Back in college, it took a lot to really fatigue my muscles. The trainer at UO could get me there, but on my own it usually meant 5–7 mile runs before I felt that satisfying soreness. These days? A half-mile run with a stroller can do me in. (The toddler likes speed.) Different body, different…
I’ve never thought of stress as “just in my head.” I’ve always felt it in my body — the racing heart, the tight chest, the way it steals my sleep. Maybe I’m just a sensitive soul despite being a Cadbury egg (hard shell, gooey center). Either way, my body made it clear: stress is physical.…
So… here we are. I’ve officially fallen down the clean-living rabbit hole — and honestly? I didn’t jump. I face-planted right in. If you’ve been following my saga of food sensitivities, autoimmune weirdness, ER visits, and “why does everything burn my face?” moments, this probably won’t surprise you. But something shifted these past few weeks,…