Healing takes patience and white rice

My first task on my healing path was giving my illness a name. Might sound funny to you, but for a long time I was fearful that naming it would provide my invisible pain power over me, to my surprise when I was brave enough to get a colonoscopy/endoscopy (I might have canceled many times) and got a firm Crohn's diagnosis, I felt empowered.  The Second thing was realizing I had a sincere belief that given the correct nutrients, my body could heal naturally. I know, batshit crazy.

Believe it or not, up to this point I was not a person who tolerated suffering well and would take an Advil at the slightest ouch and here I was, suffering for an immeasurable amount of time for a belief, a needle in the haystack idea, an invisible hope.

I would be tested on my beliefs many times over the several years of suffering, but each time I held the line. When the pain was so severe I couldn't walk, or nausea so heavy even getting ice water in was an issue, I held the line. My belief in my body's ability to heal was so sincere and so pure that even the nights I contemplated the emergency room something deep inside of me spoke gently "hold the line." After years of trying autoimmune diets and failing, I still believed there was someone out there that understood what my body was trying to say. And I knew that I had the parachute of cutting it out and suppressing my immune system, should I need it. But I was a fighter, and that would be my last option. I was attached to my insides and felt rather greedy at times wanting to keep them all. Kinda like Gollum and his ring.

Being sick was scary for me, the pain, the un-welcomed bathroom sprints, the death farts and just the overall not living. I was benched, watching the world live while I slowly died from malnourishment and straight up agony. Watching others live out loud, consume mindlessly and eat fresh, glorious salads. If I ate a salad, it came out looking the same way it went it. I felt broken, and what was even worse was the slow acceptance that I had a hand in breaking me. I felt like a bad kid who had broken her most precious toy. I had treated my body with a mindless disrespect and now had to pay the piper. This was my trailhead, and this is where I had to take out my machete and carve a path unknown, with only a backpack full of belief. I have to say my General Practioner was a valuable guide on my journey. I'll never forget his words washing over me "don't underestimate the power of your belief." 
I'd love to hear from you, and where you are on your journey. Email me, or drop a comment below. And remember, you're great and within you is greatness. 

Inflamed? Painting the toilet bowl? Scale back all those nutrient-dense treats and replace it with nothingness. Your intestines need a break. Intestines repair damaged tissue when given a break. It takes about three days. Eat simple white rice. Rice cakes. Rice Chex. If gluten doesn't bother, you have some toast. Simple rice noodles. You get the idea. Oh and if you don't know about sea salt. It's your new best friend. Ditch the table salt. Drink half your body weight in warm water. Hold the lemon. Stay warm. Warmth heals. Sleep if you can, as much as you can. Sleep heals.

Welcome to stage one of the desperation diet.