Just how many rock bottoms is one allotted, exactly?

Because if it goes in the way of cat lives, I've hopefully hit my last.

This isn't about body image or diet culture, it's about illness. But I am going to talk about food and weight, so fair warning.

I woke up yesterday morning at full toxicity, like I'd drank a gallon of Everclear punch the night before. It was all I could do not to lay my pounding head down on the cold cement floor and I would have except my shoulder is injured and I didn't think I'd be able to get up again. Along with the pounding head, I had nausea and was covered in tepid sweat, but no fever. I knew it wasn't Covid. 

The reason I knew it wasn't Covid is that the Universe has been pinging me with signs for a while. They were subtle at first and isn't that how it always happens? It always starts as a gentle invitation: something you hear in a podcast that makes you pick up a book, a body feeling not quite right but easy enough to blame the heat or menopause. I'd also gained some weight, which started before quarantine, but I was looking at that with more curiosity than regret (and I've enjoyed my bigger boobs, if I'm being honest). I've also been really short with my kids every evening the past few weeks (and "really short" is putting it mildly), but again, easy enough to blame shelter fatigue. Separately, all signs subtle enough to overlook to stay in the comfortable fugue state of denial.

And then I had a doctor's appointment this week, my first in almost two years. I could give a million excuses as to why this is so, but it's hard finding a new doc. I'm sure you can relate. Every time I leave a doctor's office, no matter how good the doc is, I always berate myself in the shower later that night for the questions I didn't ask or the ways I didn't advocate for myself. I'd even started coming  to appointments with notes, but I'm out of practice. First of all, there wasn't a single question on the intake forms about alcohol consumption. It asked many questions about smoking and if my great-maternal-aunt had breast cancer, but not one mention of alcohol. After a few verbal questions, she asked about my weight, specifically if I'd experienced any weight gain recently. Out of all our possible topics, I thought that odd. I told her I had but I followed that with the assurance that I work out everyday and take a handful of supplements nightly. What was my shower rebuttal? "You should have met me seven year ago, lady. I'm as healthy as I've ever been."

I should have known when I couldn't stop crying that evening that that was the last point needed to finally pierce the veil. That was Wednesday and by Saturday morning, I was sitting on the toilet begging God to give me another day. See, what I didn't tell the doctor was that I'd eaten ice cream with Oreos every other night for at least four months and that I had Oreos for mid-day snacks too. I also didn't mention that I've gone through half a pound of honey every two weeks for a very long time. In between I ate vegetables the color of the rainbow so in my head, they canceled each other out. However, my body was doing different math. There was that voice though. I've hit enough rock bottoms to know she's always there, attempting to guide me towards an easier, softer way but why must it always come to desperation? 

I'm writing this to you the morning after my first Day One and I've already woken up headache-free. I want to call it a miracle but I know it's just change. I've decided to do something different this time and keep a food journal to exercise curious awareness as I eliminate sugar for thirty days. If this goes the same way that my alcohol elimination experiment went almost six years ago, I have a hunch I'll feel remarkably better when I hit Day Thirty. 

I don't know why I have to come to the end of myself to make big changes, despite external signs and internal nudges. What do your signs look like, your voice sound like? Maybe this letter is a sign for you. If there is something in your life you'd like to change, perhaps I can help you.  Yes, rock bottoms are gifts, in hindsight anyway, but think of this offering as a present you can open any ol' time.