Breaking the Shackles of Control: My Journey Toward Freedom
About three years ago, after a deep healing session with one of my healers, I had a powerful realization. I was in the shower, and it hit me like a wave: I had been living in some kind of diet, system, or structure for over 20 years. It brought me to tears. In that moment, I could feel in my body the depth of grief and torment I had put myself through—all in the name of so-called health, or trying to control the shape of my body.
For so long, I had believed that all these diets, cleanses, and systems were good for me. I had convinced myself I had so much knowledge about what my body needed—after all, I’d even built a career around nutrition and cleansing. To some extent, it had helped. My detox lifestyle had brought me to undo a lot of diet industry conditioning, and it had helped me heal from endometriosis. But deep inside, my body and soul were suffering. They were suffocating, trapped in a box of rules and restrictions. My soul was pleading for freedom, showing me the invisible shackles I had placed on myself.
A Longstanding Pattern: Seeking Acceptance Through Food
As I reflected on my relationship with food, I realized this journey didn’t begin in adulthood. It had roots all the way back to my teenage years. I was about 14 when I decided to become a vegetarian. At the time, I thought it was a healthy choice, but now I see that it was also an attempt to gain my mother’s approval.
My mom was deeply into her own health routines—rarely eating much, often just nibbling on cucumbers at dinner while serving a tiny portion of the main course. I didn’t think much of it then. To me, she was just “healthy.” But looking back, I can see the disordered patterns hiding beneath her choices. There was one moment that stands out: we were out school shopping, and she looked at me and said she didn’t understand how my butt had gotten so big. I was in the middle of soccer season, my body growing stronger, but I was also developing into a more womanly figure. That comment, and others like it, shaped the way I viewed my body for years to come. Becoming a vegetarian was a way to align myself with her version of health, to shrink myself into something more acceptable.
Much like my mom, I justified my own disordered patterns in the name of health. I wasn’t trying to look a certain way—at least not consciously. Instead, I convinced myself that I needed to cleanse, to feel lighter, to heal nagging symptoms. There was always something to fix. But deep down, it wasn’t really about health at all. It was about control.
Confronting My Need for Control
This obsession with control came to a head during a trip we took to visit my husband’s family a few weeks after my healing session. I had planned to buy groceries before we left so I could manage what we’d eat, but that didn’t happen. I told myself I’d just pick up groceries when we arrived, but things didn’t go as planned. When I asked my husband’s family where I could shop, they told me the nearest grocery store was an hour and a half away, and that they had already bought food and would prepare the meals for us.
That was the moment I lost it. The idea of not having control over the food my family and I would be eating for the next few days sent me into full-on panic mode. I was unprepared for the terror that came with this realization. This wasn’t just a concern about food. It was about losing control over something I had relied on for years to keep myself grounded. I felt completely untethered, spiraling into anxiety at the thought of eating food I hadn’t selected or prepared myself.
As I sat with that discomfort, I realized something: this wasn’t normal. My reaction was far more intense than the situation warranted. I had to dig deeper, to understand where this fear and panic were coming from.
Turning to Marion Woodman: The Wild Woman Awakens
It was around this time that I rediscovered the work of Marion Woodman. I had known of her books, but I hadn’t truly explored them until now. I picked up Leaving My Father’s House, and as I read, something began to crack open inside of me. I had spent so long believing I was deeply in tune with my body, but Marion’s work made me realize how disconnected I still was. I thought I was nourishing myself, but in reality, I had been punishing my body, trying to make it conform to an ideal that wasn’t even mine.
Woodman’s words echoed in my soul, and I was compelled to dive deeper. I read The Pregnant Virgin and The Owl Was a Baker’s Daughter, and each page helped me unravel the origins of my patterns. I began to see that my struggles weren’t just personal—they were collective. This wasn’t just my story. It was our story, passed down through generations of women. The stories of mothers and grandmothers who were never fully comfortable in their own bodies, who passed those same insecurities and restrictions on to their daughters. If our mothers didn’t feel okay in their bodies, how could we?
The Wild Woman Within
This awakening led me to the wild woman archetype. The part of me that wanted to break free from all these structures, from the rules and restrictions I had imposed on myself in the name of health. This wild woman was the part of me who wanted to feel her body, to embrace its wisdom, to nourish it from a place of love rather than control. It was a part of me I had long ignored, but now, it was time to listen.
And as I listen, I’ve come to realize something crucial: even if we’re able to attain great health in the body, what’s the point if the soul is suffering? The body must be a viable container for the soul to experience freedom and to express itself fully. True health, then, isn’t just about the physical body. It’s about creating a space where the soul feels alive, free to move, free to be. This is what the wild woman inside me desires—a space of freedom where body and soul work in harmony, liberated from the shackles of control.
The wild woman doesn’t fit neatly into systems or diets. She doesn’t live in boxes. She lives from a place of deep intuition, connecting with the cycles of nature, with the rhythms of life. As I began to honor her, I realized this journey wasn’t just about me. It was about healing for all of us—for my daughter, for my mother, for all women who have struggled to feel at home in their own bodies.
A Call to Connect
This journey is far from over. It’s a constant practice of reconnecting with myself, listening to my body’s cues, and honoring its wisdom. I’ve learned that true health isn’t about control—it’s about freedom. Freedom to nourish myself in a way that feels good, freedom to let go of perfection, freedom to embrace the messiness of life.
As I continue on this path, I’d love to know if any of this resonates with you. Have you experienced something similar? What does your relationship with food and body look like? Let’s keep this conversation going—ask questions, share your comments, or even tell your own story. We’re in this together.