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?

It’s funny (and not) how often I have forsaken the Earth in the name of health.

What I mean by that is I never directly intended to heal the planet by changing my lifestyle. My lifestyle changes were always very selfish: I cleaned “green” because it reduced my asthma symptoms. I started drinking filtered water and stopped polluting water sources because I learned that water filled with the antibiotics I had previously flushed down to toilet was making me sick. I started eating organic meat and produce because I understood the long-lasting health consequences of ingesting toxins. I realized that my and my children’s symptoms of chronic illness were partially due to toxins in our environment.

I never really made these decisions with an eye on the planet, though I did understand that my efforts towards healing myself were also contributing to a healthier Earth. In fact, there were even times when I told people outright, “I’m not an environmentalist. I’m just a concerned mom who wants my children to grow up healthy. I’m just a woman who is sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

I wish I could say that my marketing campaign was strategic: I purposefully did not align myself with the green movement because I wanted to reach a population that was not going to be responsive to “healing the world.” I didn’t do it purposefully and yet somewhere down deep I think I understood that there was a group on the verge. People like me who didn’t necessarily possess an impulse to the “change the world,” but who were sensitive and rational and could understand the connection between healing ourselves, healing our planet, and healing humanity.

Perhaps I wasn’t operating on my plan, but a divine plan: To reach people through messaging they can access. Messaging that fits with their understanding of the world, which for many people is “Me.” Or “survive.” Or “feel better.”

I became a vegetarian in 1998  not because I thought eating animals was inhumane, but because I had a health scare and giving up meat seemed easier than giving up drinking and smoking.

I stopped eating sugar the following year because I was tired of getting yeast infections and I read a book that told me sugar addiction was connected not only to yeast overgrowth, but also to anxiety, IBS, and other chronic illnesses. That diet lasted about a month that first time.

I started doing yoga in 2000 because my therapist told me it was a way to deal with my anxiety. At that time, I practiced yoga, not instead of medication as I might now, but alongside. It took me a few more years to give up the crutch of medication.

In 2001, I got married and in 2002 pregnant: And from then on, my mission has been to know what I need to know to keep my family healthy.

In 2007, however, I realized (with the help of many friends and colleagues) that I had it in me to share my message of well-being and empowerment with others. As I said before, I never saw beyond health and wellness. I understood my mission of “healing my community” to be one that focused simply on personal health and wellness. My eyes were never set towards the horizon.

For many years, I ignored the fact that the Earth’s resources were being so exploited that one day it wouldn’t matter how healthy I was. Because the Earth would one day soon no longer be able to sustain even healthy beings.

Over the last year or so, however, my focus has shifted. My awareness has heightened. My awakening, which started in 1998, has reached a tipping point.

I understand that there is no divide between healing my planet and healing myself.

I understand that healing myself is healing my planet. And healing my planet is healing my family.

I understand now that I could work 24-7 on cleansing my body through detox or boosting it through vitamins and supplements, but that a dying world is not a world a healthy body can live on.

And I am worried that our world is dying.

I don’t mean to be an alarmist or a doomsday prophet. But as a researcher, as a thinker, as someone who has woken up already to wellness, I cannot ignore the signs that our Earth is sharing with us.

She’s unwell. And if we don’t actively and intentionally incorporate into our wellness initiatives the healing of the planet, our wellness initiatives will be for naught. This message is directed to others like me who blog in an effort to educate or spark dialogue; it’s a message for health and wellness practitioners who preach holistic and preventative care and yet still use toxic cleaning products to wipe down their examination tables; it’s a message for the health conscious, and for the unconscious.

It’s clear to me that the only way we will heal ourselves is to adopt a two-pronged approach.

Heal the planet, so that you may heal. Heal yourself, so that the planet may heal. One depends on the other.

But to do this, we need to change our messaging.

My recommendation to the spiritual and wellness gurus out there who have the ears of many more than I:

Stop speaking esoterically. Stop using words like “Oneness” and “Mother Earth” and “Gaia.” These are words only the awakened can understand. We need to be reaching a much, much larger audience. And we need to be reaching them NOW.

Speak in a language that the average mother or grandfather or high school student or gym teacher or scientist or medical doctor or college professor or postman or construction worker can access. Speak to our awareness and our fear.  Speak to our logical minds. Speak to our preconditioned understanding of how to world is. Speak to our every day needs.

To speak this way is not to perpetrate negativity; it’s simply acknowledging that in order to speed up our global enlightenment, we need to turn the lecture into the Cliff Notes. It’s time to stop sounding elitist and academic and…well…weird. We can shift humanity. But to do this, we might need to stop using words like “shift humanity.”

There are many out there like me: People who will easily shift from thinking only selfish to thinking selfless. But without an easy onramp to the road of enlightenment, they will simply just keep driving down the road that’s familiar.

I consider myself very lucky to be past the diaper phase. All three of my kids were potty trained within reasonable, developmentally appropriate times; with my daughter (my third) achieving genius status. She was fully trained by 23 months. I thought babies who were trained before the age of two were simply myths, legends, or products of overactive imaginations of mothers who spent way too much time gushing about their children. Not so.

It’s been a year or two since I’ve had to think about diaper accoutrements. But today I asked my coworker for something to clean my computer keyboard with and she handed me a baby wipe.

I took it…reluctantly.

After wiping down my keyboard with the baby wipe, it was no longer sticky but it smelled like an eighty-year old women who forgot that she already sprayed herself five times with perfume. Not a smell I want to be spending my day with.

And, not something you want to be wiping your babies bottom…or hands with.

Before I had my first child, a friend of mine told me she made homemade baby wipes for her baby using paper towel and water. She said her daughter never had baby rash – never a one! Being the psychotic mom I was with my first (and by psychotic, I mean obsessed with doing things “right”), I made my own baby wipes, too, and taught my husband how to use them and make them.  And, just like my friend’s baby, my son stayed rash free for months!

The truth of the matter is poop stinks. But baby poop, especially breastfed baby poop, is NOTHING. My refrigerator smells worse than your breastfed baby’s poop! You do not need to be wiping her fresh bottom down with chemicals that are trying unsuccessfully to smell like the summer garden of St. Petersburg! Even if your baby is formula fed – trust me, those poops are nothing compared to what they’ll smell like once she’s eating meat. Even still, you really don’t need to wash your baby’s bottom with anything more than water, and a little natural baby soap. (We liked California Baby brand’s unscented baby soap for sensitive skin, but castile soap is great too, and a lot cheaper.)

Janelle Sorensen of Healthy Child, Healthy World recently posted this great article with tips for homemade baby products, including baby wipes.  If you are a new mom, or a mom with a new baby, please keep in mind that what you put on your baby matters as much as what you put in her.

And if you are a psychotic new mom-to-be like I was, just remember: If you’re reading this and thinking about it, you’re one step ahead already.

Before I had kids, but when I was adult enough to start thinking about having some, I knew their names would be Emma and Sam. Being a Jennifer, I always wanted kids with names that weren’t unusual, but were not so common to be on the list of the top 50 most popular names.

Why ”Emma” and “Sam” then, which were both easily in the top 25 by the time I had my own children? (None of whom are named Emma or Sam.) 

I’m a trendspotter. 

I liked those names in 1997: a good five years before Rachel Green named her baby Emma.

I tend to be aware of things before they become a trend. When they’re still a little unknown and even unaccepted.

Please understand: I’m not a trendSETTER. In general, no one gives a shit what I say, think, or do, except for a handful of you loyal readers. But, every now and again, I tell my friends and family about a new product or behavior, and before you know it, you’re reading about it in USA Today.

I sense this happening with American society’s concern about food coloring.

While unfortunately the FDA did not in March retract “its long-held position that the dyes pose no risk to children or anyone else;” more mainstream media outlets are reporting on the matter and more parents are reading and sharing these links on their social media networks.

I have my relatives forwarding me links from NPR writing, “You told us about this five years ago!” My husband looks at me with a proud smile when he sees the top story on CNN health is about new studies linking ADHD and food dyes.

I don’t want a pat on the back or a medal. I do, however, want to be able to walk through a grocery store in under an hour because I no longer have to read and monitor the long list of behavior-disturbing and asthma-inducing chemicals in my family’s food. I do want to be sure that the produce I buy is naturally colorful, not from Citrus Red 2, which is a carcinogen. I want to know that when my kids go to their friends house for a playdate, they’re not going to return climbing the walls because they ate Yellow #5- laced Kraft Mac and Cheese.

I don’t need my sister-in-law to call me and tell me she’ll no longer have fruit punch at her kid’s birthday party. Or my son’s preschool teacher to let me know she removed the Fruit Loops from school projects. (Though both would be dye-free icing on the cake.)

But I would like to see that this is a trend that takes. And benefits us all.

Food that comes from nature (as opposed to the laboratory or from laboratory-like processing plants) does not look perfect. Food that hasn’t been genetically modified or tained by pesticides looks irregular.

In fact, when I see big, beautiful, perfectly shaped strawberries, and I don’t know where they’ve been grown, I typically stay away from them, particularly since of all fruits and veggies, strawberries are on the top of the Dirty Dozen to eat organic.

This isn’t to say that all irregular looking food is organic or safe. Take “ugly tomatoes” for example. They sure are ugly, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t grown with pesticides.

This morning, as I was preparing to make myself a sunny side up egg for breakfast, I opened up the carton of organic eggs I had just bought from Eden Teva natural foods market. This is what I found:

 Six brown eggs and six white ones. Yes, they do seem to be a bit ordered (they came exactly as you see them in the picture.) But no one decided at the farm or wherever these eggs are packaged that the eggs needed to be uniform. No one decided that organic eggs needed to look brown or look white. No one indicated on the outside of the packaging that these eggs may be discolored or may be mismatched. All the packaging really says (save for 12 Organic Eggs”) is “Laid by hens free to move, perch, rest and feed.”

Weren’t they worried that when I opened up the carton to make sure the eggs weren’t cracked (which I didn’t since I wasn’t the one to go food shopping this time), that I would put these mismatched eggs back on the shelf?

No, they weren’t. Because educated, organic food shoppers expect their food to look like food, not like advertisements.

You knew it was only time before my deep breathing and polite acceptance of cultural differences faded away into annoyance and frustration. Here is my first public gripe about the ease with which Israeli parents feed their kids crap. Originally posted on The Jerusalem Post.

I could be wrong, but I have a feeling that Israelis missed out on the pop culture icon that is The Grinch, the anti-Christmas, anti-fun Dr. Seuss character who ruins the holiday season for the people of Whoville. Whether or not there is an Israeli equivalent of the mean, green furry monster is unbeknownst to me, but I often feel as if I could fit the bill.
 
It’s not Christmas that I despise, though. Or any holiday celebrated here in Israel. My life would be a little less grinchy if it was a holiday I was in opposition to.
 
No. The offender in question is not a holiday, but a treasured Israeli institution.
The Makolet.
 
Here on the kibbutz in which I live, at the top of the hill, in a little trailer adjacent to the preschool is the quintessential Israeli convenience store. Open from early morning to late evening, with a short mid-afternoon break, the Makolet is a mini-mart which carries a variety of staples (milk, bread, cheese, sugar, instant coffee), as well as fresh fruit and vegetables, beverages, and newspapers. For those of you who have spent any time in New York City, the Makolet is basically the Jewish bodega.
 
If I was 21, the Makolet would be my second home, I’m sure. However, as a parent who is trying to raise healthy and health-conscious children, I find the Makolet to not only be an inconvenience, but an outright nuisance. My kids don’t see the Makolet as the place to pick up an avocado when we’re fresh out, or a tub of chummus. No, they see the Makolet as an all-day, every-day Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory!
 
Candy, “choco” (chocolate milk IN A BAG), gum, cake, cookies, lollipops: Half the products in the store are marketed to children; or worse yet, their parents who feed them this kind of junk every day after school.

 Are my fellow parents here are not really aware of the kind of junk they are putting in their kids’ mouths?  The sugar, and worse, the artificial sweeteners, additives, and preservatives? Chemicals that have been linked to behavioral disturbances, sleep issues, and ADHD. They must understand, at least, the connection between feeding their kids this junk and childhood obesity? Right? How do they justify the daily indulgences? Is this yet another difference between American parenting and Israeli? Or is it ignorance?
 
It took us only a few weeks of living here (and incessant begging from our children) before we created “Makolet Day;” one day during the week when each of my three kids is allowed to choose something to buy from the Makolet.  We encourage cheap little toys over candy, but ultimately the decision is theirs. This  system works well for my four-year-old and two-year-old, who aren’t running around the kibbutz with other children who have their own accounts at the Makolet and the apparent freedom to buy whatever they want whenever they want. But not so for my eight-year-old who, in between Makolet days, mooches off his friends, his de facto dealers.
 
I’m not as bad as you might think. I’m not one of these moms who deprives her children of sweet treats. I, too, have a sweet tooth and a sugar addiction that I need to feed.  But the sweet treats in my house have always typically been home-baked chocolate chip cookies or cakes; not preservative-laden packaged cookies pulled from a shelf.
 
I’m no Martha Stewart. I’m just a mom trying to raise healthy kids.
 
This was not an easy task in the States either. My eight-year-old son went to school with children who packed Coca-Cola and Cheetos for their mid-morning snack. But conscious eating is proving to be much more challenging here in Israel.
 
In the States, as long as I kept my kids away from the counter at CVS or Target, I hardly ever had to deal with the whining and begging that’s inevitable when a child meets the candy counter. Here in Israel, we pass by the open Makolet every day, where my kids see their friends sucking on popsicles or soda.
 
In the States, there was at least a rule that restricted teachers from using any food for which the first listed ingredients were sugar. Here in Israel, on a recent tiyul, one of the items listed to pack was candy.
 
In the States, my kids would eye their friends’ snacks on the playground and I would begrudgingly let them mooch an apple or a pretzel if their friend’s mom offered. Here in Israel, my kids are swapping their organic raisins for their friends’ gummy worms.
 
All those years of educating my kids on healthy eating are getting flushed down the proverbial drain faster than you can say Kinder Egg.
 
Inside I am seething, but I remain silent. After all, I want to fit in, and nobody wants to be friends with The Grinch. Furthermore, I know the Makolet isn’t going anywhere any time soon. So, just as I’ve had to make my peace with the unleashed dogs, the mud-tracked floors, and the smell of cow poop in the afternoon, I will have to figure out a way to live in harmony with the Makolet.
 
Until I start a wellness revolution in Israel. Which, may end up being sooner rather than later.