When I Let Chaos Call the Shots

This morning I watched the recording of a community meeting at The Fasting Method about shifting from self-criticism to self-coaching. It left a deep impression.

For the past year, I’ve been navigating a stretch of prolonged difficulty. And then over the Summer, I let that become an excuse to disconnect from some of my hard-won health practices. I intermittently stopped making the kinds of food choices that truly support me. Not because I didn’t know what to do, but because I slipped into a pattern of letting the chaos call the shots.

At the end of May I was very close to my “maintenance” goal. And then I gained 20 pounds between June 1st and September 15th. I shifted from a women’s size 8 jeans to a snug 10. It wasn’t about perceived hunger. It was the chaos and me forgetting that I had a say in the middle of it.

One of the things helping me come back to myself is the work of Viktor Frankl, the psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor who wrote Man’s Search for Meaning. I first learned about him yesterday thanks to another member of The Fasting Method community.

Frankl’s work centers around the idea that meaning can be found even in suffering. What stopped me in my tracks is this:

“Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

It reminded me that self-advocacy isn’t about pretending everything is fine. It’s not about white-knuckling through difficulty or criticizing myself into compliance.

It’s about not abandoning myself when things get hard. That space Frankl talks about, the one between what happens and how we respond, is where healing actually lives.

But here’s the thing: when life is intense or overwhelming, that space gets crowded. With fear. With stress. With the urge to numb out or shut down.

I’m learning that self-advocacy doesn’t always look like a bold decision or a “win.”

Sometimes it looks like taking a breath.

Drinking water.

Logging back into the thing I’ve been avoiding.

Saying no when I normally cave.

For me, it also looked like reaching for support inside a community where I don’t have to pretend I am doing everything right. Just showing up in that space, even messy and even discouraged, is a form of not abandoning myself.

I don’t believe self-advocacy is about becoming your own cheerleader.

It’s about becoming your own anchor.

It’s holding steady in the swirl.

It’s remembering that the version of me who’s struggling still deserves care.

And in a culture that markets quick fixes and miracle drugs and before-and-after photos, choosing the slow, quiet path back to yourself feels kinda revolutionary.

I’m still learning. Still practicing.

But I’m here.

And maybe that’s enough for today.