💛 You cannot heal a body you do not love

Who among us can’t relate to looking back at an old photo of ourselves and remembering all of the vulnerable parts of ourself at that age?

Enjoy today’s read, where AmyAnn shares about her early days living in Los Angeles and the practice that helped her move toward healing when she needed it most.

Warmly, Kate
Community Manager

Hi all,

In my early twenties, I had just moved to LA with my new husband, thousands of miles from home. I was in graduate school, working a minimum wage job, and commuting hours a day with an unreliable car. Hello life in Los Angeles.

Back home in the Midwest, my parents’ marriage of more than thirty years was unraveling. The faith community I had grown up in was beginning a reckoning with abuse, with revelations that would continue for more than a decade. But here in California, finally on my own, the secrets that had lived inside my body of what had been done to me and the people that I loved—they were going to make their way to the surface.

During this time, I was diagnosed with inflammatory bowel disease. There were all sorts of painful and unpleasant symptoms, but the most distressing, by far, were episodes of severe, sudden gastrointestinal distress. Not to be crass, but the cramping and urgency were so intense that I frequently couldn’t make it to a restroom in time.

These frightening and public incidents were followed by panic and a growing fear of leaving the house. I lost my appetite. I was unable to digest the food I did try to consume. I was so fatigued that I slept twelve hours a night.

I needed to care for myself, but I did not know where to start.

I could not summon a sense of love for my body. I was fearful of it, frustrated with it, I wanted it to cooperate so I could get on with my life...