At All Costs

A chronic disorder drove Fariha Róisín to seek out the traditional healing practices of her South Asian heritage. What she discovered was a wellness industry that made them nearly impossible to access.

- By Nadia Waheed. Illustration by Nadia Waheed

I was first diagnosed with irritable bowel syndrome when I was 14. At the time, it felt like an admonition, something that the I could find about why it felt like an uncontrolled ricochet would fire through my digestive system like a hand grenade's explosion, I found a naturopath who confirmed that my phantom illness might be IBS. It was the mid-2000s, and so my parents, having been shamed for the medicine of their South Asian roots, opted to get a second opinion from a Western doctor. And there I was, at 14, being told by said doctor that irritable bowel syndrome was still a largely unproven phenomenon and that what I had was still a mystery to her-but, yes, my naturopath could be onto something. Years of stool samples later, allergy tests on my back like bee stings, I decided enough was enough. I'd take matters into my own hands.

Growing up in a time when all information about the body had to be blindly assigned by a medical professional was difficult when you had a chronic condition that confused others. Somatic intuition was seen as quackery, and if I tried to describe the workings of my insides to doctors, they'd spend more time gaslighting me than actually listening to my perceptive wisdom. Sickness was common for not only me but also my sister, and we spent most of our teens turning our bodies into litmus tests for our own survival. I was constantly bloated, mucus stored in my throat so that every morning I'd wake up to a sea of phlegm pouring out of my mouth. Every time I'd blow my nose, snot dripped out like sap, and I'd wonder, who would ever marry me?