Still in Bali, still battling Bali belly.

We’d been living off plain rice and grilled chicken for days, barely able to leave the hotel without worrying. The antibiotics had started working, but slowly. My stomach felt fragile, like it didn’t trust anything I put into it.

Then came my birthday, the 9th of May 2023.

That morning, my partner treated me to a massage. An hour and a half of lying still while the woman kept telling me she was going to ‘open my blood.’ I had no idea what she meant, but I let it go. She was referring to bruises, I think. Somehow, I managed to relax and just kept thinking, heal me, please… just heal me.

By evening, I was fed up. Tired of the caution, the plain food, the constant second-guessing. So I did something completely against the recovery rules, we ordered pizza and tiramisu. My body still felt delicate, but something deeper just wanted comfort. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea, but it felt good.

And then… something shifted.

That meal changed everything. The stress eased, the food stayed down, and my body finally relaxed. The next morning, for the first time in days, I felt okay. Even the poo was hard! A tiny, ridiculous victory that made me laugh out loud. It was like my body said: thank you, finally, something joyful.

Looking back, I realise it wasn’t just about the food. The stress of not knowing what to eat had become its own illness. That slice of pizza and spoonful of tiramisu reminded me that sometimes, healing isn’t about playing it safe – it’s about listening to what you really need.