11 Days Into My Fasting Journey
There's something powerful about intentional hunger. Not the kind that comes from lack, but the kind you choose – the hunger that reminds you that you're in control of what enters your body and your life.
Today marks my 11th day of fasting, and I'm feeling a clarity I haven't known in years. Since March 1st, I've been observing a sunrise-to-sunset fast. When that sun comes up, my eating stops. When darkness falls, I break my fast – not with whatever's convenient, but with clean, intentional nutrition. High protein meals. Chicken salads. Steak. Eggs. Nothing processed. No refined sugars trying to masquerade as joy.
The alcohol had to go too. I got tired of that heavy fog the morning after, that dragging feeling even after just one drink. My body was speaking, and for once, I decided to actually listen.
This journey isn't just about what's not going into my body – it's about what is filling my mind during those hungry hours. Deep thought. Emotional control. Intentions. I sit with myself and plan how I want to emerge from this period changed. Not just thinner or healthier, but fundamentally shifted in how I approach life.
My workouts have intensified. My energy – despite eating less – has somehow multiplied. But the most profound change has been in my boundaries. I'm becoming ruthlessly selective about the conversations I entertain and the energy I allow near me. If you're not aligned with where I'm trying to go, I simply don't have space for you right now. That might sound harsh, but this season is teaching me that some harvests only come after pruning.
The hunger pangs remind me throughout the day that discipline isn't punishment – it's protection. Each time my stomach growls, I'm reminded that I'm building something new, brick by brick, day by day. My body is becoming a temple again, not a convenience store where any craving gets satisfied without question.
This fast is teaching me patience. It's showing me how much noise food and drink were making in my life. In the quiet spaces between meals, I'm hearing my own voice again – not the voice of comfort-seeking or quick fixes, but the deeper voice of purpose.
I don't know exactly who I'll be when this fasting season ends, but I know they'll be someone who understands their power. Someone who realizes that hunger – physical, spiritual, and emotional – isn't always something to be immediately satisfied, but sometimes a teacher whose lessons you need to sit with awhile.
The sun will set again today, and I'll eat. But something tells me that this temporary hunger is feeding parts of me that food never could.
