For a long time I thought that I had to eat what other people told me to eat. I followed all sorts of mad food plans and forbade myself from eating a million things, mostly because people had told me I’d get everything from candida to cancer if I didn’t. They told me I’d have no energy, I’d be unhappy, I’d have brain fog and I’d go on sugar binges if I carried on eating these things. I never trusted myself or my body sufficiently to disobey, which strikes me as a shame in retrospect.
It was just part of my journey, I guess.
Today’s blog isn’t about being cross at any of the people who tried to help me – after all, they were all lovely people who just wanted the best for me. No, today’s blog is a celebration of being able to trust my very clever body, which ALWAYS tells me what it needs . . . If I’m willing to listen.
When I listen to it, it tells me when to start and stop eating. It tells me if it needs meat or fish. It tells me when it doesn’t want any more cheese. It tells me that I want a great big stodgy plate of carbs. Or – as happened this – it wakes up and says, very clearly, ‘Robinson, please feed me organic vegetables all day.’
I had no idea why it made this request, nor did I care. ‘OK,’ I said, without hesitation. ‘Veg it is, Body-of-Robinson.’
Luckily I’d just had my middle class veg box delivered (shhhh) and able to oblige. Here’s my lunch. Pretty unimaginative if you’re a proper foodie, but Christ JESUS it tasted good! And now my guts feel all nice and clean and I am smiling.
(Trump alert later)