HOW I F*CKED UP MY GUT

I FEEL I SHOULD START WITH A DISCLAIMER: THERE WILL BE TALK OF POO. Those who don’t want to hear about poo might want to move on. I know it’s still the last taboo, but it’s not talking about it that led to 20 years of fighting with my digestion and, well, fucking up my gut.

I’ve never been particularly kind to my stomach. As a child, I was fussy and sugar-fuelled, throwing tantrums at the sight of anything green. In my teens, dieting worsened things (and when I say dieting, I mean irresponsible and not-very-happy extended periods of barely eating). The story doesn’t take a dark turn to eating disorders, thankfully, but I would say I teetered on the edge.

Those days are behind me – but the legacy is not. Denying myself food caused mayhem in my gut, and the lack of nutrients in my low-fibre, high-sugar diet created a toxic effect, ruining the chances of nurturing good