Tag: sibo

If Only…

If Only…

October 18, 2025

If only I weren’t sick with COVID right now, maybe I would feel more inspired or have the energy to put my thoughts on paper. But as fate would have it, I have little thoughts other than those directed towards health and healing.

I was reminded yesterday about a saying I heard or read. It said, “The problem with pain is that it demands to be felt.” The same goes for us. Pain, whether emotional or physical, has an insistent need to be felt.

Am I currently in pain? No, but something definitely feels “off” in my body, and thankfully, I know why. But what about the times when we don’t know why? When I’ve gone to the doctor and they’ve run test after test, only to come up with the same answer: nothing.

What about that feeling that still asks to be felt? I don’t know if I would call it a feeling exactly, but our body is definitely trying to get our attention. It says, Hey, look at me. Something is wrong. Keep looking. Keep searching. So we do, hoping to find a solution.

Often, the pain or problem felt within the body can be linked to something emotional. Something we haven’t fully processed. I know that’s the case with me. I have things, and traumas, and past experiences that I haven’t completely processed, and my body has demanded that I slow down and do that.

If only I listened to it more often. If only I listened to my body, would I then be more in tune with it? In tune with why it’s feeling the things it is feeling?

If only I could type without looking at the keyboard and stop overthinking it. Just as my body asks me to listen, maybe my creativity does too. If only I could just let the fingers move as the spirit led me to type the letters and form the phrases of the story I am writing. What would happen if I let the spirit move my fingers?

I think it’s called muscle memory when your brain remembers specific paths to take or keys to touch. After you’ve done something enough times, your brain knows how to do it. That’s why they say it’s like riding a bike. Apparently, we never forget. It may feel like a rut, but maybe it’s actually the rhythm of remembering, our brain and its muscle memory keeping us on track.

If only I could let go and listen long enough to hear the answers my life has been trying to tell me.

I Remember

I remember when all my writing revolved around the trauma I was going through. I also remember when I used to write about my morning devotions and a word from the lord. Today, I jokingly call ChatGPT the lord because we seem to put so much stock into what it says when we ask it questions. I remember writing a poem to release all the pent-up emotions I had. Writing was a way for me to heal. Now that I am on the healing side, I would like to say I am completely healed, but I often find more wounds that have gone unnoticed or unchecked, so it’s still a journey of healing, but at this point, now that I am on this side, the good side of the journey, it seems as if writing is harder. Like, I don’t have as much to say. I feel like I have lost my voice. I stopped singing, I stopped writing. Not because I was silenced, but because I did not feel like I had anything to say. In the past, everything I said was a complaint or problem, and I was trying to find answers and solutions. Is this why the body —my body —has decided to give me something else to seek answers for? My gut, and it’s weird ass histamine intolerance? I think so. I also believe that I would much rather write instead of searching low-histamine meals and try to figure out if it is SIBO, MCAS, or low estrogen, which, by the way, is a thing. Like, can’t I go back to writing about problems and finding solutions? Uh, just as I typed that out, I realized I do not, under any circumstances, want to experience all the crap I have been through, and I definitely do not wish it on anyone else. 

I remember when I would sing songs, like “Thank You for the Valley,” because a valley was a hard time you go through that supposedly brings you closer to God. God. That’s a whole nuther subject. Like, who is he really?

So, maybe I have not lost my voice; perhaps it is just learning to speak in a new way.