I don’t know about you, but I’m getting wiped out by all these juice cleanses. Maybe it’s because I already sustain a pretty healthy diet, but personally, the moment I’m done with a juice cleanse, I end up eating worse food than I did before!
Cleansing has turned into an enormous business, and on many levels, I feel that it preys on people’s guilt and self-hatred: “I have been eating so badly — I need to cleanse.” It’s like a form of punishment. Once we have incurred the punishment, we are then absolved — free to do as we like — because we have paid the price. The problem is, the price can get pricey. Some of these cleanses can cost hundreds of dollars!
Are you addicted to crack? Cracking your joints, I mean! There were years during my 20s when I could not fathom getting through my early-morning yoga practice without popping my shoulders, low back, hips and neck. I was popping and cracking my way through the day like a one-woman band.
Usually these fast internal whacks felt great, a rush that temporarily relieved aches and pains. What I didn’t know at the time was that all that cracking was not only emblematic of my body’s instability, but it was accelerating my own tissue breakdown.
When I was an 18-year-old yogini, I was also an active bulimic. I was in college studying dance, training to be a shiatsu therapist (Japanese pressure point massage), making sandwiches and slicing salami at Jimmy John’s Deli, racing around Chicago learning yoga, and using food to self-medicate.
During that time, I remember never feeling connected to my core, my abdominal muscles. My Pilates teacher was always giving me corrections that I could not embody. In dance class, I was never able to find balance in my turns or jumps, and I would often duck out of class in frustration. Then I would become even angrier with myself because I was a quitter! This would inevitably lead to a binge and purge.
In the spring of 2007, after the birth of my second beautiful daughter, I relapsed from the eating disorder and severe depression I suffered with in college.
After six months of draining the lives of so many family and friends, I decided to receive intensive therapy once and for all. I was losing my husband, alienating friends and family members and spending days and weeks inside the house. I had two little girls to take care of and I could barely take care of myself.
Have you ever exercised a bit harder because you had ice cream the night before? Ever justified making a poor dietary decision (dessert/second helping/third cocktail) by thinking, “I’ll work out twice tomorrow,” or “It’s OK, I ran 10 miles today”?