All posts by Lisa Frye

Buffy Summers is my Spirit Animal

Spoiler Alert! (But honestly this show ended over eleven years ago and I don’t know what you’ve been doing with your life since then.)

One time, a really long time ago—I must have been in high school—I was flipping through the channels when there she was, like she’d just stepped out of Bloomingdale’s, backflipping through a cemetery with a wooden stake. “Something quippy about heartburn,” she said, and jabbed the stake through a monstery-looking monster’s chest before he burst into a cloud of dust.

And I was like, (eyeroll) anyways… and changed the channel.

This memory was called to mind when years (oh my god, over ten of them) later a close friend suggested—nay—insisted that I watch the series. She said it would be life changing. Mind blowing. Wildly entertaining. But I could only think, “Something quippy about heartburn.” I promised I’d give it a chance anyway and agreed that if I made it past a certain point and wasn’t absolutely invested, we would move on and never mention this again.

So in I went, with a little bit of Daria on my face, not quite sure what I was in for. And though I wasn’t completely sold on season one’s monster-of-the-week arc, I was drawn in immediately by the glorious oozing 90’s nostalgia. What were those outfits. And those shoes. Yes, all the details harkened back to the days when slap bracelets and Clinton were both very in, when I was ten and life was swell. Am I saying that the butterfly clips, MC Hammer pants and the perfectly symmetrical face of David Boreanaz carried the first season? Maybe, yes, I am saying that. That, and the promise that it gets better.

And oh does it get better.

So there I was, week two, season two and Buffy Summers is all a-lust over Angel, her perfectly attractive, emotional vampire boyfriend made of equal parts brooding and brawn, who is also, in case this hasn’t come up, just very good looking with a nice face. Body, too. Anyways. Together, they were all the things that Ross and Rachel, Luke and Lorelai, Corey and Topanga would never be. She’s a complicated woman with a dirty job that no one wants and that bleeds into her personal life. He’s a reformed villain seeking redemption for his rotten ways. But, as The Slayer, she is his sworn enemy and, as a vampire, he is her next target. Romanciers, eat your hearts out ‘cause it gets worse. As passions of the heart became passions of the flesh, we learn that the spell that gave Angel his “soul”—the thing that keeps away his villainous ways—would break if he experienced one moment of  true happiness. What would cause said moment? Think about it… think about… yeah, worst one night stand ever. Angel reverts to his old evil ways, and Buffy discovers that, shocker, the love of her life might not be who she thought he was.

And just like that Joss Whedon had me. He had me at Hellmouth. The classic “my boyfriend said he loved me until I slept with him and he dropped me like a hot potato” metaphor was alive and well in season two of Buffy. What could I say: this show not only had heart, it was a lot of pun. See what I did there?

Whedon let our little slayer slay on for five more seasons. And I fell straight down the demonic portal rabbit hole. He took every challenge life has to offer and put the face of a monster on it—school bullies, mom’s weird boyfriend, addiction, depression, and death—and then he sent Buffy and her gang of Scoobies in to duke it out with whatever happened to be handy. Thus, the joy of Buffy, I think, comes from the power that so many works of fiction wield: they provide a world parallel to the viewers’ own where many of the same struggles exist and the same feelings are felt. It does not condescend or trivialize but validates the experience when all the while a tiny blonde woman beats the hell out of really, really big dudes for just the right touch of empowering escapism.

Which leads me into next portion of my ode to Buffy. Buffy and her best bestie, Willow, are wicked badass. They don’t even fall into the common strong-female-lead-trap of being wholly one-dimensional, emotionally unavailable warriors of the cause who martyr-on in the wake of everyone else’s incompetence. That’s how badass they are. Sure, Buffy has her martyr season, but if you jumped through a demonic portal to save the world, you might find yourself a tad resentful, as well—just a guess. They have feelings about what’s going on and sometimes those feelings are less than positive. Buffy often resented her responsibility, lamented her works’ impact on her love life, made poor decisions, felt overwhelmed, insecure, weak. And she still managed to save the world. A lot.

So much more can be said on this topic. Whole canons of text have been scribed on the subtext of feminism, sexuality, religious implications, and the social and cultural influences of Whedon’s series.

But I’m not here to break down the semiotic significance of “Hush”, the only Emmy-nominated episode (wherein a spell befalls Sunnydale that causes everyone to fall silent).

I’m not going dissect the power dichotomy in the scene where Spike tries to rape Buffy or examine the paternal role of Giles, the Watcher.

I will say this, though: Buffy The Vampire Slayer is a true coming-of-age story that makes no false pretenses or even offers any answers on what it’s like to grow up or on what being grown up looks like. There’s no neat package. No bows. There is, however, the promise that life is messy, unpredictable, complicated and full of as much beauty as there is ugliness.  That these experiences are universal and also survivable is probably Whedon’s most important message of all. Because with the right friends by your side and a well-timed zinger, there’s no challenge that can’t be overcome. Even the apocalypse.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery

All Night Long: The Darkness of Insomnia

“That’s the advantage of insomnia. People who go to bed early always complain that the night is too short, but for those of us who stay up all night, it can feel as long as a lifetime.” – Banana Yoshimoto

No kidding.

Insomnia is  many things, not one of which is pleasant. It can make your bedroom feel like the most daunting place on Earth, it can cause your days, weeks, months to bleed together like some crazy, punctuation-free, run-on sentence. It’s the stuff Fight Clubs are made of.

As an anxious-type child and then an anxious-type young adult, I’ve spent countless nights waiting out the darkness for morning, simply so I would have a good excuse to get up and stop trying to fall asleep. I’ve heard all of the tricks, played all of the games. My body is slowly, from my toes, filling with sand, growing heavier. I am on the beach, waves crashing in the distance, sun warming my skin. I am in the mountains, in Savasana on my yoga mat, I am letting Arrested Development play quietly on TV, I am counting backwards from 1,000. I am doing it again. I am taking melatonin. Unisom. Anything with PM on the label. I am listening to waterfalls, I am burning eucalyptus. I am awake.

So, what helps? There’s creedence, yes, to the advice to not overthink it. A hot bath, a well-timed sleep aide. A really, really boring book. Earlier this year I discovered that a noise-maker can really take the edge off of the constant chatter of my obsessive thoughts. But guess what—just like anything else in motion—a mind tends to want to stay in motion, too. When thoughts want attention, they find a way to make themselves heard. I’ve not ruled out the possibility that I am truly my own worst enemy, or that my circadian rhythm is the opposite of how it should be, sporadic and on a phasic schedule all unto itself.

If there’s an article out there about other people who insom, or about how sleep deprivation can feel on par with being legally drunk, or how tons of really smart, high-achieving people are insomniacs, I’ve probably already read it. In the middle of the night, no less. I’ve read the infographics, I know that I’m preventing my body from rejuvenating, that I’m increasing my risk for stroke and diabetes. And I know that I should just relax. But, it turns out that it just doesn’t work like that. Because there’s 3:00 in the morning, staring back at me like dear, God, look away. The hamster wheel in my mind spins. It keeps going. Running, running, getting nowhere.

Sometimes, even, at the beginning of a bout of insomnia I will just surrender to it and make myself comfortable for its stay. Sometimes, with a calm patience, it works its way in and then back out of my life; other times it culminates in a completely unbearable exhaustion wherein a sheer desperation for sleep is all-consuming.

There is no magic pill, practice, or solution to insomnia and everyone will find different things do and don’t work for them: the conditions might be perfect but sleep can still find a way to evade us. Knowing as little as we do about sleep, it makes a person wonder if there’s just some other element to it. Is it like falling in love? Is it possible that even when the setup is Rom Com, meet cute, algorithm perfect one can just simply not be feeling that… special thing? Is it possible, that even with the last cup of coffee emptied over ten hours ago, and the air set at 75 degrees, the sheets fresh and the curtains blocking light, with a favorite wind-chimey, watery, meditative musical number floating above the sound of the traffic, that still something is amiss. You feel calm, you feel tired, you are comfortable, all the world seems right, and yet there you are, wide awake, waiting.

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Bad Bugs—I Mean Bed Bugs (A Survivor’s Tale)

I’m not really wiggy about bugs. I’d really prefer if they stayed outside, truth be told, but should a wanderer mosey into the tub or a wiggly-iggly take a jaunt up the wall I’m usually pretty level-headed about it all. After all, spiders in the house are good luck, right? My point is, I’m hard pressed to find a bug story that really phases me, and the story I’m about to tell you is one that pushed me right past the precipice of my comfort zone.

The year was 2010 and I was living in a very old, very large Boston house with a slew of roommates. If this is anyone’s story, however, it is my housemate. My housemate treated his bedroom like a garage. It was a smattering of workout equipment, drum sets, tool boxes, pieces of wood, car tires, and rustic wooden furniture fit for a pirate. Complete with a cot on the floor.

My housemate’s room. See what I mean?

One day, My housemate’s sister moved home from Ohio and arrived at our house with a giant, fluffy, tempo/orthopedic mattress. The kind made for jumping on one side and balancing glasses of red wine simultaneously on the other. The universe had smiled down upon my housemate.

Soon though, my housemate and his girlfriend started to break out in welt-like, lumpy-type, mystery hives. Stress? New detergent? An accidental brush with an oak or ivy of the poisonous persuasion? Nobody knew. Not until one night Itchy and Scratchy, merely by chance, turned the lights on in the middle of the night to find, on their person—you guessed it—a bug from their bed. A bed bug.

See, Rachel forgot to mention that the mattress was stored in a damp outdoor garage for two months, and even though my housemate’s room looked like a garage… well, it was in fact not.

What came next was a frantic string of phone calls placed to our maintenance man, a scouring of the internet’s expansive knowledge on these things, the desperate, paranoid sympathy-itching (sympathitching?) that the rest of us felt, the removal of all of my housemate’s things to the curb, and an explosive argument about the lifestyle, breeding, and feeding habits of bed bugs.

Allow me to clear some things up for you:

  • Bed bugs cannot and will not live on you. You are not a bed and you go into the sunlight. This goes against their whole life philosophy.
  • They can live in clothes piles, couches, hidden spaces of wooden things, and floorboards. I know what I said in the last item, but you are still not any of these things and should not be concerned that they are on you. Your pet is also none of these things which means Whiskers and Fido are also in the clear.
  • Bed bugs are not known to transmit infectious agents or pathogens, and therefore the risk of them making you sick is extremely minimal. They can make you look like you’ve been beaten with a flail, though.

They are tough to get rid of, but here are some housemate-tested, results-based advice:

  • Discard all affected items. You might be tempted to wrap everything you own in plastic diaper-like packaging and then keep using it, but don’t be that guy. Take one for the team and throw everything you own away. And please, if you’re going to put your infested mattress on the street corner please label it as such to prevent some poor college kid from thinking they just scored themselves a swank new sleep slab.
  • Examine everything. Get some rubber gloves and go for a hunt. They are pretty gross though, so maybe do this one before you eat your lunch.
  • Sterilize. If you find any perpetrators, or if you have something you feel desperately attached to, spray it with rubbing alcohol. This will damage the bed bugs to death. Just the way you want them.
  • Heat. Wash all of your clothes in a hot wash cycle or boil them. Steam any upholstered furniture you can’t bear to part with.
  • Vacuum. Any place you steam will need to be vacuumed: this will remove any eggs, survivors, and (of course) carcasses of the bed bugs.
  • Exterminate. Have your exterminator and maintenance guy come and spray toxins all over the house. Have them explain to you that you do not have the receptors that are meant to be damaged by this spray. Google that information later just to be safe, and follow them around to make sure they really do spray everywhere and that they answer all of your questions. They will be happy you were there.
  • Sleep tight! Don’t let the … oh, never mind.

 

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

Let’s Ask: Yeah, I Lived in a Castle

Once upon a time, wicked far away, I totally lived in a castle. (Yep, sure did). It was part of a semester abroad that took place in the Netherlands, most of the time, and included a once weekly romp out into the EU, except for that jaunt we took to Croatia. It’s one of those things I’ve done in my life that, when mentioned in casual conversation, usually garners a “wait what!” followed by a slew of questions. So, to set the record straight and to shed some light on the topic of studying abroad and living in castles, I’ve compiled a number of questions that have come up over the years (and a few that have not—but seemed really basic) and I give to you my most honest answers:

“Oh, you studied a broad? What was her name?”

Very funny. This is a serious article, thank you very much.

“Did birds in tiny bonnets and mice with teenie jackets help you clean the place and get dressed in the morning?”

Only on Tuesdays…

“How? Why in the world did you end up in a castle?”

I attended a private college in the Boston area that had, many years before my attendance, acquired the property. Moat included. The inside had been remodeled to accommodate dorms and classrooms. Over the years (I’m fuzzy on the facts here), the school started relying on the support of the town’s two local dining establishments to feed the 80-some students.  The facility was so limited, and the burden on the restaurants to great, the school started including a Eurail pass in tuition so that the students could leave the country in order to get a well-rounded meal on the weekends. Expensive. Awesome. Tomato. Toh-mah-toh.

But, wait, that’s not what you asked. I ended up there after weighing my study-abroad options. It was basically a no-brainer. I could go to Los Angeles, where I currently reside, and live in a luxury apartment or I could go to the Netherlends and live in a castle. It wasn’t a tough decision. It was also not a tough application process…

“What is it like to live in a castle?”

Well living in a castle is kind of a lot like living in any other old stone building. Come to think of it, it’s a lot like living in a concrete or wood building. Sorry to disappoint with this one, but it was basically a really adorable quaint old building. It creaked a lot and the bathrooms were strangely designed. The electrical circuiting was sensitive, the kitchen was reminiscent of a stone hobbit home, and aside from the ghosts, it was a lot like most apartments in Boston.

I’m only kidding. Boston has ghosts, too.

“Wait, there were ghosts?!”

Yes, of course. Her name was Sophie and she had a whole room in the castle named after her. Sophie’s Lounge. I did not ever meet Sophie, probably because I’m a nonbeliever and I wouldn’t waste my time with someone like that if I were a ghost. My roommate, Jess, still maintains that Sophie used to open our door in the middle of the night. Where some see a building settling, others see the handiwork of the dead. We may never know the truth.

The closest any of us ever got to Sophie was our friend Rachel. Rachel was Skyping in Sophie’s Lounge one night when her Skype buddy stopped speaking for a moment to let Rachel answer her friend—a girl who was standing behind her. Funny thing is, Rachel was completely alone in the room and not seen or heard another person the whole time she was Skyping. The friend absolutely insisted that there was a girl standing over Rachel’s shoulder.

Very. Creepy.

“Was there a tower room? Is it drafty?”

Yes, there was a tower room and, no, it wasn’t mine, but I did sometimes sleep in the extra bed in the tower room because I had friends in there. Also, a word about tower rooms: romantic on the pages (of epic novels), impractical in real life. Where’s a princess to keep her rectangular desk? In the center of her round room?

“Was it dangerous? What’s the worst thing that happened to you while you were there?”

The worst thing that happened to me was a far cry from the awful things that happened to other people. I got my camera stolen and that sucked a lot. Pickpockets are amazingly slick. Point for you Venlo, Netherlands. But the worst thing happened to almost everybody except me and my roommate, in a little town called Dubrovnik. Now, don’t mistake my story here. Dubrovnik is a lovely place full of smooth pebbly beaches, as much gelato as you can stand, Game of Thrones sets, and some really, really old walls. I would go back in a heartbeat. That being said, our trip out to Croatia was a field trip involving all 80 students together and we spent a week being thrown a number of the curviest curve balls.

The start of our journey left many among us blessed with either a terrible flu bug, or food poisoning, or a plain old case of the travel voms. So, on our way from the airport, we stopped many a time on that bumpy dirt road so that one of several students could well… you get the picture.

A couple nights in, we’re in downtown Dubrovnik at a small pub, I think all 80 of us are there, and my roommate, a Gatsbian partier, had overdone it. She required an escort home at the tender hour of 8 pm and so up the hill we went. We made an early night of it, but in the morning at breakfast all of our friends who had stayed at the bar were black-eyed and split-lipped. Apparently, as small groups left the bar and slowly made their way back to the hotel, a gang of Croatian teenagers attacked each one. Roundhouse kicks to the face and all. I still to this day thank Jess for being a drunken space-case that night.

Lots of other terrible things that did not happen to me happened to the people I was with. I did not pass out from dehydration and hit my head on the night table, I did not get stung by sea urchins while swimming in the Adriatic Sea, I did not get electrocuted by a ladder in a water garden, I had no moped accidents, and I spent zero hours acquainting myself with the Croatian healthcare services. I did, however, wake up during the earthquake.

“Would you recommend studying abroad?”

Yes times a million. But with a caveat: from my own humble experience, and from what I have gathered from those that have been shared with me, if you are looking for a rigorous course load, choose a more intensive program or one that offers classes from the native universities. Or maybe don’t study abroad.

The highlight of my program was the opportunity to travel every weekend to a completely different country. I took a travel writing course, a literature class, and an ethics and philosophy class, allegedly (I showed up for class, the professor did not). So yeah, I’d advise you go immerse yourself in other cultures and build out your chotchky collection. Don’t over think it.

Photo by Michelle White

Photo by Michelle White

Smartphones, Siri and the Power in Doing it Yourself

Last month, the UNDERenlightened asked for DIY articles for an upcoming week, and I immediately thought to myself, “Guys, I got this one.” I’m a craft junkie with a history of quilting, stenciling, knitting, and reupholstering my way through this life, and Michael and Jo-Ann are basically like family (the craft stores… you know them). So I was looking down all kinds of avenues worth exploring for this one.

Then, I went into my living room to watch Homeland and I said to my roommate, “What channel is Showtime?” To which she responded that she has no idea what any of the channels are or what anyone’s phone number is anymore because of Internets and iPhones. (I’m paraphrasing.) But it got me thinking. I am not doing things myself. That can’t be too healthy… I rely on my iPhone, and the Internet, and GPS, and escalators, and crosswalks, and my dishwasher and washing machine, and Mr. Clean magic erasers. And I was like, s#*t, I’m a fraud! Who cares if I can take this pile of yarn and crochet it into the likeness of C-3PO if I can’t offer you proper directions across town without Siri’s lifeless robo-commands in my ear?

Am I right?

Don’t look at me like that. I’m betting you’re dependent on everything too. Okay, maybe you know what channel Fox is and what time New Girl is on, but that’s your imaginary love affair with Zoey Deschanel doing the heavy lifting and nothing more. You still haven’t told me what channel is Showtime (is it in the two hundreds?).

As a growing phenomenon, more and more people are turning to their iThings and Androids for more than just the basics. Do you clutch to your smartphone for directions when you’re lost? Go to it for games when you’re bored? Log onto social media when you don’t want to feel alone? I found myself doing this far more than I wanted to admit. And the hard truth is that sometimes we are alone and no number of Facebook likes or Instagram followers, or House of Cards marathons or slices of cheesecake, or any other thing is going to alleviate that feeling.

Wait, we’re not talking about GPS anymore are we? Okay, no. But hear me out, because 2013 asked me to look right into the face of all that aloneness and what I saw staring back was not what I had expected. I spent a lot of my life carrying this really heavy, pretty broken thing around, trying to keep it patched and off the ground. Then, I finally gave myself permission to just… put it down. At first it was scary to do that because, as broken and heavy as this thing was, it was my thing and putting it down created what felt like a very empty space.

I didn’t want to go into that space, because there can be great fear in the idea of being alone. But what I found there wasn’t ugly, or lonely, or painful. What I found was peace, and patience, and pride. It gave me some distance to evaluate what I needed as a person (with needs), what my limitations were, and how knowing these things turned out to speak volumes about what I knew about myself and who I want to be.

In honor creating an outlet for the “aloneness” that was, I rededicated myself to a regular yoga practice, one I had led on and off throughout college, because even in a classroom full of people, you’re the only one on your mat. From there, I watched the parallels of the exercises on and off the mat. I watched as that strength translated to my body and I gained the strength to hold myself up in ways I wasn’t sure it would be able to, ways I had never expected.

Being alone allows you to take a moment and see what’s really there. Feel what you’re really feeling and just be with that, and since you help make up those feelings, being with them also gives yourself the space to simply exist and be accepted. So, since he said it better than I think I ever will, I’m going to give the floor to Louis C.K. for just a moment as he explains to Conan O’Brien that there’s beauty in being alone: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HbYScltf1c#t=54

I’m not arguing that everyone should shun the world and cave-out away from all the people. It’s just a thought, maybe a reminder, that as we begin our new year it’s important to remember to sometimes step away from the cloudy, constant, run-run of the Internet, radio, television rat race of bigger-being-better and more-being-merrier, and just step away from time to time. Even though we may not want to and we may not even have to do things on our own, I think there’s great beauty and comfort in knowing that we can. So let’s let our bodies and minds impress us with what they are capable of—and maybe learn a phone number or two this year.

The 21 Day Sugar Detox

When I try to explain my relationship with sugar, I tend to refer to it as that ex who is  just no good for me. Once I finally saw past the sweet, candy-coated, emptiness of the calories I was consuming, all that was left was how lethargic, heavy, and stuffed I felt. So finally I declared, “That’s it, Sugar, you’re not good for me” and I cut him out of my life. I un-friended him on Facebook and I even bought a vegetable slicer—because, hell, I’m replacing all those noodles with zucchini spaghetti. And for a while, I’m good. I feel more energized, more focused, I sleep better, and I breathe better. It’s awesome.

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

Photo by Andy Sutterfield

But then Sugar comes back around and he’s like, “Hey girl, I heard you were having a party… I brought you those brownies with peanut butter cups inside that you love so much.” And I’m all, “Nope, I don’t do sugar anymore.”

But as the night wanes, I tell myself, “Well, just a taste of this peanut butter cup brownie won’t hurt.” It’s comfortable and familiar and it makes me feel good. Before I know it, the love affair is back on, full throttle, and all I want is pad thai and pizza dough. For who understands me, knows me, and never judges me like a slice of apple spice pound cake?

It’s an unsustainable relationship. And Sugar and I will mend ways and break up, I fear, many more times before I’ve really wrapped my head around how much better I feel without him.

I won’t bore you with the oh-so-bitter details of why sugar is bad for you because you can learn more about them here, here and here. Be warned, there is definitely a good amount of fear mongering out there when it comes to sugar and gluten intake, but it’s important to know the facts about the negative impact that sugar has on our bodies and also be aware that, as with anything, excess consumption is bound to have negative repercussions. Excessive sugar intake has been linked to diabetes, obesity, high cholesterol, heart disease, eczema, and gum disease. Not to mention that it’s highly addictive.

I’ve never exactly been the picture of healthy eating habits and I never gave much thought to just how much sugar I was consuming—either natural or processed. After all, the bottom of the food pyramid, the category we’re told to consume the most of, is a giant spread of rice, bread, and noodles. So for all intents and purposes, I figured I’d nailed it. Turns out—and you may have guessed this by now—the sugar found in said rice, bread, and noodles is not actually good for us. At all. Which is why I decided to do my first sugar detox.

Here are the rules I followed for my 21-day sugar detox. They’re actually pretty simple!

  1. DON’T eat anything with sugar. All bread/pasta/rice products are out. Baked goods, obviously, are a no. Avoid potatoes, corn, quinoa, and legumes.
  1. DO eat lots of meat, protein, vegetables and anything else you can find that’s high in fat or fiber. Nuts are great, and so are eggs. Get creative, or don’t, but stick to the rules.

Depending on what level of the detox you commit to (i.e. how many allowances you intend to make for yourself), sweet potatoes are on the sometimes list. So are green bananas. Both of these guys are definitely sugary in their own natural way, but far less so than regular potatoes and ripe bananas. It’s recommended that you incorporate one serving daily of either of these if you work out regularly.

It’s also important to buy meat and eggs that are organic and grass fed, since so many chickens and cows are corn-fed and grain-fed it means that if they’re consuming it, when you eat them, you are too. You’ll also get to avoid a world of hormones, growth promoters and antibiotics that so often wind up in the meat we eat.

Part of this process is about keeping your blood sugar levels as even as possible. Therefore, if you’re going to partake in dairy products during this detox, you should stick to whole-fat dairy because your body processes non-fat and reduced fat dairy in the same way it processes any kind of sugar: it will lead to crazy blood sugar spiking of the unwanted variety.

With this knowledge and a vague plan, I set off for Whole Paycheck Whole Foods to get my high-protein / high-fat / gluten-free on. Now, the key to success for any detox is utter and total preparation. Boil some eggs, bag some almonds and keep that ish on you all the time. Especially at first. That’s my best and most prominent piece of advice—be ready to feed yourself something high in protein and sugarfree at the drop of a hat.

Another trick that helps a lot is to find ways to replace what you’re cutting out. If you’re like me and live on a steady diet of noodles and sauce, crack open a spaghetti squash, or get a julienne peeler and make noodles out of sweet potatoes or zucchini. If you’re all about those Yukon gold mashed potatoes, make your best cauliflower mash with garlic and butter. Before you know it, you will forget you’re only eating vegetables.

Make some treats for yourself. There are hundreds dozens of gluten, sugar, and dairy-free baked goods online that turn out to have a real natural flavor and a deeply satisfying texture. Take this from someone who spent a whole Saturday during my first detox just looking at bread recipes online. Do yourself a favor and make some imitation bread.

Another tip: drink water. Drink all the water. Put lemon in it, steep tea in it, put it on ice and drink it all day long. It’ll wash the toxins out of your body, stave off cravings, and generally make you feel more awesome.

There will probably be some side effects, not unlike anything you’ve felt if you’ve ever tried to give up coffee. You might feel achy, you might have headaches, and there’s a pretty good chance that your body will revolt a little bit. You may discover midway through your detox that when you need to use the restroom, there’s a sense of—erm—urgency, if you will. That tummy ache you’re feeling is Candida die-off. Candida is a fungus that lives happily and symbiotically in your small intestines so long as we keep feeding it sugar. Stop feeding it and, well, it’s going to die. And that can be kind of unpleasant. (Sorry.)

After about 7 days of the detox, a really magical thing happened for me. My sinuses opened completely. For as long as I can remember, I’ve suffered from what the fancy medical professionals refer to as sinusitis. It’s a chronic inflammation of the nasal cavity, which makes breathing through my nose a non-starter. It can also cause a lot of sinus pressure headaches. As it is, sugar, gluten, legumes, and dairy are all inflammatories, and when I cut them out of my diet my sinuses became less inflamed and I could breathe through my nose. It was amazing.

For me, that was the health benefit that sealed the deal. A lot of people I know now who detox from sugar do it to lose weight, feel less bloated, and because it makes them healthier. It will help you achieve all of those things, and a lot of people experience benefits that far surpass the basics. Some people with minor gluten intolerances discover that rashes and acne clear up, and that they end up needing less sleep.

You will also find that after 21 days, that brownie sundae won’t look so tempting. Your body will have adjusted so wholly that you’ll think it’s too sweet. You’ll have a new appreciation for the natural sweetness of foods like grapes, sweet potatoes and bananas: healthy sugars that you can gradually reintroduce to your diet. There’s a lot of winning to be had.

So then, day 22 rolls around and you’re probably wondering what happens next. You’ve stabilized your blood sugar, reacclimated your taste buds to life’s natural sweetness, and you’ve even killed off that funky bacterium that was living in your intestines. Sure, now you can start to reintroduce natural sugars back to your diet, like fruit, and well… fruit. So it’s totally smooth sailing from here on out right? That depends. If you have also completed the detox you may have discovered that sugar is literally in everything. Ketchup, and buffalo chicken wings, and taco shells.  So it gets pretty tough to avoid. I’m willing to guess that even the most diligent among us (a group that does not include myself) struggle to truly steer clear of sugar long-term.

Yes, that means I fall off the wagon. It means my cheat days turn into cheat months where I fall several paces behind the wagon, sipping pumpkin spice lattes and eating Nutella crepes. It happens often enough, but I can tell you my body has not let me forget the benefits sugar-free eating. I can’t get halfway through a plate of pasta before I can feel my sinuses begin to close. So I try to go easy and be fair on myself when “just this one peanut butter cup” turns into all the french fries at In ‘N’ Out. I try to avoid bread and pasta and potatoes and for the most part I succeed. Everything else I try to keep attainable: I’m not a stickler about sauces or cheeses, and I have reintegrated beans and rice into my diet. The goal is to improve quality of life after all.

There’s little else that the heart of a carboholic like myself wants more than a big pile of noodles, covered in cheese, topped with breadcrumbs, wrapped in a sourdough bowl. Followed by a brownie, covered in cake. (Duh.) So take it to heart when I say that, although the 21 Day Sugar Detox was probably one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done for myself, it’s absolutely been one of the best things and I’d do it again.

Here’s the link to the full program for those of you eager to give this a go yourselves.