**WARNING Graphic content: might not be suitable for work**

Some people are born sick. I wasn’t.

I made myself sick. I spent my entire childhood building up to spending my entire adulthood being sick.

And I was incredibly successful at doing so.

Since before I was a teenager, food always held negative connotations for me. My mom was always on a diet and fat-free was pure gospel. At 12 years old, I gave up soda because I knew it was “bad” and felt guilty every time I had a brownie or a Twix.

Barbie celebrating food, crossed out with a big red sign

By the time I was in high school, a flat tummy was my primary concern, and all I wanted was to be thin and beautiful, so I resolutely claimed I didn’t eat wheat or dairy because I “couldn’t tolerate them” – giving myself a bona fide condition (without the help of any doctors).

From about the age of 17, I was heath obsessed and self-punishing full time. If I indulged in frozen yogurt or had eaten too much, I’d take a walk by myself and purge my shame into the neighbor’s bushes, quiet and discrete.

A barbie being sick behind a fence post

In my twenties, I no longer had to worry about barfing up my problems. I had finally achieved my goal: I could hardly eat anything. I was sick. Really, really sick. My belly was huge with parasites, SIBO, H. Pylori, adrenal fatigue, chronic fatigue, hormone imbalances, and fibromyalgic pain.

A sick woman with a distended abdomen

An entire lifetime of food fear and self-loathing had finally come full circle. I no longer had to restrict my diet or think of reasons to exclude gummy bears from my life; my body was doing it on autopilot, and I had a great big distended, angry belly to show for it (not the lithe, svelte frame I’d dreamed of).

 

Chronic Illness and Eating Disorders

I’m going to throw it right out there: I believe my eating disorder became my illness. I believe that my fear of getting fat and having a poochy belly turned into an eating disorder. I think the eating disorder ingrained negative ideas of eating so deeply in my mind that I got sick and became engrossed in 10 years of food sensitivities and life consuming infection.

I had every symptom, every problem, and was deeply suspicious of all food all the time. I became anti-social, was incessantly harassed by the stupid body I hated, and tormented myself over every bite I took and what sort of reaction I would have.

See the pattern there?

And it is probably the same reason YOU are so sick all the time.

Huge, right?

A hideous boulder right in the eye and whoa whoa whoa whoa no.

Let me explain.

 

The Real Reason You’re So Sick All the Time

You don’t have to have a full blown eating disorder in order to qualify, here. It could be something as simple as hating your reflection. Repeating how fat you are every time those jeans squeeze your tum. Believing that if you eat dessert you’ll gain 5 pounds immediately. Mutilating your self-esteem with fashion mags. Buying yet another lipstick to make yourself feel better.

I’m talking about your brain. Your mindset. The way you see yourself and the relationship you have to your body and food and health and healing.

A woman thinking of a cupcake

That’s the real reason you’re so sick all the time. Because your mind is getting right up in your business, hijacking your best intentions and blasting you off course. Bringing out all the dirty laundry and making a stinking shambles of the whole thing.

3 Free Ways to Stop Your Mindset from Making You Sick

I know you’re here because you want to be well. I know you’ve crashed and burned the brain plane. I know you’ve dragged your body through pharmaceutical hell and back. Your soul is shredded and your spirits are singed.

It’s time to stop killing yourself. Stop spending your life suffering. Stop wandering blind.

Use these three tips as a jumping off point to kick start true healing. Take it from a professional invalid, educating your body, beautifying your mind, and healing your life starts here (and it’s free!).

1. Get Honest

Getting honest about the underlying causes of being unwell (physically or mentally) is rough. It’s emotionally triggering and psychologically challenging. I means facing facts and taking responsibility for your role. Believe me; I did NOT want to admit that a shameful eating disorder (and fear and self-loathing) had robbed me of 10 prime years(!).

Look at your symptoms. Your situation. Can you spot any patterns? Can you see where it all began? Was there an event that triggered you? A set of behavioral traits you inherited from your mom?

Digging up these roots will feel like a soul bearing, gut wrenching inquisition. But the answers are there, and they are the key to healing. You must confront the true cause before you embrace true healing – otherwise, it’s likely you will be (unconsciously) repeating patterns of self-sabotage.

 

2. Forgive Yourself

A heart made of broken pieces of blue dishes

Your self-exploration may uncover some nasty stuff. Proper demons. And that’s OK. In fact, that’s freaking awesome. The sooner you call all that stuff into the light, the sooner you can deal and ditch.

Throughout this process – from before you discover anything, through to thriving victory – you must forgive yourself for everything. For all the past failures, the negative thoughts, the self-loathing, how long it takes, the dark secrets. All of it.

Create a beautiful mindset from this point by simply allowing your past to exist, accepting yourself in the moment, and moving forward with a positive intention. Don’t dwell. Don’t punish. Everything happens for your highest good, so (even if you don’t understand it right now) move on believing that purpose and value will reveal itself as you press along with forgiveness and self-love in the driver’s seat.

 

3. Train Your Brain

Healing is the art of bringing physiology (the body) and psychology (the brain) into alignment with one another. Your body cannot be vital if your brain is sick, and vice versa. We must attend to both in order to achieve harmony.

But what if your mind is chattin’ about how ugly your thighs are? What if a little carb alarm goes off every single time you see a loaf of bread? What if you’re used to counting calories and get sucked in by swimming suit season advertising? Healing is not going to come from a place of comparison and inadequacy. 

You must reign in the brain to assist your healing journey. It’s not optional. After you get honest, you can start to dive into the subconscious programming that is informing your actions (and ultimately responsible for your successful recovery). Healing Hypnosis is a free and easy way to get you started on your way. You may also consider mindfulness, emotional freedom techniques, positive affirmations, meditation, or a combination of all. Find what feels good, and do it. 

Start Kicking Ass Today with a Beautiful Mindset

Oh my honey.

This is your cue.

The part where you get to put on your flower crown and take action.

Where you get to shine because you are finally standing in the light.

Where everyone gets to feel your love and share in the gifts you bring.

Because now you know.

How to move forward.

And how to move mountains.

Oh my gosh, yes.

 

xoxo

 

Tell me. Did you spend 2 years wrapped in a duvet with debilitating digestion? Did you pick up parasites in Peru? Have you had a spiritual healing experience? I want to know. 

You deserve true healing.

Book your FREE 15 minute appointment with my

LIFE SAVING Functional Medicine Practitioner Brie Wieselman today.**

You can also hop on over to get sexy, juicy, empowered healing and wellbeing from MegaBeauts

(FREE FREE FREE!)

**Brie is now my affiliate partner, so let her know who sent you and thank you for supporting us both.

 

I’d like to congratulate myself on twenty-eight years of avoiding magnified mirrors.

Really. And it’s not because I was never tempted, either. I assure you, I’ve been in my fair share of bathrooms where one was winking malignly at me from its angle poised position in life.

I mean, have you ever EVER seen yaself in one of them things?

Sister, truly, I ask you, what were you thinking

Hello Truth Bomb

I must now confess: On a summer road trip with my husband, we crashed in at a motel which was equipped with the aforementioned torture device.

You know what’s coming.

Exhausted, stuffed with weird travel food, cramped from hours of driving, thoroughly dehydrated, and otherwise not the least bit ready for my close up, my defences were down, my resolve collapsed, and I gave into the alluring depths of the mirror mirror on the wall.

The only remaining question is Why? Why oh why oh why?

A woman seeing her magnified face and scared of magnified mirrors

I can say with unbiased clarity, I was not the fairest of them all.

Wicked witch looking in the mirror

Do Magnified Mirrors Tell the Truth?

I met parts of me that I never knew existed.

I consider my brows to be one of the small victories in my life, but mother save us, how had I missed this wilderness?

However, that wasn’t even the half of the situation: cavernous pores full of sebaceous abundance, thirty-seven raven black hairs on my chin (skyscrapers in a desert, I’m telling you – not a single inconspicuous thing about them), a constellation of blackheads and blemishes, topped off neatly with the deepening crevices of an alarmingly ageing terrain.

Man with pink eyes gazing

A Reckoning

The question is, though, does the fact that I’ve never seen myself in microscopic Technicolor before now mean that all this time, the world has been harassed by my unkempt beard and cracked veneer?

Or does it mean that this mag monster shows you what no one sees, what no one could ever really see without a medical implement, but nevertheless tricks your self-confidence into shrinking down to the hundred calorie snack pack version of its formal glory just because it can?

Somebody, please tell me it’s not just me!

Tiny cereal box on a spoon

On the one hand, it may be a thoroughly practical utensil, saving us all from certain peril.

However, very firmly on the other hand, I want to know what the almighty driving force behind the conception of this contraption was.

Friend or foe, I wonder?

And, moreover, how does anyone get out of bed ever again after adhering one of these soul suckers to the mosaic tiled wall of their powder room?

How can you (quite literally) face yourself ever again, particularly if you know that face is afflicted with a certain kind of temporary but grotesque giantism?

Genuinely. I want to know.

Here I was faced in every sense of the word with all my vainest demons.

Will my husband stay with me or run off with the pretty receptionist who doesn’t have a moustache?

My Face Is so Disgusting

Not to mention my legs.

The cellulite.

Eugh.

I wish I could tell you that I enjoyed my ghastly reflection for what it was, set the whole place on fire, and then skipped merrily along without two cares in the world.

But I didn’t.

I wallowed.

And obsessed.

And relished.

It was like when you look at the sky at night and see a million stars, then look again and see two million, then again and this time for longer, and you realize that there’s actually hardly any sky at all – just a wimpy thin blanket thrown over an immeasurable infinity of celestial light.

That was me and my upper-most appendage as projected by that amplification apparatus – layers and layers of discovery lying in wait, just significantly less awe inspiring and substantially more troubling than the heavens.

Further still, to add sufficient insult to blunt-force injury, I went directly to town on de-constructing my dermal infrastructure for a solid half an hour  (or more – I deliberately avoided looking at the clock during this inquest) while my husband waited to brush his teeth (he was totally bushed and just wanted to go to bed, but I was fiendishly selfish in this exploit).

I picked, squeezed, scratched, stretched, plucked, pulled, distorted, and otherwise assaulted myself with brutal precision. I can report with scientifically conclusive evidence, this initiative did not improve the situation. At all.

The only consolation was a long motel shower with never ending hot water (which does, in fact, heal many hurts and mend many mistakes).

When I got out, the big eye was still watching me, but since it was fogged over with the steam, I easily turned my back on it, not noticing its chromy appeal, not caring one bit.

I vowed we were through, and we were.

The Beauty Mindset Gone Astray

Except for the part where I went back and did a bit more research and deep excavation. And a bit more. Just a couple more hairs. Just that spot there and the last one on my temple. And forehead.

The next morning, I embraced the long stretches of sunny, summer roads with a smattering of half moons stamped onto my cheeks and chin, where my fingernails had ruthlessly dug into my unsuspecting flesh.

Why do we subject ourselves to these things?

What are we looking to accomplish?

What fears are we hiding from?

The History of Mirrors

Perhaps the evolution of mirrors has always been a double edged sword – the implementation of such tools has allowed for us all to say the better to see you with my dear, but also Lord have mercy is that my face? in ever increasing degrees.

Where we may have originally used a serene pool of water to catch a gently undulating glimpse of ourselves, the first highly polished metal used by Egyptians to regard one’s visage must have come as a bit of a shock.

Versions of the first glass mirrors have been dated to as early as the first century AD, and I really feel for the folks who met their own surprising features for the first time in those new-fangled gadgets – hair raising in every sense of the word, I expect.

Barbie looking at her own reflection in water

Egyptian Barbie looking into a bronze mirror

Fifties Barbie looking in a mirror

So here we are today, and the modern mirror of magnification shines upon us with self destructive enlightenment.

My experience is just one in a long line of thousands of years and millions of people.

The Final Verdict for Magnified Mirrors

What to do?

Avoid.

I’m not fully prepared to be so contemporary.

I should like the closing of motel door #160 to mark the end of my brief romance with, but life-long divorce from, magnified mirrors.

If you have fallen victim to such vicious self flagellation, please, help yourself to some healing, hope filled hypnosis. It’s free

 

Tell me. Have you ever gone into the bathroom during a dinner date, ravaged your face by squeezing all your blackheads in the hideously lit mirror, and then had to (literally) face the consequences? Ever put on foundation at home that turned out to be all the wrong shade of orange in the work bathroom mirror? I want to know.