I counted calories for about three years. Not
obsessively, not every single day, but enough that I always had a rough number
running in the back of my head. Enough that I'd do quick mental math before
deciding whether to eat something. Enough that dinner felt less like a meal and
more like a subtraction problem.
I want to share something that took me a long time to
talk about openly — because honestly, it still feels a little strange to say
out loud.
For almost two years I had elevated blood pressure.
Not alarmingly high, but consistently there — enough that my doctor took it
seriously. I went through all the tests. Heart checkups, bloodwork, the whole
thing. And every single time, the results came back fine. Heart healthy,
cholesterol fine, nothing obviously wrong. My doctor shrugged, said something
about stress and lifestyle, and that was more or less the end of it.
I wasn't satisfied with that answer. But I also didn't
know where else to look.