The pointed questions she opened the piece with made her goal clear: she was about to make the case for science in a dangerous societal landscape where our mistrust in science has us doing crazy things like denying climate change and opting not to vaccinate our kids. Nobel intent, indeed. I was interested in what she had to say.

As a scientist myself, I was woefully dissatisfied with her piece. And that’s putting it kindly.

Oresekes’ major argument about why we should all just change our minds and trust science right now was this:

“A scientific claim is never accepted as true until it has gone through a lengthy process of examination by fellow scientists.”

This “lengthy process of examination” she so kindly informs Time readers about? Peer review.

Yes, you read me right. Oreskes actually claimed that peer review — both in the form of critical input at conferences as well as our wonderfully broken system that leads to the publication of so-called “air-tight” works of science — is the reason why everyone should trust science.

“It is only after the reviewers and the editor are satisfied that any problems have been fixed that the paper is accepted for publication and enters the body of ‘science,’” she writes about the peer review process.

Wouldn’t that be a wonderful world.

What Oreskes should have been clear about before writing this piece is that neither scientists nor the general public believe this — pardon my bluntness— bullshit. I’ll never forget the time a paper from my post-doctoral lab was published without going through peer review for what I can only guess was because my boss was great friends with the editor in chief of the journal. So much for “it is only after the reviewers and editor are satisfied that problems have been fixed is a paper accepted for publication.” And make no mistake, this is a pretty mild example of why papers make it into big-name journals like Science and Nature but have no business being there.

I’ll also never forget the handful of papers I had to review for my boss while I was a graduate student because he didn’t have the time. So much for Oreskes’ other argument that “we call this process ‘peer review’ because the reviewers are scientific peers — experts in the same field.” Last I checked, a third-year graduate student wasn’t an expert in anything except losing sleep, troubleshooting, and drinking unhealthy amounts of coffee.

And don’t get me started on fabricated data. How many papers have been published, and then later retracted because it was determined that they were built entirely on fabricated data? Those papers went through our wonderful peer review system, too. Just take a look at Retraction Watch to see how much “accepted as true” science was later determined to be a fantasy. How about the famous case of the fake study that was submitted to 20 journals and accepted by 7 of them? Even more concerning are the studies built on false data that are never retracted and serve as the basis for numerous other follow-up studies.

The scientific community is aware of these problems and trying to fix them. Papers like John Ioannidis’ “Why Most Published Research Findings are False,” published in PLoS One in 2005 and with over 2 million views to date, are evidence of that. The existence of bioRxiv and its “community peer review” model is evidence of that. I could go on.

But what Oreskes seems equally ignorant of is that fact that this problem is understood by the general public, too. Books like Richard Harris’ “Rigor Mortis: How Sloppy Science Creates Worthless Cures, Crushes Hope, and Wastes Billions” are not only written for members of the general public, but also widely discussed by their intended audience. CrossFit.com, a website that reaches hundreds of thousands — if not millions — of people worldwide daily recently hosted a forum discussion about this book, a discussion that yielded over 130 comments. Some of the people behind those comments were scientists, to be sure (including myself) but many others were not.

The reasons why people mistrust science are complex. The underlying tone of Oreskes’ piece, unfortunately, suggests that she believes that most people out there are blithering idiots that never realized peer review existed, don’t know how to inform themselves of anything, and simply need someone on a pedestal to inform them of the superiority of the scientific community and how that community would never let something untrue be called science. I think we need to give the general public a little more credit than that. Surely Oreskes’ demographic exists, but articles like hers are not the way to better inform those people and get them to trust science.

I argue that it is this egotistical attitude that is one of the reasons scientists have a hard time convincing the general public why science should be trusted.

I left academia two years ago to combat the widespread science illiteracy of our culture today. It’s a difficult problem and there isn’t a single solution. I believe that many solutions are going to start at home — in the scientific process itself. It will be a long, hard road, but there are plenty of good players out there driving us in the right direction already. It is getting better. It’s already better than it was two years ago.

One thing I can say for certain, however, is that pieces like Oreskes’ op/ed in Time Magazine don’t help us on that road. Our problem is hard enough as it is, please don’t make it harder. Your intention was nobel, but nobel intentions are lost in shitty deliveries.

We need to have a talk about mushrooms.

I like mushrooms. I think they taste good. And I feel good eating them knowing they are full of vital nutrients like folate. I also recently shaved the tops off a few of them while cutting the grass in my front yard the other day (poor mushrooms. I thought about picking them but had no idea if they were safe to eat or deadly).

Beyond dinner and grass-cutting, mushrooms aren’t really on my mind a whole lot. And, I am ashamed to admit, I don’t know a whole lot about them. I don’t even remember what I (supposedly) learned about them in Elementary school; meanwhile I have one friend who remembers learning interesting things about fungi, mushrooms, and mycelium all the way back in fifth grade.

This all needs to change. Not just for me, but for everybody.

Why, you ask? Well, that’s a very good question. And to answer it, I’m first going to tell you a story about bacteria.

Bacteria: from foe to friend

In 2011 I began my PhD in a lab researching the microbiome — all of the microbes that live in and on your body and essentially help keep you healthy and alive. Back then, microbiome research was still in its infancy, and most people had negative views on bacteria, or as they are better known, “germs.”

Every time I saw a commercial feeding our fear of germs I would wince. I would shake my head sadly at those who felt compelled to slather their hands with hand sanitizer 50 times a day to “kill the germs.” The overarching attitude, by far, toward bacteria was, “they are bad, they make us sick, we must avoid them at all costs.”

But as microbiome research would increasingly reveal over the next 8 years, nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, the vast majority of bacteria aren’t harmful to us, and many are good: making vitamins for us, breaking down foods we can’t, and fighting off the actual bad guys. It took awhile, but eventually the general public began to change its mind about bacteria.

Now it seems as if the pendulum has swung too far the other way at times, with many believing the microbiome is the silver bullet for human health. I think we can correct this. The more important thing is that we recognize how beneficial these invisible organisms are for us, and we are seeking ways to leverage them to our benefit.

I think the same is going to — and should — happen with fungi.

Fungi are not just good to eat

First, lets get something straight — something that I am ashamed to admit I only got straight a few weeks ago.

Mushrooms are fungi, but they are only a small part of the entire organism. Specifically, they are the reproductive organ — and the part that many of us happen to find delicious (don’t get wigged out, fruit is exactly the same thing — ever find a seed in your apple?). Like the fruit tree, the fungus is much more than the reproductive, good-to-eat part. No one would laugh if I told them I wanted to make some beautiful cabinets out of cherry wood. But if I said I wanted to make cabinets out of fungi, I anticipate I’d get the screeching record player stare.

Say “fungus” and most people think “ew.” This is just like it was a few years ago with bacteria: “gross,” “ew,” “germs.” Except in this case people think “decomposition,” “nature’s garbage disposal,” “mold,” and “ringworm,” to name a few.

But, just as with bacteria, fungi are actually our friends.

In nature, they fight pathogens and detoxify their environment. They do this naturally. We haven’t engineered them to do this. You don’t have to think too hard to come up with a few ways these activities could be leveraged to help humans.

In fact, we already use a fungus in a really simple way that has saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Ever heard of penicillin? Yes, I am talking about the world’s first antibiotic. Yes, it’s a fungus.

So where do I get fungus cabinets out of all of this?

Mycelium: next generation building material

It comes down to the mycelium. This is the part of the fungus that many of us haven’t heard about. But it’s the part the really does business.

You’ve probably actually seen it before and didn’t realize it. Mycelium is a network of fungal cells that looks like threads or cobwebs. They can be found under logs in the forest, for example. They can also spread and move across acres and acres. They are like the fungus’ brain, sending messages across different cells and enabling the organism to react appropriately to environmental stimuli.

Mycelium are tiny and appear fragile, so you probably wouldn’t think, “yes, that would make a great building material.” But remember the spider web: silk so fine and soft it comprises some of the most luxurious clothing yet so strong it beats out kevlar and is being used in a variety of applications including building lightweight aircraft.

People are finally beginning to see the potential uses for fungi, and several companies are working on fungi-based materials. Can you imagine — a lightweight, strong, flexible building material that doesn’t require us to cut down trees (which are our biggest weapons in the fight again carbon dioxide build-up in the atmosphere)? What if we could construct buildings that also automatically detoxify the environment or have anti-bacterial properties built right in?

Building momentum behind a mycelium revolution

This may be the first time you’ve even heard of something like this, but these ideas are not new. American mycologist and entrepreneur Paul Stamets wrote about the ways fungi can move mankind forward in his book “Mycelium Running: How Mushrooms Can Help Save the World,” 14 years ago. Why it didn’t catch on then, I don’t know.

A similar thing happened with bacteria. People were talking about their benefits decades before the microbiome ever was a thing. But it didn’t catch on until the last 5–10 years.

But, fortunately, it did catch on.

And I expect — and I want — the same thing to happen with mycelium. I would count myself so fortunate to witness in my lifetime two revolutionary ideological changes around magnificent organisms that have had so much to offer us if only we took the time to stop, consider, and learn what they can bring to the table.

Please, help me make mycelium a thing. You won’t be sad that you did.

My husband and I moved into our house a little over a year ago. The couple who lived here before us had interesting taste when it comes to landscaping, and so one of the things I’ve been aching to change is the landscaping in the backyard. After making such a large purchase, it takes time to get on your feet financially, and so I’ve been slowly changing things, month by month.

First to go were the random, squat plants next to the house near the lemon tree — and with them, the red, dog-pee soaked and mildew-laden wood chips. In their place: two rose bushes and crisp, white stones.

Next, a flowery climbing plant with no purpose other than to block my passageway to the garbage and recycling cans next to the house. In its place: a blackberry bush that will not only cover the fence but also be useful and produce fruit that I can eat.

Then, a palm tree planted next to the house and growing so tall that it was bending away from the house. In its place: a mini succulent garden.

But the biggest job was just completed: removing a ~30–40 foot tall tree from the far corner of our yard. This tree had no purpose other than destruction. It was leaning on our fence, bending the boards and making, as my neighbor described it, a mournful creaking sound. Its roots were also pushing upwards into the same neighbor’s yard, wrinkling her astroturf. And, as we just found out, it was irritating other neighbors as well.

We had no idea what type of tree it was; all we knew is that it was a tall, deciduous thing that needed to go. There was no question. I called a tree removal company and set the date. Then, something funny happened.

I became sad. I felt for the tree. It was a living thing after all, that was pretty and provided nice shade. It wasn’t its fault that someone planted it in a stupid location without thinking about how big it might get. Suddenly I wasn’t sure if I wanted to remove the tree.

Then I was reminded of a parable found in Scripture. Those trees that don’t produce fruit are cut down, without second thought. Thinking on this, I remembered that the quote the tree company gave for removal listed the tree as a fruitless pear tree. So, here I had a fruitless pear tree that was annoying neighbors and destroying fences and astroturf. Why did I feel bad for removing it?

I believe our Father also feels sadness when “removing” fruitless people from His kingdom. He wants everyone to gain salvation, and to live out their full potential, because He loves them. Yet he puts the axe to their roots if they become useless or dangerous; not removing them could harm other, fruit-producing people.

It’s a funny thing about nature, His creation. You often find lessons and truths from Scripture right out there in nature. The ways in which He can teach His children are infinite. We just need to recognize when and how He speaks to us. In my case, He spoke to me through a fruitless pear tree.

The tree is now gone, ground into wood chips that perhaps will find another, more useful function. The section of fence that was being destroyed has been replaced with new boards. Neighbors are happy. And I learned an important Spiritual lesson that has increased my awe of YHWH and His infinite wisdom.

Shortly after “T” and I began spending time together, I flew to Australia to attend the wedding of one of my best friends in graduate school. Meeting me there would be my long-time friend Fabian, who had been an exchange student at my high school and with whom I managed to keep up with over the previous decade. He was, and still is, one of my best friends.

We met in Brisbane, the hometown of my grad school friend, and shared a room at a hostel. We then traveled to the coastal town in which the wedding would be held, and where we rented an entire apartment. It was just the two of us, and we got along like two peas in a pod — of course, we always did. I opened up to him a little about my still but soon to be ex husband, and about “T.” He could tell that I was happy. He didn’t judge me for my divorce, which I feared, and he pulled for “T” and I. Best of all, I didn’t feel worried that I would be “in trouble” for sharing with a longtime friend a hostel, apartment, and tent during the trip — something that my ex would never be okay with. I was just able to simply enjoy my time with my friend, feeling like a “free” woman.

But what I didn’t tell Fabian were my spiritual struggles, and the misgivings that two of my dear friends back home had. I had a tendency to ignore the friends that knew what they were talking about, and I felt that if I told Fabian everything, he would agree — and then what would I do?

But to understand this, I need to take you back to 2011.

About a year after moving to Houston, shortly after finishing my qualifying exam and beginning my thesis research full time, I began to search for something new spiritually. This in and of itself is a completely different story, so I will only divulge the information necessary to understand my divorce and the fallout.

Raised Catholic, I spent some time in the Seventh-day Adventist Church, then a non-denominational church, then a Weslyan Church. Over the years, I began to yearn for more, so I decided to go back to the Jewish roots of Christianity. What I found literally changed my life.

And this caused some of the rub with my husband.

He became jealous of the time I spent with friends studying scripture for hours on Saturdays. He became jealous of the time I spent reading the Bible or listening to messages instead of him.

He became jealous of God (his words). And he told me he would never believe in God.

All this happened in parallel to a marriage crumbling from lack of emotional investment. I tried to save the marriage, because I believed that earthly marriages were a symbol of the covenant God has made with His people. If I failed in my marriage and didn’t allow God’s power to work in it, what did that say about my faith?

Then “T” came along, and I literally gave up.

This caused spiritual turmoil for a long time. I chose to divorce my husband. While he served me the papers, he did so because of a conversation I started. Because I said I didn’t think we should be together anymore, and he simply agreed. This also caused my dear friends in Houston — the ones I didn’t tell Fabian about — to worry. They worried about the fate of my soul.

I didn’t tell them about “T’s” own demons; the suicide of his first serious girlfriend and his guilt over making her want to kill herself, the fact that he regularly saw “shadow people” and had what he believed to be a heightened connection with the supernatural world. All of which were warning bells to a person with a renewed relationship with the God of the Universe. I didn’t want my friends to remind me of this, because I wanted what I wanted, which at that time was “T.”

I also didn’t tell any of this to Fabian.

Because, let’s face it, I knew it sounded ridiculous. But I felt that the love and connection “T” and I had were beyond that.

And, unbeknownst to anyone, I had made “T” a promise. A promise I felt I couldn’t break. I promised him one day, as he stood before me weeping, that I would never leave him, and I’d never let him leave me, even if he tried. I told him that I understood that if he one day said wanted to leave, he didn’t mean it, and I had to be the pillar to hold us together. I had to keep of from leaving until he got his senses back. Somehow, then, before I knew the truth about “T,” I somehow knew that promise meant the difference between life and death for him.

When I flew home to Houston to a condo that had been robbed less than 24 hours prior, I allowed my Houston friends, instead of “T” to pick me up from the airport and take me to their home where my beloved 11 year old Akita awaited me. They offered to let me stay the night. I declined.

And I promptly called “T” and asked him come to my condo to spend the night with me. Weirded out and worried about the robber, who I fully believed was another tenant of the complex that had been making some moves toward me, I asked “T” if we could stay the night at his place instead.

Why didn’t my friends save me? Why didn’t they make me stay with them that night? Prevent me from spending a night with “T” that probably solidified our future together? Why didn’t they remind me of my relationship with God, and their love for me, and how important it all was?

Because I didn’t let them.

My readers never got part two.

I am not a well-adjusted individual. I am incredibly emotionally immature. I easily become overwhelmed by intensely emotional situations. My M.O. for as long as I can remember has been to avoid thinking about the emotions that bring me pain or uncomfortable feelings.

I don’t face difficult emotional situations head on. Which is probably why I haven’t fully healed although in my daily life I almost never think about my ex.

I need to change that.

I want to heal.

I’m tired of hearing songs that remind me of him, songs that I like, but hate because they remind me of him, and then leave me feeling conflicted because I hate myself for liking them.

I’m tired of seeing people that have some physical feature that reminds me of him, and instantly wanting to distance myself from them.

I’m tired of the personal shame I feel when I think about the fact that not only did I actually kiss this guy (and more), but I felt a deep and abiding love for him.

So, here’s part two. Part two begins long before I met him.

In the last installment, I introduced my now ex-husband. He was a friend of my brother’s, and in 2008 I was tired of a series of failed relationships with men (who could more aptly be called boys) who self-medicated by getting drunk or desired to keep a relationship a secret forever. In retrospect I see that I gravitated toward men who had their own set of emotional problems. Perhaps helping, “saving,” others distracted me from my own emotional demons.

Well, I was tired of that, so I dated brother’s friend. I had all of these imaginations of us spending time together with my brother and his wife: riding quads through muddy trails, playing video games, going to the RC car track.

Those dreams were quenched before we even married, when I got accepted into the PhD program at Baylor College of Medicine in Houston, Texas. He was willing to leave his family to live in Texas with me, so he must’ve loved me. Right? I agreed to marry him, and we set the date for a mere week before our move to Houston.

There were several red flags before the marriage. I even gave back the engagement ring once but within 30 minutes he talked me out it. Despite all of my stupid decisions regarding past relationships, I still didn’t have the balls to do what was right for me. I’ll never forget our wedding day. Not because of the feelings of love I felt, but because of the nearly physical pang I felt deep in my gut when dancing with one of his coworkers. The coworker was talking about his wife and the beauty of fully loving and trusting someone. “If you don’t trust someone 100%,” he said, “then you shouldn’t marry them.”

Once we were married the idiosyncrasies that I’d noticed but didn’t bother me too much became heightened, and new ones surfaced. He didn’t want to share a bathroom. He would become upset with me if I didn’t hang up his shirts in the right order of the closet. He called me on the phone to ask why I’d spent $200 at Outlet stores (while I was still at the outlet stores, mind you) while visiting my best friend in Michigan yet made a $15,000 chunk payment on our mortgage in Houston to pay it off without asking me, leaving us with $5000 to our name and no emergency fund if one of us got hurt and couldn’t work.

Two weeks after that he served me with divorce papers, leaving me with $2400. A grad student. With a $26000/year stipend. But hey, at least I didn’t have a mortgage to pay.

The divorce was a long time coming, probably even before the marriage. He was severely emotionally limited. He had a giant ego, and always had to be right. I never felt like an equal, but just another subservient individual he could quash under his foot and use to do things for him like give him sex every once in awhile and make him cookies. I’ll never forget the sponge argument day. He had a sponge he used to wash dishes, and the thing was obviously very dirty and very contaminated with bacteria. Now, I am a trained microbiologist, and while at the time I didn’t yet have my PhD, I did have an undergraduate degree in the subject. He, meanwhile, was an engineer. Without a college degree. He went to tech school.

Nevertheless, he somehow knew more than me about his sponge and microbiology in general and was convinced that his sponge was cleaner than every sponge in every other household in the world. He was convinced that if I took it to work and streaked it on a plate, nothing would grow.

When he finally agreed to go to counseling, the sessions were so painfully embarrassing I didn’t want to go anymore. He couldn’t even answer simple questions like, “when your wife does X, how does that make you feel?” He was so out of touch with himself emotionally, it’s no wonder he couldn’t love me.

I engaged in several emotional affairs with other people. I yearned for emotional connection. I yearned to carry out a normal conversation with someone. To share my fears or stresses without being judged, without being made to feel stupid. Old hurts from my past and from past relationships began surfacing. I looked at myself in the mirror one day and repeated “I love X, I love X,” X being my high school boyfriend whom I apparently wasn’t over yet (surprise!), over and over and over. I returned to Michigan to visit my family without my husband, and while there reconnected with the person I’d lost my virginity to. We met up one day, had lunch, held hands in the car, then had sex in a remote location. I felt no emotion towards him, nor regret or guilt for cheating on my husband.

I simply felt empty. And that felt good. I was so tired of sad emotions, of negative emotions, of stressful emotions. To escape from myself, my mind, my heart for a few minutes and feel absolutely nothing, was bliss.

Yet it was incredibly unfulfilling. It fixed nothing. I still wasn’t happy.

And then he walked into my life. I’ll just call him “T.” One, I still respect an individual’s privacy, and two, I can’t stand reading his name (one of those can’t listen to old song emotional responses).

T was a new graduate student in my PhD lab. He seemed to know me almost better than I knew myself. He said things in a way that let me know he understood me, understood my fears, and didn’t judge me. He treated me like an equal. He praised and respected my knowledge, and willingly learned from me when I taught him knew things he didn’t know, and enthusiastically taught me new things in a supportive, non-condescending way.

But most impactful, he wrote me a letter. A love letter.

I had always yearned for a love letter from someone. The emotionally immature person I am, I communicate much better via writing than face-to-face, I can be more genuine and emotional in writing. Perhaps that’s why receiving a letter from someone was so important to me.

My high school boyfriend wrote me letters, but I knew they didn’t come of his own volition. He wrote them because he felt pressured by me to do so. No other person I dated after that wrote me a letter. I didn’t even get so much as a card for a birthday, special achievement, or holiday. I eventually became convinced that the person who could know me well enough to write me letters, of his own volition, was the person for me.

And T wrote me a letter. I carried it with me at all times in my laptop case. I nearly had it memorized. I can still remember some of the words: “I yearn for your embrace like a flower’s petals yearn for the sun.” Or something like that. I eventually threw that letter away in a rest stop garbage can somewhere in the middle of Kansas. But more on that later.

I never told T about my views on letters. He did this of his own volition. How did he know? We must have been connected deeply. In fact, I felt as though our souls were “knit together.” I’d never felt such a soul-shaking connection to anyone in my life. It terrified and thrilled me.

And it showed me that I could be happy. I lost all desire to keep trying to make my relationship with my husband work. After he’d served me divorce papers, we had waited the mandatory 60 day cool-off period in Texas, and then decided to start from square one by dating. Things hadn’t improved. And when I met T and saw how happy I could be, I gave up on my marriage.

The divorce was finalized in May 2013, the same day that I flew to Boulder, CO, where I would give a talk in what, unbeknownst to me, was my future postdoctoral lab. I also met my future husband on that trip, in that lab.

But much more was slated for me. The next time I would step foot in that lab I’d be a completely different person, one that felt as though she’d just stepped out of a war zone.

In the Western world, we live in a culture obsessed with band-aids. Especially in America, we live in the moment, ignoring warning signs or choosing not to be forward-thinking enough to think about consequences. Have fun now, worry about consequences later. After all, it’s nothing that a little duct tape — or a band-aid — won’t be able to fix.

It is this attitude that has created what I like to call our “sick care system.” Of course I can’t take the credit for the phrase — I didn’t coin it. But, as a post-doctoral researcher and then project manager in the microbiome field, it became a motivating factor for my work — and my own values. I don’t know who came up with the term, but I heard it first out of the mouth of one of my favorite collaborators, Larry Smarr.

“We don’t have a healthcare system,” he said. “What we have is a sick-care system.”

Most basically this means that instead of working to prevent disease and illness, we simply wait until there is a problem and then try to fix it with drugs, surgery, or any number of therapies that fix the symptoms but don’t address the underlying problem.

Millions, maybe even billions of dollars could be saved if people began to live to prevent disease, rather than treat it when it inevitably arrives. This requires an entire change in thinking — an entire lifestyle switch. In essence, what we need is a new health insurance plan.

Redefining Health Insurance

Now, I’m not talking about the health insurance we’re so familiar with — Blue Cross, Aetna, Kaiser, what have you. I mean the health insurance plan that you have 100% control over. I mean your health insurance plan. A plan that won’t shell out money to you when you need to go to the doctor and fill a prescription — a plan that will hopefully prevent those doctor visits and prescriptions, especially those chronic condition medications.

Let me give you an example. Here’s what my health insurance plan looks like.

Part A: A CrossFit membership.

Part B: Chiropractic.

Now, I’m not here to evangelize about either one of the above — I know plenty of people who evangelize about both. I also know that CrossFit isn’t for everyone, and chiropractic isn’t for everyone. Really, you could replace those two works with anything: running and acupuncture, pilates and massage … you get the idea. The point is, we should all be engaging in some sort of physical activity, and engaging in some sort of recovery process that supports and heals our bodies so they can perform at their best.

For me, CrossFit provides the cardio, strength, and balance fine-tuning that I need to have energy, to feel strong and independent (I’ll never forget the day I singlehandedly loaded a heavy cedar armoire into the bed of a small pickup truck because the two 50 year old men who came to buy it from me couldn’t do it. Oh yeah — this was the same armoire that before CrossFit I could barely help someone else move), to have the stamina to ride my motorcycle safely and tirelessly for the long miles my weekly commute requires — and a number of other benefits I won’t name here.

I added the chiropractic because the adjustments align my body so that I can lift better with less risk of injury, breath better during engine workouts, be more aware of my posture all throughout the day, even when I’m not at CrossFit — everything to help me be the best I can be while working out and outside of the gym — everything to help me be the best version of me that I can be (at least physically).

Each costs me $150/month.

It’s a $300/month health insurance plan. For some, that may seem hardly anything. For others, that may be completely unaffordable. But everyone, no matter their financial position, should find and implement their own, self-driven health insurance plan. It could save you thousands of dollars later in life, and if it extends your life for even just one more day, then you don’t need me to tell you that the savings are already priceless.

Here’s to to true healthcare!

My entire career has been a juxtaposition of two entities that should be mutually exclusive — or so I’ve been told.

I have my Bachelor’s degree in Biomedical Science, obtained my PhD in Integrative Molecular and Biomedical Science in only 3 years and 9 months, worked in the leading microbiome research lab in the world, and in 2016 was named as one of Forbe’s 30 Under 30.

But, I’ve been told, none of this should have happened. Why? Because I believe in God. And that means I must be stupid and incapable of high intellectual achievements — especially scientific ones.

Yes, there are plenty of other scientists “like me” out there that prove the point wrong, such as NIH Director Francis Collins, who doesn’t hide his faith in the God of the Bible and believes that “The God of the Bible is also the God of the genome. He can be worshiped in the cathedral or in the laboratory.”

But the general sentiment among the life sciences (I won’t presume to speak for scientific fields in which I have no experience) is that creationists are stupid, religious people hate the truth, and faith impedes scientific progress.

Science Has No Room for God

Take, for instance, the intensive microbiology course I attended at Stanford’s Hopkins Marine Station in Pacific Grove, CA, in the summer of 2015. One of the instructors was describing seminal research done by Professor Susan Rosenberg at Baylor College of Medicine. I was already familiar with her work because as a graduate student, I spent an 8 week laboratory rotation in her lab.

The Stanford course instructor was pretty upset about the work that Susan Rosenberg had been doing. He was even more upset that every time he or someone in his lab tried to replicate her work, they replicated it. Wait, what?

In a world where replication not only is critical, but is often hard to impossible to achieve, a scientist was upset that he replicated another scientist’s work?

Call me a religious freak, but in my opinion, that is the type of attitude that actually impedes scientific progress.

So, why was he so upset? Because her work, which he replicated, challenged a key tenant that we’ve held about bacterial evolution for many, many years. It changed it in a way that suggested intelligent design. And, as that instructor said, using some expletives I won’t repeat here, “science has no room for God.”

Now, I won’t go into the discussion that intelligent design doesn’t on it’s own equate to God as most people view Him, i.e. the Christian God who morbidly sent His Son Jesus to die on a cross. That’s an entirely different argument that would take up an entire blog series on it’s own.

Yet, that moment was pivotal for me. I had never experienced such visceral hate for God — something that the individual apparently didn’t even believe in — as I did in that moment. I had thought — I had been trained — that scientists should trust the scientific data, no matter what it suggests, as long as it is reproducible. Apparently that’s true, so long as it doesn’t suggest an intelligent designer/creator being.

Science Must Make Room for God

I argue that science would do itself a service by dropping the attitude that “religion does nothing to advance science,” and is instead an “impediment” to progress as I was recently told by a fellow scientist. Why? Let’s face the facts.

In 2017, there were 6.88 billion people living on Earth

Only 16% of those people were not affiliated with some type of religion, such as Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, or Judaism, to name a few. Hate to break it to you, folks, but we live in a religious world, whether we like it or not.

If scientists really believe that the scientific truth is that there is no god, then they must also accept the fact that most of the people they need to convince of that don’t share their beliefs — and adjust their attitudes accordingly.

What if, instead of at every turn scientists tried to disprove god, hide evidence that suggests he might exist, and resorted to offensive name-calling, scientists began to embrace the amazing religious diversity that makes up this planet and learned to talk with religious people about scientific truths that might make them uncomfortable? What if by taking that approach, scientists were able to help religious people start embracing those scientific truths? And what if, at the same time, scientists were able to consider scientific data that made them uncomfortable? Perhaps then we would celebrate repeatable science, rather than resort to adolescent screaming at a classroom of young scientists about how God is an asshole that belongs outside of the laboratory.

After all, science changes every day. I was told in grad school that science is only true the moment it is published, and even then, there is probably a lab somewhere in the world that has already disproved it. Who knows whether the data that support intelligent design will be refuted next year? Who knows whether the data that refute intelligent design will hold up in the next decade?

We don’t know. And that’s the beauty of it — that’s the whole reason science still exists. If we knew it all, there would be no reason to keep exploring. And we all have faith that in the end, the truth will win — whether it points to an intelligent being larger than ourselves or not.

Perhaps scientists and religious people aren’t so different after all. The sooner we accept that, the sooner scientific advancements will change the world — including advancements that may be set in motion by a juxtaposition like myself or Dr. Francis Collins: the religious scientist.

I sit outside at a coffee shop, working on a textbook I’m writing as a contract, freelance science writer.

Someone is listening to music through their speakers. A song comes on and jolts me.

“Summer has come and past, the innocent can never last, wake me up when September ends,” croons Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong.

This song put a stamp on my life in the fall of 2005. In September 2005, to be exact. How ironic.

I thought I lost my innocence on September 2, 2005. But as I sit here, truly happy for the first time in a very long time — perhaps since before September 2, 2005 — I think back on everything that has happened to me in the 13 (not seven) years since then.

I’ve heard others’ life stories, many times listening in disbelief, thinking, “there is no way THAT many things, and that many bad things, could happen to one person.”

As I reflect on my own story, I wonder if I would believe it were it coming out of another’s mouth.

I lost my innocence shortly after I lost my ability to believe in love. My high school sweetheart and I had broken up before we had a chance to marry. I felt like dying. Then I became callous. And I lost my innocence.

After the initial shock, I dated another for a few short months. Surprised, I felt as though perhaps I did still believe in love, after all. But what does it matter when the one you’re with is at that high school age where real life is almost here and it scares the crap out of you? Afraid of commitment, he pulled away, but at least joined the Marines, inspired by me. I at least had a lasting impact in some way on this person.

In college I joined a backpacking club, eager to pick up a new hobby. There I met a troubled soul who, while a prisoner to himself in everyday life, was free and beautiful when in the wilderness. My deep-seeded insecurities caused my high school sweetheart and I to split. In damaged soul was a challenge to my insecurities. I dated him, hoping to mature and learn to love without jealousy.

Instead, I lost myself and became bitter. After sharing dinner with him and his mother, I broke up with him, boarding an airplane to Spain a few days later. Free from the negative emotions of a person still held captive by a seven-year-old tragedy, and living in a country where all of my problems seemed a million miles away, I thought I was growing up, finally.

Oh, what my 20-year old self didn’t know.

Shortly after returning to the states, I stumbled across an old acquaintance at the bank, whom I’d met through high school sweetheart. We began dating, taking things slowly. After a few months, however, his inability to commit and unwillingness to share me with his family and friends seemed a bit too strange. Out of previous character, I had a straightforward conversation with him and broke it off.

I was proud of myself. Usually too much of a wimp to stand up for my desires in a relationship, I had remained firm. Maybe I was growing up, after all.

Hold it right there. I’d have to go through hell and back before I really, truly grew up.

Tired of my awful choices in men and completely embittered by “love,” I decided to take a new approach. I began talking to a friend of my brother’s. Cupid struck, and he fell for me, too. I envisioned a future full of he, me, my brother, and his wife, the four of us, spending endless summer days on dirt bikes and playing video games. Finally, life would be perfect.

Except life took an unexpected turn and moved myself and brother’s friend to Houston, TX. Brother’s friend also began to show his true colors: the most serious lack of ability to handle emotions that I’ve ever seen and a strange need to remain best friends with his ex-girlfriend. No, this wasn’t normal ex-friendship. He walked her down the aisle to her husband.

I tried to give the ring back a few months after he proposed. He talked me out of it.

Looks like I was still a wimp after all.

I danced with his co-worker at our wedding, who began talking about his wife, whom he adored. “It’s so wonderful to trust and love someone,” he said. “If you don’t trust someone, you have no business being with them.” My heart pricked and my stomach dropped.

Two years later we had separated, the divorce finalized in May 2013. With Scripture the guiding tenant of my life and a firm belief that earthly marriage is to reflect the sacred covenant between God and His people, I struggled. I didn’t lose my faith; instead, I pushed God away, convinced I was no longer worthy.

Filling the emotional hole left by my husband, I entered what to me seemed, finally, a relationship with someone who truly loved me, saw me as an equal, and cared about my happiness.

I can’t explain how utterly stupid I felt when I realized that this person was a psychopath, feeding my bruised soul with what it needed to hear, and then, once he caught me in his trap, using me to fulfill his own sick fantasies. Unsure how to get out, afraid that he would follow through with his threats and kill himself if I left, I remained a prisoner for an entire year, unable to talk to anyone.

Perhaps this was the just dessert for my divorce?

It took me a long time to realize no one deserves what I went through, no matter the decisions they’ve made in their life.

One afternoon, on the bathroom floor, I cried out to God. It was time to stop pushing Him away. I needed Him, or I was going to lose my life.

A peace I can’t describe washed over me.

I broke up with psychopath a few hours later. And he didn’t kill himself. Two months later, I moved to Colorado, where I began to pick up the pieces of my broken life.

There, fighting, kicking, and screaming, I was pulled into a relationship with my now husband.

The time wasn’t right.

My soul was still raw.

I was emotionally unstable.

I could NOT enter into a new relationship right now.

I couldn’t NOT enter into that relationship.

Again on the bathroom floor, I prayed to God to stop it. He didn’t. And I am so glad He didn’t.

I am learning things about love that I should’ve learned in my first marriage. I’m learning not to flee from commitment at the first sign of trouble. I’m learning how to be kind. To let go of the small stuff, and talk through the important stuff. I’m learning how hard love is, and how beautiful and awesome and amazing it is to grow with another person.

I am also slowly healing from my divorce — something I didn’t have a chance to do in light of the abusive relationship that followed. I deal by not thinking, by not facing emotions. Now, I am having to face my memories to fully heal.

Most importantly, though, I’ve learned to stand up for myself.

In the past year, despite my fears — fears of financial ruin, fears of ridicule, fears of disappointing those who care about me — I’ve quit two jobs that were harming me emotionally, putting my health and wellbeing at risk, and failing to advance my career. I am fortunate to have a husband that cares enough about my happiness to allow me to quit cold turkey and try my hand at freelancing, despite the fact that this isn’t likely to bring in the big bucks, at least not for awhile.

I finally feel as if I’ve grown up. And, as the warm breeze kisses my cheek, I think about the future ahead of me, I feel the lightness of my soul.

Yes, I am truly happy.

Yes, I can finally, truly live.

Cookies, meh. I could take them or leave them.

But over the past few months, as I struggled more than ever with a food addiction, I began craving things I never cared for in the past. Cookies. Brownies. Chocolate. Cake.

What?

Intermittent fasting has helped me control my cravings and recognize even non-specific cravings, which I mistake as hunger, for what they are. I’m learning the difference between true hunger and psychological hunger.

Truly, I only experience real hunger once every week or two.

Daily Habits, When Broken, Resurface Addictions

I’ve also learned that my body has become dependent on its new regime. Do not eat before 10am. Reduce sugars as much as possible. Avoid store bought sauces and never eat treats — not even a piece of chocolate (unless it’s pure, dark cocoa, which has a strangely likeable bitter taste). Stop eating by 8pm. Rinse, repeat.

I recently put this set of behaviors off the rails, when my husband and I took a weekend away to attend his PhD commencement ceremony.

Day One: Friday

Breakfast at 10am, as usual.

Lunch at 12pm, two hours earlier than usual.

Dinner in the car at 5:30pm, 2 hours earlier than usual.

Can’t help it snack in the car at 7:45pm.

Day Two: Saturday

Workout at 7:30am

Breakfast at 10am, as usual. But carb and sugar heavy: fig bars, fruit bar, Rx bar.

Lunch at 1pm. Beef jerky, sourdough baguette pieces, salad without dressing, and brie.

Dinner at 7:30pm. Smoked chicken tacos. Pretty healthful, until…

Do you have free desserts for college graduates?

I asked. My husband didn’t need or want the dessert. But I thought, we’re celebrating! We need dessert.

Out came chocolate cake drizzled in caramel. Something that in years past would be much to rich for me to even stomach a single bite.

I had a hard time limiting myself to only half the dessert.

Day Three: Sunday

Breakfast at 9:30am at an old favorite. 3 egg omelet with fresh salsa…potatoes…two slices of whole wheat bread with butter.

And, the reason we went.

Pie. The best pie in the world. Served with, as the menu says, “a giant slab of vanilla ice cream.”

I didn’t eat lunch, but did eat the rest of my potatoes in the car as I was starving by 1pm.

Dinner, at 9:00pm, was a beef burger with brie, egg, pickles, sauerkraut, and jalapeños.

The next day, I was starving. I could barely wait until 10am to eat, and I ate snacks I don’t usually eat. My system was out of wack. I needed to get back to my normal routine.

Cravings Manifest as Dreams

I always say that if I weren’t a microbiologist, I would be a neuroscientist, or psychologist. The brain, and the mind, fascinate me. I’ve always had vivid dreams, and I almost always remember them. Sometimes, they affect me so strongly my entire day carries their shadow. Dream about my husband having an affair? Suspicious of him all day.

I often dream about things bothering me or otherwise on my mind. Based on my minimal research, this seems to be due to the brain filing away memories during the night.

Last night, I had an amazing dream, that troubled me as soon as I woke up.

I was living in San Diego, and my parents had come to visit me. My dad arrived first and we were waiting for my mom. Walking through the city, we were headed to a restaurant to eat. As we were walking, a sight caught my eye.

A confectioner’s shop. In the window, a wide assortment of ice creams, cookies, and brownies. The concept? Fill a bowl with as much cookie crust, ice cream center, and other toppings as you could.

We went in.

I created a concoction with a cookie “crust” on the bottom, several flavors of ice cream in the middle, and a chocolate chip cookie “crust” to top it off.

Next I eyes the brownies. Should I add one as a topping? They looked so delicious.

I hesitated as I looked at my huge bowl. So full of sugar already. The guilt began to kick in. But, I’d already started down the path.

I added the brownie.

I ate the bowl, and felt so full I was almost sick.

But that couldn’t compare to the sickness I felt after eating all of that sugar. I have never felt so guilty, so self-loathing in my life. The momentary joy I felt at consuming all of those beautiful looking and delicious foods was completely killed by the ensuing guilt. I was convinced I’d become, literally, physically ill from this decision. And I don’t mean short term, minor illness. I mean long-term, I’ve destroyed my life illness.

Apparently my decisions over the weekend had affected me more than I had imagined.

I feel like I’m detoxing.

I guess. Because I’ve never actually detoxed from anything, in the traditional sense.

But I never imagined to struggle this much, this far out. I expected the trials to be smaller, more easily handled.

As I feel as though I’m gaining the upper hand, I need to remember that tipping the balance can have huge effects, even if I think it’s a small tip.

Today I’m back to my normal routine. It’s 10:01am and I am about to prepare breakfast. I’m hungrier than usual, but much less than yesterday. I’m returning to my equilibrium.

I hope that tonight I don’t dream of ice cream and cookies.

Life throws curve balls at you. You are beaten emotionally. You’re stressed. You’re exhausted. You want to move past this stage in your life to the better one you see in the future. And the last thing you want to do is worry about intermittent fasting, or macro counting, or anything else. You just want to eat when you’re hungry, instead of waiting until 10am. You just want to eat something sugary, or salty, or carb-rich, because you crave it and it’ll sooth your feelings.

You just want to not have to be strong for once.

Don’t let anyone who is partaking in a dietary hack fool you. Don’t let them tell you, “it’s liberating,” “I’m free,” “life is so much easier now.”

That’s true. Most of the time.

But not always.

Let me tell you how it really goes.

The first few weeks are shaky. Some days are fine. You’re not too hungry. You aren’t thinking too much about eating. Other days suck. You’re starving and it’s all you can do to beat the temptation to eat the stupid Chinese sweet that has been sitting in the pantry for the past two weeks.

Once you pass the first few weeks, it’s smooth sailing.

Or so you thought.

Until something horribly emotionally stressful comes along.

First, you don’t want to eat a thing. You remember the book you read, “The Mind Gut Connection.” You see the concepts of emotions and your gut at play in your own life. You are shocked at how suddenly, after detesting food and forcing yourself to eat because you need nourishment, some of the emotional stress is relieved and almost instantaneously you are starving.

You’re frustrated how for the next few days after that, you hate intermittent fasting. You’re HUNGRY. You want to eat. NOW. Your stomach is gurgling.

But, you push through. You fight past the hungry. You make your body stick to the ritual you’ve been putting it through for the past few weeks.

Why?

Because, when everything else is in turmoil, you need something to be consistent. Your health is your #1 priority. Your stress has already been lessening your health in ways you probably can’t even notice. You must continue eating healthfully. You must not cave to the craving for “comfort food.” Those are your emotions talking, not your body. Your body needs good, whole, nourishing food.

And so, you continue to be strong. You push on. And you release some of the pressure and frustration in the best way you know how: writing.