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Most of us prepare for presentations, vacations, weddings, marathons. Few of us prepare our bodies for healing.
As a professional speaker and holistic health educator, I travel often to speak at conferences. I love the work, the community, the conversations, but the food at these events is never something to brag about.
In summer 2024, I spoke at a conference where “vegetarian” meant salsa con queso with bacon bits, or shell pasta in white sauce with no vegetables in sight. My flight home got canceled, the day turned chaotic, and by the time I reached home, I was craving something real. We ordered from a restaurant that usually serves solid, wholesome food.
In Ayurveda, we believe the mood of the person cooking affects how food lands in your body—the same cappuccino from the same café can taste like nectar or poison depending on the barista’s state of mind that morning.
We ordered a dish with peas. They were undercooked. I noticed pain and dismissed it—I’d never had a cavity in my life, and was too exhausted to question anything. A slight pain, then bed.
That week, I was helping a friend teach an Ayurvedic workshop in New York City. During a pulse reading (Nadi Pariksha), we picked up on something off. In Ayurveda, teeth are a byproduct (mala) of the bones (asthi dhatu), governed heavily by Vata Dosha. So, I told myself it was just travel and erratic meals catching up with me, and kept hosting summer parties anyway. But the swelling on the left side of my face, combined with the pulse reading, sent me to the dentist the day after my guests flew out.
“What did you do?” she asked. I wanted to say I’d gotten into a bar fight—she knows me too well for that to land. So, I told her about the peas.
Long story short: the undercooked peas had fractured a tooth—despite my cavity-free record—leaving it dangling in my gum, feeding a growing infection. Antibiotics, bedrest, no walks. Once the infection came down enough, I needed surgery: seven or eight rounds of anesthesia, and I still felt the entire thing.
Apparently, an active infection means anesthesia can’t fully numb you. It’s bizarre—you watch someone operate on you and feel it happening in real time. As a vegetarian, my mind went somewhere graphic: I felt like prey on a butcher’s table. I’ve been sick before, been in the ER before. Nothing compared to this.
Then the wound got infected post-surgery: more antibiotics, more painkillers, more loss of control. As a small business owner, I couldn’t fully shut down, so I’d schedule client sessions thirty minutes after taking my prescribed painkillers. This all went on for four to six weeks.
All of this while grieving my father, who would have flown in to help without a second thought—he was gone. My husband had recently started a new job. I have good friends and cousins nearby but didn’t want to ask for help again.
I promised myself: once I recovered, I’d do whatever it took to get stronger. Believing you’ll never get sick is naive and arrogant, but I needed a real shift toward prioritizing myself. Period.
My Ayurvedic Doctor recommended reintroducing animal protein. I was nauseated at the thought, but Ayurveda teaches that harming yourself in the name of avoiding harm to others is its own kind of himsa (violence). So, I went slow—fish, chicken, some dairy—and my body responded well. I don’t eat any red meat.
I’ve always eaten clean and worked out. This wasn’t the deep work—my mindset was.
As a woman, an immigrant, a woman of color, a South Asian—it’s deeply conditioned into me to put myself last. Decades of that don’t unwind easily. I had to learn to say no, without guilt, to gatherings right after speaking trips. My friends call me direct and strong, but this ordeal showed me I hadn’t let go of people-pleasing. Why else would I host multiple parties in one week, around July 4th, while in excruciating pain?
I needed to pause. Assess. Replenish. I’m an extrovert, but talking through other people’s grief and burnout, then socializing for days while jet-lagged, is depleting. So, I added boundaries: no social plans for two days after any trip. I let my body rest, spent time with my husband, leaned into what grounds me: cooking, workouts, puttering around the house—and let it pull me out of survival mode.
There was pushback—friends and family were used to Energizer Bunny me, always saying yes. Living in NYC means a steady stream of visitors, and saying no still stings some days. But that surgery showed me I was finally on the right path.
Last week, I had another tooth surgery—an implant is next. It landed during a full week of end-of-summer events, on top of teaching two summer classes. This time, I showed up to everything, but with intention: I ate nothing at the events themselves, since event food, I’d learned the hard way, is tempting but never nourishing. I came home on time, relaxed with my husband, and watched some TV. Hello, nervous system.
I did an annual wellness check, then worked with a nutritionist to plan meals around the surgery—most doctors and dentists get no to minimal training in nutrition, and someone with high inflammation like me can’t afford a week of ice cream as recovery food. My nutritionist had me increase protein (pea protein smoothies, lentils, soups) and iron, since I’ve yet to meet a menstruating woman with a normal iron count. By the time I reached an event, I had zero cravings—from someone who melts at the sight of melted cheese.
I prioritized strength training, walked, practiced yoga nidra, and kept up a daily pranayama practice, which helps me “digest” everything I take in through the senses, not just food. I did a long asana practice before the surgery, then planned three days of rest after: day one mostly spent resting, the next two catching up on work I’d otherwise have missed, because I’d spent my energy on healing instead of burning it on socializing and scrolling.
The research backs this up. Prehabilitation—getting fit before surgery—predicts smoother recovery and fewer complications. Strength training builds the reserve your body draws on to repair tissue. Protein, vitamin C and D, and zinc supply the raw materials for immune function and healing. Mindfulness and breathwork calm the nervous system and change how the brain processes pain, even when the pain signals don’t change. And mindset matters: patients who feel prepared and believe they’ll recover report less pain and regain function faster.
This time, I had strength and a genuinely good mood after surgery—new for me. The pain didn’t vanish, but instead of a month of painkillers, I stopped after two days. My dentist cleared me for a walk on day three, and I have a follow-up appointment scheduled two weeks post-surgery.
I’m still eating non-spicy, soft foods, and holding off on weights and yoga for a week, since either can dislodge the blood clot or invite infection. But despite the precautions and care, I feel the hope and the healing because I advocated for my body, the longest relationship I will ever have.
This surgery taught me that a resilient body doesn’t avoid stress—it recovers from it more efficiently. Yoga, strength training, and good nutrition aren’t about dodging every hard experience. They’re about building enough reserve that when something does hit—surgery, illness, grief—you have more capacity to heal. My practice didn’t make me immune to pain. It just meant I was more ready to meet it.
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