migraine.

The flashing zigzaggy lights I see before the crushing headache.

The loss of clear vision.

The understanding of exactly what is going on in this very moment.

And the understanding of what needs to be done…right now.

I am not thinking about the laundry. Or about my kid’s homework. I am not thinking about my finances or that obnoxious girl at work.

I am not obsessing over that stupid comment I made to my boss or the thing my husband said to me at dinner or the fight I had with my mother.

I am just with the migraine.

Do you ever notice how present you are to pain?

And then do you notice how not present you are to pleasure?

I do. Now.

I’ve been struggling again with migraines since I moved to Israel 11 months ago. Before I moved here, I had managed to be migraine-free for about three years (which I attributed to being completely dairy free).

Why are my migraines are back? Is it the dairy? I’m only eating a little. Is it the full-time office job? The people are nice there. Is it the sleepless nights (thanks to three little kids)? Or is it the fact that I just made a major international move to a conflict-torn country whose national language is not English?

I don’t have the answer. Not for lack of trying.

I thought I knew my migraine triggers: lack of sleep, stress, particular foods, bright flashing lights.

But I wonder now if my migraines aren’t also my body’s way of triggering something in me.

The need to be more present. The need to stop. The need to slow down. The need to be with me.

If I could somehow manage to be more present, would the other migraine triggers simply just fall away and disappear?

Would my body finally say “Thank you for noticing” and give up the migraines?

About seven years ago, I completely lost faith in my government.

It’s likely that I was always wary of government and just never really noticed before. I’m not someone who typically submits to or mindlessly accepts authority. On the other hand, before seven years ago, I wouldn’t have called myself an activist either.

Seven years ago, the scaredy cat in me still hoped that my government was doing a good job protecting me from the bad guys.

Seven years ago, I didn’t know how many bad guys I needed protection from.

But then I woke up.

When I woke up, I slowly started to notice a chain that led from the government to my health and my children’s chronic illness.

A chain link of connections beginning with my oldest son’s first allergic reaction to peanuts and then his reflux and then his asthma. A chain link connecting my second son’s colic and his eczema. A chain link connecting my children’s health and the food they were eating and the cleaning products they were being exposed to and the vaccines they were receiving and the sprays that were blanketing the lawns they played in and the water they were drinking from the tap. A chain link connecting their health to their the environment.

And then I woke up to the weakest link.

The chain that was supposed to connect the government to our environment to our food to our water to our big business to our farms to our pharmaceutical companies was broken.

Is broken.

I don’t know when it broke. When profit and political office became more important than protecting our children.

And I don’t know if one man or woman elected to office today can heal my wounds enough to restore my faith in government, but I would really like someone to try.

If your name is on a ballot today, please:

Try being a stand for my children.

Try being a stand for the environment.

Try being a stand for what nourishes our bodies and our minds.

Try fixing the break in the chain.

Connect us again. Heal this country. Heal this planet. Heal our families. Heal yourself.

This morning, I was in my backyard lovingly watering my growing passionfruit vine and grapefruit tree. I feel very lucky to be renting home with inherited fruit trees and to have a mother-in-law with a green thumb and a generous heart. She planted the three vines alongside our fence with the hopes that the fast-growing vines would soon produce fruit for us.

I have already admitted that I have a black thumb. Though I’m also proud to say the thumb is greening. One day, about a month ago, I realized how soothing was the practice of watering my trees and my herb garden. Perhaps, sometime in the near future, I might pick up a pair of gardening gloves and plant something into the dirt myself.

A few years ago I would have easily sprayed pesticides in my yard. No one likes weeds or bugs.

But now I know the collateral damage of pesticides, even the ones deemed “safe” enough to sell and buy at Home Depot.

Which is why I was angry and frustrated when I noticed my neighbor spraying his yard with pesticides at the same time this morning I was nourishing my trees. Not only was this a horrifying irony for me, but we live downwind from his house. The wind will blow the pesticides straight into our yard, and perhaps inside our kitchen through our open windows.

I wanted to say something to him. But he’s not exactly approachable. My neighbor is a military professional. He likes to walk around shirtless smoking cigarettes. He has a particularly hairy chest. The chest in itself is intimidating.

Had there not been a language barrier (his Hebrew, my English); would I have said something to him? Asked him if he knew about the harmful side effects of spraying pesticides to his and his children’s health?

I’m not sure I would have. Which is a little embarassing for The Wellness Bitch to admit.

What stopped me? Was it purely a language barrier? Was it a gender issue? Had I already made up in my mind he wouldn’t have listened? Wouldn’t have cared?

What stops us from sharing the information we know with our neighbors? With our friends and family? With our children’s teachers? With our colleagues at work or school?

And at what stops us from listening?

I thought about that, too. About all the times my mother or my mother-in-law tried to share useful tips about parenting or about marriage they learned from “the trenches.”

I thought about the advice seasoned moms of teenagers or young adults try to impart on me when I share with them stories of raising my school aged kids.

I thought about the countless times I screamed at my parents, “You don’t understand!” when I was a teenager, myself.

I thought about how they, in fact, did understand. And had wisdom to share that would go mostly unlistened to.

And then I considered the times I’ve listened.

What were the conditions that enabled me to free my hands from my ears? To open my eyes and my mind? To incorporate new information into my belief system?

1. I was seeking help.

2. I respected the person sharing the information.

3. I didn’t feel threatened. Or if I did, I felt safe enough in my environment, or with the person imparting the information, to tolerate my fear.

4. There were open lines of two-way communication. It was part of a larger conversation. The person on the other end was open to hearing my point of view, too.

As we continue to navigate a world where people are waking up to wellness; it’s important we recognize the pathway to transformation begins in our own listening. In being perceptive to our audience’s needs and ability to hear what we have to say. In recognizing their fears and the limits of their own belief systems. And measuring whether or not the time is right; or whether or not you are the appropriate messenger.

If you want to be heard, you must first start by listening.

Your work (what you do during waking hours) may contribute to your wellness or unwellness. This Labor Day, consider how your work and work environment impacts your health:

Do you love what you do? Do you like it?

Does your work, at least on occasion, move you?

Does it expand your mind?

Do you enter each day eager to contribute? To learn? To participate?

Do you work in a space filled with positive energy?

Do you feel valued? Appreciated? Acknowledged on a regular basis?

Do you struggle to stay awake during the day?

Are you allowed breaks to rest? To feed your body properly? To engage in social conversation with your co-workers? Your friends? Your peers? 

Does your work allow you the time or the resources to do the things you love once your work day is done?

Do you choose your work?

Or does it choose you?

I’ve been lucky enough to understand most of my adult life the connection between my work and my health. I’ve noticed the impacts of my work — sometimes positive and sometimes negative — on my wellness. I understand the side effects of not choosing my work or  of tolerating an unhealthy work space may range from the physical (too much perfume!!!) to the emotional (mean, nasty boss!); and that the benefits of choosing my work include both physical (no more carpal tunnel syndrome!) and emotional (I get to spend real, quality time with my kids!), as well as the spiritual (Hooray! I am contributing to something meaningful!).

When you are taking inventory of your life — trying to figure out what’s causing illness or what’s preventing you from enjoying your well-being to full capacity – do not forget to look at those 8, 9, 10, 11 hours a day you spend DOING. Whether you are doing them in a classroom or in an office or in a playroom, what you’re doing during the day is certainly a factor contributing to how you feel.