Hi, my name is Julie and I'm a "Carbaholic" Part 1: Pay the grocer

This post is dedicated to Alexis, who inspired me past my tipping point to write again... Thanks.

Ugh. I need one more of those. Ugh. Let's say it together. Ugh! Carbs. Fucking carbs. Pardon my language, but I mean come on. Carbohydrate consumption has become so pervasive in our big fat society and I'm just one more cow mooing among the masses who's stepped on the wagon train of carb addiction. Where do I begin? Or rather, start over. In the past week I've had several little hints from the "universe" to wake me up from my dim denial that I had entirely fallen off the wagon and (hopefully) "hit bottom." I'm a professional so I think it's ok here if I use some clinical terminology: I relapsed. And I relapsed hard.

Me in Moorea. Could you recover from this? I'm just sayin'...

After our return from Tahiti, I stopped following any of my healthy beliefs (ah the blissful Island of Moorea). Oh, I know, poor me with my uptown problems! But no one ever tells you that when you return to your fast-paced urban life, that you're going to realize what real insanity is. I'd to like to blame this carb addiction on a return from a trip to an island with pure turquoise waters and colorful fish; that my depression upon the loss of that place, that life, was so severe that I spiraled into a pit of Red Vines and Chocolate Covered Gummy Bears... but it is true. At least, that's the point at which all the crappy eating returned, for both Brian and I. It was really difficult to return from almost two weeks of French bread, Cappucinos, white sands and bathwater warm clear seas.... But really, I'm not exaggerating my uptown problem; urban life is difficult...stressful at baseline. It's a far cry from driving circles around a 45 mile circumference island where the only care in the world is a sun hat and not hitting a lazy dog sleeping in the road.

That said, it's an inside job and I can only blame myself for all the candy that I've eaten in the past year. So I'm trying again. A confluence of events led me back to journaling here.... Last week I stood in line at the grocery store with a woman who looked in my cart (chocolate bars, Red Vines, Gushers fruit snacks, crackers, blah blah blah) in actual horror. And it was horrifying. The moment was strange though, because I'm typically surrounded by people with carts as bad as, if not worse, than mine (because our food culture is fundamentally horrid). I'm not alone, but she was only carrying a medication in her hand and that was it. There was a split second of knowing, a shaka-buku wisdom (my trashy food--her meds--something is wrong here, I knew). I smiled at her, looked in my cart and acknowledged her by saying, "Yeah, I know. Terrible." We gabbed about how hard it is to avoid the candy aisle and how all the foods that kids eat (like my Gushers) are so addicting... then she started crying. She told me about her young son's three weeks without a bowel movement and chronic constipation. Despite doctor's interventions, his problems persisted. She felt helpless. I felt less helpless, but sad. Not just sad for her, but sad for me, sad for you, and sad for us.

Why didn't I feel helpless? Because having written this blog, seen my nutritionist and tried something different, I know (despite my cart-full of candy) that there is another way. I told her about my nutritionist, about Weston Price, about the lost food culture of America (that we've lost control of) and that there is another way. She left with some empowerment. Hopefully she will see a nutritionist and a Functional Medicine doctor for her son, rather than just stuffing him with ex lax, Miralax, benefiber... yadda yadda. Solutions sure. Maybe? But not solutions to the actual problem: our children literally don't have access to real "food" anymore.  The milk and cheese (milked from poisoned cows not allowed to eat the grass they thrive on). The bread (too much!). The meat (poisoned, suffering, sick animals). The fish (genetically modified swimming in cesspools). The produce (genetically modified with pesticide in their flesh). We have few sources of food that our bodies don't have to simultaneously detox from while we strain to get nourishment.

The week continued like this, pushing me closer back here... I saw another friend who spoke of her child's constipation and heard further stories of constipation. I received an email saying how appreciated my blog is and that this issue is important. I learned that Walmart will be selling genetically modified fresh corn (without labeling, in the produce section) that has been known to cause organ damage. I see the news about how fat we are, and the advice we're given is skewed. We take laxatives to repair digestive systems that are already so fucked up by the "food" we eat, then we add these chemical problems to functional digestive problems.... and then we go to the doctor. I'm all for doctors; they are healers and miracle workers. But let's help out their already overburdened system... Let's pay the grocer for real food, and not the doctor for desperate solutions.