Becoming The Health Coach I Needed
The following story is tender to tell, but I share it from the standpoint of: holy shit, what so many of us are going through—while thinking we’re alone!
We are not alone. We are experiencing outcomes from the conditions we are embedded in. We have power in the midst of these challenging circumstances—and we don’t have to hack it on our own.
The first time I remember crying in a dressing room I was six years old, trying on bathing suits while trying to suck in my distended belly. By age nine, the pain that had me doubled over in PhysEd had nothing to do with overexertion, though it was assumed that was the case. I was consumed by cravings—for bread, ice-cream, cereal, cookies, chocolate, candy—and had no sense of what to do other than to judge and thrash on myself, or try to control myself through self-diminishment and self-admonishment.
At ten, I had learned from my fifth grade teacher that one pound was approximately 3500 calories, which led to long debates with myself about how many times that meant I would need to run around the block in our neighborhood to shrink my protruding belly and now thickening body. Unaware of the societal norms that were driving me to judge and penalize myself in such ways, nor how they were distorting my sense of self, I internalized all of this as my failure.
By the time I was a teenager I was experiencing exercise-induced asthma. I never wore a shirt that wasn’t baggy, needing space for my belly to distend throughout the day. I had bumps on my skin—chicken-skin—on my upper arms, face, and thighs. Combine braces with a mouth that was consistently erupted in enormous canker sores, I didn’t say much anymore. I finished five out of seven days in fetal-position pain at night—with the advice to ‘stress less’.
All the while, I was considered healthy—from my own perspective, my family’s, and doctors visited for annual exams. I was active, I excelled in school. I may have had a lot of gas, my mood swings mighty, and I had become inordinately shy, but compared to many—and particularly compared with my sister who was navigating the consequences of inflammatory kidney disease and Type 1.5 Diabetes—my health was rockstar.
At seventeen while on student-exchange in Germany, I experienced a round of acute abdominal pain. My plan was, per usual, to go home to hide, curl up in bed, breathe, and wait for it to pass. My super-dear exchange partner refused—taking me to her pediatrician instead. He told her to take me to the hospital, anticipating that my appendix was about to burst. She drove me there with sweaty palms through snowfall—where they couldn’t identify anything wrong; my appendix was fine. At the end of an ultrasound session they decided that I must be passing a kidney stone, so they kept me for the night. Surprised the next day that I had only residual tenderness in my abdomen, they released me without further conversation. I knew this was a heightened but not unusual round of my otherwise undiagnosed challenge.
In college when trying to donate blood I was turned away because my iron levels were too low. By that time it was only with about two cups of coffee and 45 minutes of effort that I was able to poop, which still only happened once every three to four days. I had no idea that ‘normally’ people poop daily, and with far less time and effort! I could be filled with joy and delight in one part of the day, weepy and despondent hours later, angry for a while, passive, then back to tender and joyful—extremes flowing through me like storm clouds.
In my early twenties I visited a gastroenterologist. He completed a blood-test of my stool. Not finding blood, he declared: “well, you’re not celiac, and non-celiac gluten sensitivity just doesn’t exist. You have a weak disposition.” He recommended psyllium husk for my constipation, and prescribed Paxil—the serotonin reuptake inhibitor newly on the market—and advised that I would need to be on this for the rest of my life.
While Paxil helped a little, for a while—it stopped helping within a year. My joy and awe in life were gone. I struggled with even more severe constipation, increasing weight-gain, the beginning of two decades of toenail fungus, the burst of a polycystic ovary follicle—and began frequently fantasizing about ways I could die that would look like an accident—my emotional storms hitting dangerous new lows. The psyllium husk was tearing my guts apart, and I was done with Paxil, so hungry to feel my sense of awe again.
I saw all of these ‘problems’ as separate issues to fix and decided I would fix them. Approaching myself as modular project—counseling for depression, hours at the gym and on the stairmaster for weight-loss, implementing a gluten-free diet before it was ‘a thing’ for my gut, inhaler before exercising to prevent asthma attack, etc—this was the beginning of a sense of sovereignty in my own body on my own behalf, but still driven by a punitive and compartmentalizing mindset.
There were other rounds of emergency medical visits, such as when a dear friend on the East Coast gave me a gluten-free scone for my flight home after visiting her, which she had made with spelt (which is a form of wheat—not gluten-free). When my dad picked me up from the airport I couldn't stand; he rushed me to an emergency clinic, which provided no more helpful information.
I was still ‘healthy’ from most everyone’s perspective. When my cholesterol jumped to over 230 in my mid-twenties, the actions recommended were to lose weight by reducing fat intake, and keep “moving more, eating less”—which was not only inadequate advice at the time, with what I understand now it was inaccurate and harmful.
I knew I couldn't—wouldn’t—continue to live this way. To be doing my best to 'fix' myself, told I was fine—while I was falling apart—began my long journey of hacking my own health. I had decided: “weak disposition” my ass!! This is not ‘normal’! It does not have to be this way!
As I write this, I want to wrap the younger version(s) of me up in a huge blanket, weep for a while together, celebrate how much we’ve learned, and thank her for her grit to keep going. I feel rage on her behalf for how much she internalized these symptoms as her own inadequacy, anger for the ways her emotional weather was perceived as a kind of weakness of character, and despair for the enduring impacts of pain. I find it astonishing to look back and to be able to clearly see that what looked like separate problems were all elements of an integrated challenge.
These are patterns that happen, and my story is a microcosm: when collective awareness is behind what is presenting in individuals, individuals are frequently disbelieved—or blamed, scapegoated, marginalized, and far worse—depending on how defended collective awareness is regarding 'feedback'. When collective awareness catches up to what's happening, we frequently can't believe what wasn't seen.
Anyone with an as-yet-to-be-diagnosed or as-yet-undiagnosable condition may recognize their experience in my story. You'll also know how it means the world when our loved ones take our challenges seriously. When they offer support, particularly when there isn't a clear understanding of what's going on.
My mom's first gluten-free carrot cake for my birthday decades back still reverberates in me as an experience of profound love. My family's ongoing openness to flow with my food experiments—as I learn more, tweak and adjust—means I can just be an embraced member of the family.
Chef Christyn Johnson of Pure Indulgence at the Whidbey Institute fundamentally reshaped my perception of food—from one of restriction to one of creative abundance. Spending time around her and others who love food, I shifted from hating cooking and avoiding even thinking about food beyond subsistence, to loving the experience of cooking and nourishing myself. What? Me, enjoy cooking? No way! And actually becoming good at it? Yes.
This story today, working with the kind of health coaching I practice, would be one of curiosity. It would be a story of being heard, supported with connecting the dots, and rather than chasing fixes for individual symptoms it could be one of developing a coherent narrative. It would be about deepening in one's sense of sovereignty and wholeness in one's own body—supporting action and care for oneself on one's own behalf.
This story today could be one of recognition of—and treatment for— gastro-intestinal disorder(s) with specific recommendations for dietary changes and supplements focussed on healing my intestinal lining, addressing biome dysbiosis, redeveloping my microbial diversity, reducing inflammation, supporting rebalance of my hormones, and dialing in my exercise and self-care. I sorted this out, experiment by experiment, but now know how to find the professional support to affirm, expand, and deepen an informed process.
It could also be a story of relating with my dietary needs, not as weird and deprived but rooted in enjoying ‘what is food for me’. My emotional storms would be held in light of what was happening to me physically—not just with recognition of the physical pain and the internalized sense of failure and inadequacy—but also recognition of the impact of our gut health and our body's health on our brain health. It could be a story of supporting brain health, which is foundational and vital for our mental and emotional health.
So many of us have been struggling with symptoms—minor and major—for unclear reasons. From brain fog and creaky and aching joints, to acute conditions requiring medical intervention. We have tried lots of things—as capitalism has certainly jumped into the gaps that our medical models have been unable to support. We have experienced successes and disorienting set-backs, driven frequently by a mindset of fixing and perceived failure.
When we do embrace living differently, we can feel isolated in the process—navigating challenges like feeling uncomfortable when others “have to accommodate” our unique needs, frequently paired with some jokes and teasing. When we have the fortune of finding support from amazing medical professionals who work with us to dig into the root drivers of what is going on—their time to help with implementing the lifestyle changes they recommend can be limited. Bridging these gaps is a role health coaching is taking the form to meet.
I am in awe of our bodies’ capacity to heal; stunned by what’s possible with nourishment that actually nourishes; amazed by how basic things, foundational things, can transform so much—listening, support, curiosity, connecting the dots, making changes to our daily practices that are life-affirming.
I don't want others to have to 'hack' their health journey the way I did—it doesn't have to be so hard, take so long, cost so much, or carry so many short- and long- term consequences. A little generative support can go a long way for each of us to understand more clearly what our bodies are telling us, and responding with care to that information. We don't have the time or precious human energy to waste.
All of which is why it’s been essential for me to be able to support deeply with coaching for health, as much as I do for leadership, life, and purpose. As demonstrated by accomplishing the threshold of certification through the National Board for Health and Wellness Coaching, I am well resourced to support you on your unique journey.
