The Complexity of Everything

Lovingly Shining a Light, Part One

It’s the end of July and I can hardly believe it. Only seven months ago I packed up everything and hopped on a plane to Europe, with the intention of traveling indefinitely and potentially never coming home.

It’s been a whirlwind of an adventure, and I’ve been to many incredible places I never thought I’d visit. I made new friends in unexpected places, and have left little pieces of myself (and some of my stuff) all across the continent.

Yes, that’s right. I purposefully left my winter clothes in Istanbul, and a brand-new guitar in Budapest. I accidentally left my favorite gold necklace in Dartmoor, which somehow made its way to London, where it patiently awaits my return at a friend’s cottage, a-la the One ring in Gollum’s cave.

And somehow, months later, I still have an equivalent amount of things in my (two sizes too big) suitcase – a bag lady, through and through. And tomorrow is August.

I promised myself, and friends and family, that I would share about my travels through social media as I journeyed on from place to place. But I quickly discovered that that wasn’t sustainable for me, as I found myself inconsistently sharing my reflections, only to come up against ebbs and flows of energy and inspiration, unforeseen and unexpected health challenges, and long periods of a need for deep introspection.

This journey has been as much internal as external, and of course these travels are transforming me. And it’s not that I don’t have thoughts to share. I do. There is a whole world of experience and process and curiosity and discovery and reflection, simmering beneath the surface, waiting to brim over.

And I’m still cooking. But I’m coming up for air and there’s been movement in recent weeks that has inspired me to share more of myself.

I am ever navigating the precariously fine line between acknowledgement of reality and victimhood. I am well aware that my own disempowered stories about myself have the ability to trap me and keep me stationed in arrested development. And when I think about and talk about my health, it is always a conversation of negotiation.

“I’ve been really struggling with my health.” This sentence haunts me and reverberates in my mind. There’s truth in these words, and that’s the experience I’ve been having. And yet...

I always strive to speak of myself and my body and my health in a positive light. I regularly forget despite the striving. There is power in the language we choose to use, especially in the words we speak to ourselves. And so when I can remember to, I thank my body for the way it is holding me and supporting me and keeping me alive. I can choose to look at my health challenges through an expansive lens, and acknowledge that my symptoms are an indication of a healing response. 

I can remember that the body is always attempting to come back to homeostasis, balance and vitality. But it can admittedly be hard to see things that way when the experience I am having is one of extreme discomfort.

I was already navigating these health challenges in the year prior to me leaving for Europe. From the winter of 2023 to the spring of 2024, I rapidly gained about 50 pounds. I was simultaneously dealing with what I could only describe as chronic fatigue and metabolic dysfunction, as well as a whole other host of symptoms ranging from a massive drop in my daily energy levels, brain fog, inflammation, stiffness, plantar fasciitis, sluggish digestion, rapid onset of gray hair, and a general feeling of unwellness.

Today I look at myself in the mirror and it appears I have aged five years in the time span of one.

And so that is where I currently find myself. Resting in the murky waters of acceptance and the unknown.

I can ask, how did I find myself here?” But I already know the answer. The explanation is one that could fill an entire book, but in simplest terms, my current state of health is a reflection of what has happened to me and the choices I’ve made in my life up to this point.

But alongside this straightforward interpretation, there is also complexity. 

I can grasp at the lowest hanging fruit: I’ve made poor food choices and I’ve become sedentary. I haven’t “taken care of myself.”

All true, but not the whole story. A complete picture is not portrayed without acknowledging my trauma, childhood sexual abuse, a subsequent multi-decade-long eating disorder (which includes having tried every diet imaginable, seven years of veganism, and a never-ending binge-restrict cycle), years of drug and alcohol addiction, and chain smoking well into my early thirties. Then of course there are also the years of negative self-talk and destructive thought-patterns to account for, adding more fodder to the combustible pyre.

I share this all bluntly but hold it with softness — that’s just my way. I will always keep it real; it’s what happened and it’s part of my story. But perhaps you can see as I see, this recurring theme of mine: 

Acknowledgement of reality vs victimhood.

So I sit with my current reality and navigate how to share about it, and I am reminded of the complexity of everything.

I realize that the first hurdle to clear is to stop giving a fuck what other people think about me. I can admit that’s what has been holding me back from talking about my experience. That, and holding onto some version of what I thought this travel journey was supposed to be, holding up some idea of who I thought I’d be and what I thought I’d look like / feel like at age 38.

And speaking of stories we tell, as I write these words, I ask, am I really still doing this? That tired old narrative is so…tired. The one in which, wherever I am — isn’t good enough. The one in which I need to hide myself because of what other people might think.

I lovingly shine a light on this part of me that thinks she won’t survive the criticism and judgment of others.

When I think about the kind of woman I want to be at this age, I imagine someone who loves herself deeply. A woman who has faced the depths of life — the pain, the darkness, the unconsciousness, the rage, the betrayal, the humiliation, the loss — and has chosen to move forward in love. Love both for herself and for others.

I imagine a woman who isn’t afraid to be seen, in the fullness of who she is. And so as I navigate this current experience, I ask a new question: 

Can I hold my feet to the fire and honor this woman I pray to be?

I know I can honor her by letting myself be seen by my community. And although the concept of community elicits its own flood of charged emotions within me, I can still clearly see that the way forward is to share more of myself, not less.

In the spirit of this transparency, I can speak plainly.

Deep breath.

So, I got fat. Now what?

(continued in part two)

In Strength and Honesty,

Paige Michele Sargent