When was the last time you were truly uncomfortable?
Not inconvenienced.
Not annoyed.
Truly uncomfortable.
The kind that makes you wonder how much longer you can endure.
The kind that tests your limits and exposes your weaknesses.
The kind that strips away your usual comforts and securities.
For most of us, the answer is: rarely, if ever.
Our modern world is engineered for comfort.
We heat our homes in winter and cool them in summer.
We satisfy hunger with a few taps on our phones.
We transport ourselves in cushioned vehicles designed to insulate us from the outside world.
So Why fast? Why now?
I didn’t do it for discipline, or to prove anything — not to my body, not to the world. It was Lent, the Christian season of reflection and renewal. I’d been feeling a pull — gentle but insistent — to go inward. To quiet the noise. To reset.
This is the story of that week — not just as a physical experience, but as a spiritual, emotional, and deeply human one.
Day 0: The Eve of Surrender
Nervousness. A quiet anticipation. I wasn’t sure how I would feel or how my body would respond. But something deeper was guiding me. I set the intention to reset — not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually.
To tame my relationship with pleasure.
To connect deeply with my body’s true rhythm.
To remember how to listen to myself.
Day 1: Doubt and Delay
I woke up unsure. Do I really need to do this? Couldn’t I just start tomorrow?
There was no external pressure — only this quiet, inner insistence. And yet, discomfort was already knocking. I found myself wrestling with the question: Why put myself through this?
But something in me whispered, “Just start.”
So I did.
Day 2: The Unfamiliar Silence
Without food, the world slowed down. My mind was noisy, but my body began its descent into quiet. Hunger came and went in waves. I observed. I drank tea and electrolytes. My stomach growled, but didn’t scream.
The absence of meals created space — for reflection, for feeling, for noticing how much of life is wrapped around eating.
I started listening — to my breath, to my thoughts, to my deeper hungers.
And I thought of Jesus. How did he feel during his 40 days in the desert? What truths rose in his silence?
Day 3: Emotional Surfacing
The body was still adjusting, but emotionally, things started bubbling.
I felt irritated. My mom’s constant checking in — out of love — started grating.
Even though doctors had said it was safe, her worry made me feel micromanaged.
But it wasn’t really about her. The fast was asking me to sit with discomfort — not just the physical kind, but the emotional knots I hadn’t fully untangled.
Old patterns, old wounds, surfaced for release.
Day 4–5: Into the Depths
Hunger faded. Energy shifted. Vision sharpened. Autophagy started.
I woke up with the birds and slept so deeply at night. I had vivid dreams of food. I laughed at my subconscious. My tongue turned white. My breath changed — detox signs. My body ran on something fat and faith. Clean Fuel.
Day 6: Exhaustion
Fatigue hit me like a wave. Not the kind a nap could fix. The famed “clarity” of fasting was gone. My heart rate dropped. I felt constantly cold. Tired. But also strangely calm. Hunger had become more emotional than physical.
That day, I cried so hard. I felt the pull of food, of comfort, of familiarity.
And I held the line, one more day.
Day 7: Powerlessness
It was Palm Sunday. My period arrived, five days early, under the full moon. The timing stunned me. It felt orchestrated by something greater.
I head out for a pilgrimage that day, to the Lady of Walsingham. The bus ride was long. Mass was longer. I was surrounded by food, incense, hymns, people — and I was so tired. So overstimulated.
I wanted to leave, but couldn’t. And that’s when it hit me:
This was the final lesson.
To sit with what I cannot change.
To soften instead of escape.
To endure — not in force, but in surrender.
Breaking the Fast: Gentle Rebirth
That first bite of baby food brought tears to my eyes.
My whole system exhaled. My belly received it like a blessing.
I was home. I was alive. I was fed.
Even digestion made itself known again — I farted for the first time in a week and smiled. My body was coming back online.
Reflections: What I Gained
This wasn’t just a fast.
It was a prayer whispered through my cells.
A mirror held up to my habits, my hunger, my heart.
A homecoming — not to comfort, but to clarity.
I returned softer. Stronger. More in tune with the sacredness of simplicity.
And I’ll do it again — not to prove anything, but to remember.
Because now I know: My body remembers how to lead.
And sometimes, the deepest nourishment comes not from what we consume —
but from what we release.
Shoutout to Airis who’s inspired me to get started, get going and been a shoulder to lean on !!
