Dear World,

Let me tell you about the time I got violently ill from what I suspect was food poisoning and my forced sense of independence and “I can only count on me” mentality put me in a position of greater suffering than I had to endure.

While on my trip to Nepal, I went out for dinner with a group of my colleagues to a restaurant that seems to employ and provide access to the disabled community to earn. It was such a cute open-air rooftop restaurant with a nice view.

Naturally, I was in a totally different country so, the food choices were not particularly Jamaican. However, I had an open mind and tried new things because that’s what you do when you’re in a new country, right? After all, I was already trying new foods since being in the country and I was fine. My digestive system was fully functional.

The group of us dined and drank our hearts fill. There were no terrible tastes and nothing to trigger caution. After we ate and lymed, we headed back to our hotel for the night.

Not more than 20 minutes after I got to my room, I felt the sharpest pain in my abdomen. My poor mind and body chalked it up to one of those unexplainable random sharp pains. So, I ignored it. Once that pang came and left, another one came and it lasted longer. At this point, I swore I was pregnant and having contractions a few minutes apart. Nobody could tell me that those pains weren’t labour pains. After the second ‘birthing’ pain, I felt dizzy, nauseous, and a cold sweat washed me.

But, how could I be pregnant and I’m not engaging in get pregnant activities? That was my thought process. It was at that point I ran to the bathroom. Immediately, I had the runs. Full blown diarrhea, people. My butt was breaking track records – faster than 9.77 seconds, and I was bawling while the fake labour pains hit. It was terrible.

The runs slowed into a light jog, and I felt a little better. Finished up with the toilet, washed my hands, and went to lay down again. I had to be horizontal and close my eyes because the room was spinning. Two twos it felt like the race was about to start again. I rolled myself out the bed and sat myself down. Track records were being broken again and before the race was over, the nausea went into overdrive.

I’ll spare you the nitty gritty details and wrap this up by saying, I had explosive diarrhea and was vomiting in a simultaneous maneuver. It was a horror movie, y’all. Trauma aside, I attempted to drink some water and ginger tea. It did not work – and in a cold room, I was sweating with my tummy cutting up. At one point, I thought I was seeing my last hours.

Sadly, I did not tell a soul until the next day when I missed breakfast and I only told two people while playing down how I was really feeling. So, no one really knew the gravity of the situation. I was approximately 10+ hours ahead of Jamaica and didn’t want to stress my family out. I was a few doors and floors away from colleagues and I didn’t want to stress them out either. Worst of all, I had JUST met them a few days prior. Hello?! I must tell them about this painfully embarrassing ordeal?! Hard pass. That was my thought process.

Imagine that. Feeling close to death’s door (totally exaggerating by the way) and being concerned about stressing people out and also how I’d be perceived. Hphm. It’s slightly funny now but it was serious in the moment. Grateful to have survived, but I don’t wish that on a soul.

The problem with that encounter is that I never asked for help and I subconsciously masked my troubles for fear of being a burden to others. It only hurt me.
After about 24 hours, I remembered that I brought medicine in my emergency medical kit that contained ingredients that can help ease pain and reduce nausea. I took a dose and felt better a few minutes later – after I already violently released my insides. Crazy.

Yes, I was so disoriented that I forgot I brought an emergency med kit. Listen, and don’t judge.

Lessons learned through diarrhea and puking my insides out

Outside of the obvious, what sucks about all this is that I was more worried about burdening others than to share my issues than seeking help from them.

I think that a large part of how I handled the situation was rooted in a ‘Girl, you’re coming to me with your problems, and I can’t be bothered to help you. Figure it out’ or ‘that sounds like a YOU problem’, thought process. It’s such a disappointing type of situation. I’ve had one too many experiences where that type of response or something like it was laid before me in my greatest times of need. It’s heartbreaking.

As a result of that, I’ve conditioned my mind to do it on my own or figure it out on my own. It’s more than self-reliance and I know it’s not healthy. It’s hyper-independence, it’s a trauma response, and unfortunately, I struggle with vulnerability because of it. Why? Cause nobody ’bout to take me for a fool. I know – I get it.

My trauma response led to me struggling longer than I needed to.

Here are just some of the life and learned lessons I learned:

Don’t Be Afraid to Ask for Help: Independence is valuable, but it’s also important to recognise when you need support. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak; it shows strength and self-awareness. I’d like to add that in telling people about my ordeal led to them rallying around me and showing real concern. I was even scolded and told not to do that because I didn’t need to struggle alone in my hotel room.

Communicate Your Needs: Sharing your struggles with others can provide relief and support. Keeping everything to yourself can lead to unnecessary stress and prolonged suffering.

Embrace Vulnerability: Being open about your struggles and vulnerabilities can foster deeper connections and understanding with others.

Lessons learned. Now, I just need to apply them to my life. It’s easier said than done because this extreme self-reliance and hyper-independence is technically part of my DNA at this point.

Anyway, thanks for being here. Till next time.

Signed,

The Suburban Girl JA®

*Feature image ai generated*