What the F*ck is Happening in My Body?

On staying instead of leaving when your body feels uncertain.

There’s something uniquely disorienting about being in pain and not knowing why. Whenever I’ve had a flare-up of an autoimmune condition, I’ve talked to my husband about this at length.

The physical sensations — whether it’s pain, nausea, or sheer bone-deep exhaustion — are undeniably hard. But I’ve come to realize that, for me, and for many others with chronic symptoms and unpredictable episodes, what’s even harder is the not knowing: not knowing exactly what’s happening, not knowing why, not knowing when it will be over.

As difficult as pain can be, the emotional uncertainty tends to cause more distress than the physical suffering. For example, if someone could tell me with certainty what is going on and how long it will last, I’d feel exponentially better — and I know I’m not alone in feeling this way.

Because when we don’t know what’s happening in our body, the mind scrambles for answers. We spiral into fear. We imagine worst-case scenarios. We try to reason, fix, control. And when nothing works fast enough — when the answers don’t come — we often turn inward with blame or panic.

It’s a deeply human response to a deeply vulnerable experience.

Restriction and the Illusion of Control

It’s not a coincidence that when something within our body feels uncertain or imperfect, dieting (and disordered eating behaviors) are served up to us on a silver platter as a way to regain control.

In fact, if you consider the core message of the diet industry, it is that when our weight goes up, something must be wrong, and therefore must be fixed. Cultural anti-fatness has conditioned us to see a change in body size as a signal of uncertainty — a threat, a problem, a thing to solve.

But the integration of diet culture with wellness culture means that the narrative has expanded. These industries aren’t just telling us to shrink our bodies — they’re telling us that every symptom is something we can food-eliminate our way out of.

The moment we feel stomach pain, bloating, or discomfort, we’re handed a long list of things to cut out: gluten, dairy, sugar, FODMAPs, joy. We’re promised relief if we can just be disciplined enough. Careful enough. Clean enough.

It’s not always easy or obvious to reject food restriction as the answer. In fact, for many of us, it’s the only answer we were ever taught. We’ve been deeply conditioned to believe that controlling food is the most effective (and responsible) way to manage discomfort in our body.

I know this in my bones. Fifteen years ago, it was elimination diets — the endless tweaking, cutting, obsessing — that cracked the door open to disordered eating in my life. What began as a sincere attempt to feel better spiraled into fear, rigidity, and a painful loss of trust in my body. It didn’t feel like a diet; it felt like self-care. Until it wasn’t.

Closest thing I could find to what I look like when I’m in pain 🤣 // Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

Of course, there are real medical scenarios — like allergies, celiac disease, or specific GI conditions — where particular foods may need to be avoided. This is not a dismissal of that, nor is it about one way being the best way. It’s just that by and large, most of what we’re sold as “gut healing” is just restriction in a prettier package.

The problem is, restriction rarely leads to lasting relief. It often increases stress and fear around eating, disrupts hunger and fullness cues, creates more sensitivity to the restricted foods, and can ultimately worsen symptoms — especially when we're already navigating something like an autoimmune condition. And then, of course, there’s this small detail: intentional weight loss and chronic restriction backfire in a million other ways.

And yet the truth is, whether it’s stomach pain, pregnancy, an injured foot, menopause, headaches, digestive issues, weight gain, an autoimmune disease, or a chronic illness flare-up, we’ve been conditioned to control our body in response to not knowing what’s happening with our body. I think this is what keeps so many of us coming back.

Beyond Just Body Sensations

This experience tends to be true not only when we’re unsure of what’s happening in our body, but also when we’re unsure of what’s happening in our life.

Transitions. Uncertainty. Emotional upheaval. A job change that leaves you questioning your worth. A move that unearths more than just boxes. A strained relationship. A family conflict. A decision you didn’t see coming. These moments of disruption — even when they’re chosen — can leave us grasping for something solid to hold onto.

And for so many of us, control around food or movement has become that something solid.

It might look like crafting the perfect routine to “get back on track.” Or deciding it’s time to eat “clean” again. Or fixating on steps, macros, or measurements. Or returning to a rigid workout plan under the guise of “structure.”

These strategies often appear under the banner of discipline or self-care — but beneath them is a quiet (or not-so-quiet) desperation for certainty.

And it makes sense why. This is the message we’ve received since childhood: that control equals safety, and that being in control of your body means being in control of your life. It’s what we’ve seen modeled, praised, sold, rewarded. Even when it harms us. Even when it backfires. Even when it drains the very peace we were seeking in the first place.

Our brains remember this pattern — not because we’re broken or failing, but because we’re trying to feel okay in a world that tells us our worth is conditional. Because this was the strategy that once helped us survive.

And now, we’re learning that survival and self-compassion don’t always walk the same path — but we can choose a new one.

As random as this photo might seem, bread with butter is one of my favorite acts of self-care when I don’t feel well.

Moving Through the Grief

Healing our relationship with food and our body requires that we unlearn this reaction of food obsession and punitive eating strategies, and instead pause to consider what would truly be supportive of whatever is not feeling good. For me, this has meant slowing down, eating consistently (even when food feels annoying), taking my medications, honoring my hunger and fatigue, and doing my best to stay grounded through the waves of uncertainty.

If you’re in the midst of something similar, I’m sending you so much compassion. Because the process is truly one of grief. It involves radical acceptance — acceptance of change; acceptance of inevitability; acceptance of uncertainty.

Where We Go From Here

It’s no small thing to sit with the discomfort of not knowing. Our culture doesn’t teach us how to be still with uncertainty — it teaches us to fix, to optimize, to hustle our way out of pain. And when we can’t? We internalize it as failure. We blame ourselves. We spiral.

But what if the most loving thing we can do — the bravest thing, even — is to stay. To breathe into the unknown. To let our body be messy and miraculous and mysterious, without demanding it earn its worth through control.

I’ve learned, slowly, to ask different questions.

Not how do I make this go away? but how can I meet myself here?

Not how do I get my body to behave? but what does my body need in this moment?

These aren’t easy questions. They require unlearning years (decades?) of messaging about what it means to be “healthy,” “disciplined,” “in control.” They require tuning in instead of tuning out. They ask us to hold complexity, nuance, and contradiction — to be both in pain and at peace. To take the steps we can take and acknowledge the ones that don’t feel right. To grieve what was and honor what is.

And they lead us toward something deeper than certainty: trust.

Not the flimsy trust that everything will always go smoothly. But the grounded, embodied trust that even when things are hard — even when you feel afraid, or frustrated, or completely unmoored — you will not abandon yourself. You will stay. You will soften. You will listen. You will care.

That is what matters.

So if your body feels like a stranger right now… if you’re in pain, in transition, or simply unsure — you’re not broken, and you’re not alone.

You’re feeling.

And you don’t have to control your way out of that to be okay.

Whatever the f*ck is happening in our body, we have nothing to lose by showing up, again and again, with compassion. With curiosity. With kindness. With unconditional respect.

Because even when you don’t understand your body, you still get to treat it like it matters.

PS: I’m still getting used to Substack, and have learned that engagement helps a lot (similar to social media). If you are finding value here, make sure to hit the “heart” button on this post. You can also share it, comment, subscribe, etc. I appreciate you, my friend!

---

If any of this resonated, you might enjoy the latest episode of Full Plate Podcast…