Energy Conspiracy

#259

The Wall

For the past few months, I'd been caught in a 4 PM energy conspiracy without realizing it. Almost every day. Lunch would settle, I'd feel fine for about an hour or two, then suddenly my brain would feel foggy and my body acted as though moving through quicksand. Gravity felt doubled. A 20-to-30-minute power nap would seem helpful, then I'd be back to feeling groggy and sluggish until nighttime. And it kept showing up around 4 PM every afternoon like clockwork.

I wasn't eating poorly or sleeping terribly. My day-to-day habits seemed fine at surface level. But on further investigation, I learned I might have been suffering from post-lunch blood sugar spike, leading to the afternoon crash. On top of that, dehydration and lack of movement combined with sitting still causing my gut to work itself into inflammation. The power nap only acted as a band-aid, a stop-gap solution. Thankfully, I stumbled upon a book about energy that helped turn things around.

The Unfolding

The Energy Paradox: What to Do When Your Get-Up-and-Go Has Got Up and Gone by Steven Gundry talks about how chronic fatigue and brain fog stem from an autoimmune battle in the gut—a "leaky gut" combined with poor mitochondrial function. The book covers how to restore energy by healing the gut, boosting mitochondria, and using time-controlled eating to combat inflammation and improve cellular energy production. From this, I learned that my 4 PM crash wasn't laziness or poor sleep. It was my body fighting inflammation I couldn't see. 

The gut lining has tiny holes (leaky gut), so undigested food particles slip through and trigger the immune system to attack. Meanwhile, mitochondria—the power plants in cells—work overtime trying to fuel this constant battle. They get exhausted. Therefore, you feel exhausted.

The Slow Rebuild

I started small. Around 3 PM, post lunch, I'd move to my apartment's lounge with my laptop—somewhere with better lighting, brighter colors, different ambience. An hour there, doing something productive like writing, gave my body permission to reset and regain my energy. The environmental shift made a significant difference. I'd also have a quarter cup of coffee as a pick-me-up. Just enough to restore my energy for the evening without the crash that came with overdoing it. It felt like a small rebellion against the conspiracy.

Over the course of 1-2 months, I made gradual changes to what I was eating. I started mixing quinoa with my rice instead of eating rice alone. Swapped out potatoes for other vegetables and replaced dessert chocolates with a fruit. High fiber diet meant my body could actually process food instead of spiking and crashing. The goal to give my gut something it could work with instead of against. Suddenly, 4 PM didn't feel like a conspiracy anymore. It felt manageable.

Your 4 PM self doesn't need willpower or a dramatic overhaul. Just small interruptions: a change of scenery. A quarter cup of coffee. A small walk. Slowly shifting what you eat so your body stops fighting you. Listening to your body and honoring what it's asking for is one of the best forms of self-care.

Small Rituals

#258

Sometimes self-care isn't a grand gesture. It's a cup of tea. A cloud. A tiny pizza made on a Tuesday afternoon.

Tea & Windows

I started this recently — sitting by the window with a warm mug, just watching. No phone. No agenda. Just me and whatever the sky decides to float my way.

As I look at the clouds passing by — Seattle clouds of varying colors: white, light grey, dark grey, and the wind carrying them rapidly from one place to the next — my brain can't help but see faces and shapes in them. I learned that there's a term for this: "pareidolia". One day I saw an eagle with a rounder, fluffier beak. Another, a whale breaching. Yesterday? A sleepy girl with two cute ponytails. Once you see it, it's hard to unsee it. 

It may sound silly, but it proved to be grounding for me. For ten minutes, my only job is to sit, sip, and notice what my brain conjures. The ritual itself becomes the point.

The Tiny Pizza Experiment

I went on an experimental Costco run. A new location, new ingredients to try out. Mini naans, tomato paste cans, cheese - the pizza practically made itself! Added some fresh basil from my friend's garden on them, and voila, in ten minutes of baking them in the grill oven and sprinkling some oregano on top, I had myself a lovely evening snack.

Is it a ritual? Not yet. But it's becoming one. That moment of "oh, I could make this right now" feels lighter than ordering in. It's also helping me unleash my creative juices. The next day, I made homemade pesto. Made way for an instant pasta dinner.

Why This Matters

Small rituals anchor you. Bedtime reading to wind down from screens. Folding clothes with your partner while catching up on your respective days. Sipping a hot beverage looking out at what all nature has to offer you in that moment.

They're the quiet things that say: I'm taking care of myself today. Not because I have to. Because I want to. Because tea tastes better when you actually taste it. Because clouds are funny if you let them be. Because making something, even something tiny, feels different than consuming something made for you.

Sit. Watch. Sip. Notice.

Or cook. Mindfully.

Whatever floats your boat.

Finding your people

#257

The Gym Phase

I tried the gym. No membership—just a free gym at my apartment complex. Thought willpower and discipline would carry me through.

It didn't.

I had no idea what I was doing. Which exercises actually worked? How many reps? What form even looked like? I'd wander around, copy what others were doing, and hope for the best. Some days I'd show up. Most days I wouldn't. There was no structure. No accountability. Just me, a lot of empty promises to myself, and zero reason to show up tomorrow.

The problem with relying on willpower alone? It's not sustainable. As James Clear says, "You don't rise to the level of your goals—you fall to the level of your systems." I had no system. Just good intentions.

The Pilates Detour

Then came pilates. A friend suggested it. I thought: okay, this will be the thing. A structured class. Real instruction.

It was brutal. Too hard, too fast, too demotivating. Everyone was supposed to hold a two-minute plank. I couldn't. People with toned cores breezed through while the rest of us—including me—felt inferior in real time. Work was already hard. I didn't need fitness to feel like failure too. Three months in, I quit.

The CrossFit Plot Twist

Another friend invited me to try CrossFit. First day, I walked in expecting more of the same. Instead, I found coaches who actually cared about form, not ego. Who scaled workouts so everyone could participate at their own level. Who celebrated the person PR-ing their deadlift as much as the person finally nailing a pull-up.

The difference? It wasn't the workout itself. It was the people.

I realized something: I'll do almost anything if I'm surrounded by the right environment and the right influence. Like-minded people who are on their own journey, not comparing theirs to yours. Coaches constantly encouraging, not judging. A community where you're not ranked against someone else's toned core—you're celebrating your own progress.

Eight months in, and I haven't stopped. Every time I travel, I itch to get back. Every time I get sick, though I try not to, I focus on immediate recovery as my highest priority so I can get back to the gym. Miss a workout day? It bothers me now. In the best way.

I started reading more about CrossFit. Paid attention to my nutrition. My sleep improved. One tiny system—showing up to my CrossFit gym—unlocked everything else. It became my 'keystone' habit.

Why This Matters for Self-Care

Self-care isn't just meditation and green juice. Sometimes it's finding the people and the place where you actually want to show up. Where consistency doesn't feel like punishment—it feels like coming home.

Your environment matters. Your people matter. More than you think.