It took me a few months of reading and hearing about the benefits of detoxing before I was ready to kill the next person who advised me to go on a cleanse. And when I finally allowed myself to be dragged, kicking and screaming, onto the bandwagon, it only took me four days to want to kill my husband. Already sore and exhausted, I was in the kitchen when he remarked that I’d really not been getting enough calories. I remarked that he should go fuck himself. I was committed, but no one had warned me that cutting out animal products, gluten, alcohol, caffeine, and refined sugar for 21 days would bring out the zombie in me. 

As many of life’s greatest efforts do, it all began with a bit of complaining. I’d been whining to my friend, Bonnie, for weeks. I’m tired all the time, I kept telling her. I sleep a lot but never felt rested, I kept telling her. My stomach hurts no matter what I eat, I kept telling her. “Why don’t you go on a cleanse?” she suggested. Since Bonnie is a dear friend, I bypassed any homicidal thoughts (see above) and went straight to sending her pictures of the things I was ingesting pre-cleanse. (The glass of wine didn’t bother her, but she seemed to be concerned about my sudden, newfound affinity for diet Coke.)

I’d heard that people do these cleanses in groups, but my search for some company as I chose what I hoped would be the end of my misery was fruitless, so I lone-wolfed it.

And let me tell you: I. Was. Tired. Even more so than when I began. It was likely due to the sugar withdrawal, but I blamed it on lack of meat. Despite Bonnie’s nutritional advice to stock up on beets, I caved. I found myself eating a drumstick, convinced it would make me feel better.  It didn’t. In fact, for lack of a better phrase, it creeped me out. The flesh of the chicken reminded me just a little too much of my own flesh. It was weird, especially since I’d been known to order pulled-pork hamburgers (that’s pulled-pork AND a hamburger in one guilt-inducing sandwich), but with the drumstick, I paused long enough to think about what I was eating.

This brief moment translated into a shift in my relationship with food during the cleanse, insofar as I actually started to pause before I ate anything. Any time I had the desire to cheat on the cleanse, I took a second to think about the impetus behind my craving. I never noticed how much I block out. I block out the fact that I often still eat out of sadness or boredom. I block out the fact that while I’ve made big strides over the years, I still too often choose unhealthy options, despite being fully aware of my family’s history of heart problems. I block out the fact I’m a hypocrite when it comes to meat, since, until recently, I would happily eat it but would cringe at the thought of going hunting or working at a butcher shop because I thought it was barbaric.  I like the meat, but when push comes to shove, I don’t want any blood on my hands.

I’m not saying I’m right. I could be completely wrong about all of this actually. But my stomach says otherwise. I haven’t had the kind of digestive problems I used to have in months. And I’ve been sleeping well. And have more energy.

Most importantly though, food tastes so much better when I’m actually paying attention to it, so really, everyone wins.