Four years ago I did my first Ayurvedic reset, during my yoga therapy training. Two years earlier I had already changed my diet rigorously for my kidneys, on doctor’s orders, so I knew I could do strict diets. But this was different. Nobody prescribed it, it wasn’t mandatory for my health, I chose it, which meant I could also quit it. I’d just moved into a community where we ate lunch together every day, at half past two, which is normal for Spanish people, just not for me.
The reset asks you to stop snacking and give your digestion real space between meals. So having my breakfast around eight and lunch at half past two: that was a no go from day 1. By noon my agni was raging and I was hangry, and hangry me is not fit for community life.
So I started eating when I got hungry, on my own, before everyone else. And there it was, the thing I’d dreaded: being the one who does it differently.
Then came the meals themselves. Community cooking in a kitchen with people making a real effort meant a small buffet every day. There was always a big salad, some cooked dishes, smells, textures, options. And me in the middle of the table with my bowl. One simple, warm, well-spiced thing. It looked like sludge and a bit sad. Part of me felt deprived, as if I was punishing myself with a bowl of rice and mung beans while everyone else was having a party.
My body showed something different. After a while I was better hydrated, lighter after eating and I was pooing with much more ease, since I tended to be the very uncomfortable constipated type. Looking back, that daily buffet was a lot for any digestion: raw, half-cooked, twelve things on one plate, most of it not well spiced, often too spicy (that’s not the same). A feast for the senses and a not-so-great puzzle for the gut. My sad little bowl was the most digestible thing my body could wish for.
The strangest part was what happened in my head. My mind had a story ready: you’re the weird one, the complicated one, you don’t fit in. Later, in conversations with my housemates, it turned out nobody really thought that. Several of them actually said the opposite, that it was inspiring to see someone take care of herself so openly. My mind had a whole opinion about what other people were thinking, and other people simply weren’t thinking it.
That’s what a reset does, beyond the food. It shows you how much of eating is social, how loud the mind gets when you do something different, and how subtle real enjoyment is: a warm bowl your body can use, the lightness and energy afterwards and the easier pooing.
And yes, my kitchari tastes much better now than it did that spring. The spice mix takes a few tries and a big spoon of ghee works wonders.
In two weeks the Autumn Reset starts. It’s the gentler sister of the spring one. It’s shorter, less about cleaning out and more about building strong digestion before winter. There are six places available and one-on-one guidance included. More next week.
For now: what would you be most afraid a reset would take from you?
Much love,
Rianne
