𝑰 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆.

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡’𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐥.

Tightly-wound. Obsessively measured. Disguised as health.

And for 8 months, I followed every rule.

I ate “right.”

I tracked everything.

I did what I was told my body needed to rebalance.

And it 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑑.

My blood markers improved.

My energy got better.

I even looked the way I wanted to.

But underneath the progress?

I was raging.

I felt 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 I couldn’t breathe in.

And when I couldn’t keep it up anymore,

my body rebelled.

I rebelled.

Hard.

The past 6 months have been a wave of pushback.

Eating things I know inflame me.

Swinging between rebellion and guilt.

Wanting to feel free but terrified that I’ll spiral.

Because when control is all you’ve known…

𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬.

But now, I see it clearly:

This isn’t about food.

It never was.

It’s about the pattern I’ve been breaking across every area of my life:

“𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑠𝑎𝑓𝑒.”

And now I’m done.

I’m done following rules that leave my soul starving.

I’m done rebelling just to prove I can.

I’m done choosing between rigidity and chaos.

I’m learning to lead my body for the first time.

Not manage her. Not manipulate her.

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

With love. With listening. With devotion.

I don’t need to be “good” anymore. That requires someone else’s judgement and approval.

I want to be free.

And I want my body to trust me with that freedom.

Not a before-and-after.

Not a lesson wrapped in a bow.

Just a real-time reckoning.

A new contract with my body.

One where we both get to win