I used to track everything—like, everything. Macros, micros, water intake, how many almonds I ate while standing at the pantry door pretending I wasn’t snacking. I had a spreadsheet that told me exactly what I “should” be eating. I thought control meant health. And that health meant eating like some clean-eating Pinterest goddess with perfect lighting and zero digestive issues.
Spoiler: it didn’t end well.
Somewhere between the anxiety, the 3pm crashes, and the guilt of eating a slice of banana bread that had actual sugar in it, I cracked. That moment led me to rethink my approach to gut health.
That night was weirdly pivotal. It was the beginning of me unlearning what I thought health had to look like. Now? Most days I aim for one solid meal, one chaotic one, and one that involves leftovers I don’t even heat up properly. And I feel better. Freer. Less like I’m being chased by an invisible food police.
Giving up on “perfect” eating didn’t mean giving up on health. It meant finally making space for it. Because real health—at least for me—means eating in a way that supports my life, not controls it. It’s knowing that some days I’ll roast veggies and others I’ll eat my kid’s crusts while standing at the sink.
This shift didn’t happen overnight. But it started with one honest question: Is this making me feel better, or just more in control? That question still guides me now, especially when I feel myself slipping back into old habits (like Googling if coconut yoghurt counts as a probiotic or just fancy pudding).
If any of this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. And you’re definitely not failing. You’re just a human being trying to feed yourself in a world obsessed with kale and guilt.
No meal plan required.