My healing journey has been a long one. With loops, twists, and bumps. It was not pretty nor easy, but neither is life. I'm textured like a pair of old leather boots from this journey and I share its folds and creases to show how powerful food, flowers, and roots can be. And believe it or not, this is the children's book version.
A decade and some teenage acne ago, I became a "conscious food activist", aka veg head, and began voting for my health and politics with my fork, oh how bursting with blissful ignorance my younger self was. Somewhere along the way, food became less of a celebration and more of a battle.
I was slowly suffocating by the onset of bipolar II depression, hormone issues, and gastrointestinal problems. For the majority of my adolescent and budding adult years, I danced in my highs and disappeared into myself during my lows. Natural medicine was unable to touch my shadows. The psychiatrist told my mom that pills were the only way to help me. He confused "help" with pacify and numb. With delaying the inevitable and covering up deeper chronic issues. He branded me with a label and I lived that as my truth for years to come.