What Happens When You Only Eat Foods That Heal?

So I did a thing.

I stopped eating like a trash panda for once in my life. No more late-night raids on Indomie.

No more pretending my iced coffee counted as breakfast and hydration. I said, “Okay, let’s eat only what actually helps me.”

You know, foods that don’t make me feel like I need to sleep for 40 years after lunch. Foods that heal—not just keep me alive while I slowly wither inside.

Sounds dramatic? Yeah, well, my body was throwing tantrums like a toddler on three cans of soda.

I was inflamed. I don’t mean emotionally (although that too). I mean joints hurting for no reason, headaches like an unpaid debt, bloating so bad I looked six months into a fake pregnancy.

Something had to give. So I made a list—yeah, an actual damn list—of foods that are proven to heal: anti-inflammatory, gut-soothing, immunity-boosting, not boring-as-cardboard stuff.

Think turmeric, ginger, leafy greens, fatty fish, fermented goodies, real bone broth, fruits that taste like summer, not sugar bombs in disguise.

And then I ate them. Exclusively.

Now, was it all sunshine and glowing skin from day one? Hell no.

The first few days? I was cranky. Like slap-a-mango cranky. My body was basically going through withdrawals. Sugar, processed food, all the crap I thought I needed? Gone.

I’d walk past a bakery and feel like a sad Victorian child staring through the window. But I stayed with it. Because deep down, I knew my body was begging for this. Not a diet. Not punishment. But nourishment.

Then… stuff started shifting.

First it was subtle. I woke up and didn’t hate everything. My stomach didn’t feel like a war zone. My face stopped trying to erupt like Mount Krakatoa.

I had energy—not the coffee-fueled, jittery chaos kind, but the calm, steady, I could actually finish this to-do list kind.

And my mood? Oh boy. I went from irritable potato to actual functioning adult. My brain fog cleared like a windshield in the rain. And that weird 3 p.m. slump where I’d question the meaning of life and consider a nap under my desk? Gone.

Eating healing foods didn’t turn me into a superhuman. But it did remind me that I deserve to feel good. That food isn’t just calories or punishment or reward. It’s communication. It’s care. It’s energy. It’s a way of saying, “Hey, body—I got you.”

And maybe the wildest part? I stopped craving the garbage. Like, my taste buds recalibrated or something. Suddenly, fruit was sweet enough. Veggies had flavor. Fermented stuff? Addictive in the best way. (Also, shoutout to kimchi for being spicy, crunchy, and saving my gut.)

I won’t lie to you—some days, I still want fries. I’m not gonna pretend I don’t have random urges to destroy a tub of ice cream during PMS.

But now, I know how good I can feel when I feed myself like I love myself. And that knowing? That’s addictive too.

So if you’re tired of dragging your body through the day, if your skin is screaming, your stomach is flipping, your mood is swingier than a soap opera plot twist—try it. Just for a week. Eat only foods that heal. Give your body a damn break. Let it exhale.

And when it starts whispering, “Thank you,” you’ll know.
You’ll know you’ve been feeding a body that was always trying to take care of you—even when you weren’t taking care of it.

Try it. Watch what happens.
And if your poop gets magical? Welcome to the club.