Before the First Bite of Healing
Some wounds don’t scream. They itch.
My name is Zora.
This isn’t a diary about a sudden transformation or a showcase of willpower.
It’s my attempt to rebuild what’s been fragile for too long — not just my skin and nails, but something quieter, deeper, never fully healed.
I’ve lived with psoriasis for nearly thirty years.
I got used to ignoring it, covering it up, keeping it out of the way.
It shows up on my elbows, in my scalp, and just a bit along my spine. The rest are barely visible — little dots that come and go. And then there’s this one stubborn, dark patch on my lower leg that can itch like mad — and I’m still not sure what it actually is.
For the past fifteen years, I’ve had fungal infections on both my fingernails and toenails.
Unpleasant. Sometimes painful. Often ugly.
And for the last two years, my gums have been constantly inflamed — sore, swollen, and unpredictable.
Some days worse, some better. But never truly well.
While eating, speaking, smiling — it’s always there, in the background.
I could say this journal started out of despair.
But that wouldn’t be true.
It started from a kind of saturation.
Saturation with attempts, with diets, with creams.
With short bursts of motivation, followed by slow returns to old habits.
After my father passed away two years ago — a man I was deeply close to — I often turned to comfort in the evenings.
My husband and I had a ritual: a show, some snacks, a bottle of wine.
Every night.
There wasn’t sadness in the glass — just forgetting.
But also: fatigue during the day, drowsiness, mood swings, and slow, creeping weight gain.
From my youthful 101 pounds, I had — slowly and almost imperceptibly — reached 137 by the age of 45.
At first, I saw it as just an aesthetic problem.
I didn’t recognize myself in my own body.
But somewhere deeper, I knew it wasn’t just about appearance.
My body was trying to tell me something.
I didn’t yet know that it wasn’t asking for a diet.
It was asking for healing.
How I Got Here
I came across a doctor talking about the connection between leaky gut and autoimmune conditions — including psoriasis.
He spoke calmly, clearly, with conviction.
And something in me clicked.
I believed him.
I had that rare feeling — I know I need to try this.
I didn’t want to keep silencing symptoms.
I wanted to heal from the inside out.
I started exploring — and soon turned to ChatGPT, my quiet companion on this path.
After hundreds of questions and answers, we shaped a clear six-month healing plan:
Three months of gut repair.
Three months of gentle maintenance and learning what truly works for me.
It wasn’t hard to begin.
I just needed to decide.
The Day Before I Began
My husband and I created a weekly meal plan — simple and based on what was available at the tail end of winter.
We made sure some meals could last two days, to make things easier.
You can find our 7-day meal plan [here].
That evening, as a small farewell ritual, we shared a bottle of wine, our favorite snacks, and a show we always watched at the end of the day.
We didn’t count bites. We ate until we were blissfully full.
We raised our glasses to the challenge ahead — and went to bed full of everything: food, wine, plans, and the quiet sense that we were doing the right thing.
What You’ll Find in This Blog
This isn’t just about what I eat.
It’s about how I feel.
It’s about change that starts from within — through habits, thoughts, small wins, and occasional stumbles.
It’s about a body learning to breathe without inflammation.
And a soul longing for peace.
From here on, I’ll share my shifts — in meals, in moods, in meaning.
This will be my healing journal.
If anything here resonates, I’m glad.
But first and foremost, it’s a reminder to myself:
It’s possible to come home to who I am.
Thank you for walking a little of this path with me.
Until next time – Zora 💚
P.S. I share what shifted — in my body, my habits, and the quiet space between. Whenever something feels true enough to name, I write it here. If you’d like to follow along, the next part is waiting here.