What happened when I stopped ignoring my body

“When we listen kindly, we respect the present moment and give us the care we really need.” ~Thitch nhat hanh

It was back in middle school for me. My English riding bleach should feel thin. I compare myself to the others in the barn. It has long, thin legs and small hips. My 13-year-old self didn’t want to be chubby. But looking back, I realize that it is only in my own eyes.

What I didn’t know was that by ignoring my hunger, cravings, and the messages of my body, I was also silent in my voice. It takes decades to learn that listening to one’s body is not just a food, but an act of love.

At first I learned to negate my body cues – hangers, cravings, thirst, even sadness.

Slowly, over time, I adjusted every signal my body had sent me.

Looking back now, I see that they limit “just enough” to fly under the radar, but honestly, I don’t know if their parents noticed it. Things I didn’t notice were the subject of my adolescence.

In college, I was a vegetarian and an athlete. The rowing looked like the logical next step from riding. I loved being on the water and I loved the challenge. And I had to be a distraction. What is the better way to avoid yourself than a full course load, practice twice a day, or part-time work?

During this time I asked much of my body while I was trapped in a full-blown, disability diet. I ran with quick burning simple carbs, including donuts, pop tarts and Swedish fish fish. And on the weekend? Alcohol and pot took over. I was numb, ran, I ignored it.

When I moved to Montana at age 20, I stuffed up some messy meals and body dismorphia and took them. The rowfish bulked me up, filled with huge latitudes, huge arms, and solid thighs. So, in the only way I knew, I completely restricted it. It’s not too thin, enough to be noticed.

Settled in Montana, I ate one meal a day if you could call it. A latte with two pumps of white toast honey and vanilla. I walked around the fog, went to classes, drifting away without work, parties, direction or self-awareness. As I look back at that time, I want to hug the girl I was. My body, my mind – they were doing everything they could to keep me going.

I wish I could say there was a single, defining moment that changed everything. But healing wasn’t a sudden revelation. It unfolded slowly, like the first light of dawn after a long night. A small act of gradually awakening to oneself and listening at once.

When I joined the local food cooperative, the shift began without me realising. Fresh food was abundant and unconsciously I found a role model for the shoppers around me. They were lively and grounded. health. I wanted it.

I began to notice things. My usual milk latte left a lace in my heart, my stomach was bloated and a rash appeared on my arms. So I experimented. I’ve learned to cook. Various foods added. I started eating meat again.

One day I realized that the fog in my brain had been lifted up. And I wanted more of it. I was craving something new. health. Clarity.

For the first time, I was not considered to be information, not as a fight to craving.

My sugar craving was not a moral failure. They were my body seeking nourishment after years of limitations.

My fatigue was not something I could push through. It was a plea for rest.

As I approached my body with curiosity instead of judgment, I finally began to hear what it was trying to tell me the whole time.

And I went with him. I met a lovely man who lit up me and we got married. A few years later, we had a son. There was an apple in my eyes.

They were in a relationship and caring for another person. At first, I needed to be careful. I was still a fledgling cue leader and was still learning how to listen to my own needs while meeting the needs of others.

Before I met my husband, I had slowly started healing from my childhood wounds. It was a bumpy road and full of failure, but I continued. I listened with curiosity and practiced tuning. I realized when judgment occurred – since judgment has always been my first language, I will replace it with compassion. Ask my body what it needs and respond carefully at once.

I began to take care of myself, as if I was taking care of my children. With kindness, patience and deep love. I swapped the sugar for totally nourishing foods, not from punishment, but because my body wanted them. I stopped running in a rag and allowed myself to rest instead.

Well, at age 50, my son has flew the nest, and my husband and I are celebrating 24 years together. My old friends (the struggle for assumed diet and body image) sometimes visit menopause, especially when navigating menopause. But now I’m meeting them differently.

I don’t fight them and I can’t take over them. I simply ask, what are you here to say to me?

Because now I know: listening to my body is not about control or discipline. It’s about love.

And as I listen, I go back to my house again and again.