I originally wrote a blog entitled Nutrition and the G-Word, and I was told by the site builder that it was a 36 minute read! I didn't feel it served me or the reader to have so many sub-subjects crammed together into one long piece. So I have split it up. This one is the first of eighteen smaller pieces, called Let Food be Thy Medicine. I have for now kept the longer (unedited) version just in case anyone wants it one gulp! It can be found much lower down in the blog list.
LET FOOD BE THY MEDICINE (PART ONE)
"Let food be thy medicine, let medicine be thy food."
Hippocrates
I am what you might call a 'non-churchgoing Christian'. I didn't particularly like my experience of the Church early on, and I certainly didn't appreciate being strong-armed into being 'good' by threats of a fiery hereafter. I decided to find out whether I was capable of loving without the threats. I wanted to know if I was capable of something beyond the faux 'goodness' I'd been encouraged to cultivate.
I wanted to be more than just 'nice'. My 'niceness', after all, was proving itself to be little more than a self-preserving facade. In a word, I was a 'good girl' because I had a gigantic psychological need for approval.
I started to realise that it was spiritual vanity to suppose that I was different or better than anybody else purely because I subscribed to 'religious' beliefs and values. I'd seen, to my horror, that when I was pushed or stressed or needy I could be just as rash and as selfish as any other rascal not in the Jesus club.
What was this thing called love? Why did my 'love' only extend to those who were easy to love?
I wanted to understand why, in spite of good intentions and firmly established religious & moral rectitude, I was capable of really selfish (one might say 'bad') behaviour.
Was I just 'bad'? Irredeemably selfish? Did I just lack discipline, moral fibre?
Was I truly 'fallen', 'sinful' in my very nature?
So for quite a long time I've been seeking to live my life honestly, and sincerely, always trying to be conscious of, and moderating, my tendencies, and examining through this my simple understanding of Christ's teachings regarding love. Which is jolly difficult, I must say! It's an on-going journey.
But when I think about my life, my ideals and my aspirations, I do start from one basic but profoundly important tenet.
I inhabit a body, and all my experience, wisdom, growth and potential love for others can only come through the proper function of this body. I am certainly not much good without it!
We have been told that the body is the 'temple of the soul'. If we happen to be one of those who takes seriously the concept of a 'soul', I think we probably see it as the 'divine' part of ourselves.
The body? Not so much.
But a temple is holy, is divine! It is where God is to be found, or at least to be communicated with. It is hallowed ground, devoted to worship and thanksgiving. We fill our churches with flowers and incense and, on entry, we lower our voices instinctively, with respect and awe.
Do we respect and treat our bodies, these ostensible 'temples', with the same reverence?
I am sorry to say that, for a long time, I didn't. I felt very ambivalent about my body, perhaps having absorbed an idea of its sinfulness from my early church 'mentors'.
I spent most of my youth and early adult years grappling with this shame and with the dislike I felt for my body.
I over-ate, enjoyed alcohol just a little bit too much at times, neglected my need for sleep and proper exercise.
It was only when, in conceiving a child late into my thirties, in experiencing pregnancy and going through (and recovering from) a life-saving Caesarian section, that a strong focus and a growing wonder at my body's capabilities started to come about.
To feel a living being growing and moving inside my own was ridiculously exciting, and simply miraculous! How on earth was this possible?
I had a challenging pregnancy and a dangerous birth. Emerging from that hastily-applied general anaesthetic (and having had the second cup of tea necessary for me to literally focus) I gazed down upon the face of my child. Immediately a surge of adoration and an unexpectedly powerful protectiveness filled and illuminated me, just as though some stagehand had pulled down a mighty switch backstage.
And, just like that, I was a mother. I was plunged into the great unknown, with new skills to learn and a painful physical wound to heal. My milk came in, but so did my conditioned fears. Was I capable of being the mother I wanted to be?
After a few days' hospital post-birth recovery, we said a nervous goodbye to the reassuring staff, and took this tiny, vulnerable object of devotion home. We were now on our own!
And this is where things got interesting!