Food sensitivities: from undiagnosed to finding balance

My experience with food sensitivities did not begin gradually. It started in 2009, seemingly suddenly and difficult to make sense of at the time. My daughter was six months old, and I developed insomnia.

Other symptoms began to appear quickly. They did not seem connected and they did not follow a pattern I could easily recognise. I had visual disturbances, aches in different parts of my body, bloating, intermittent digestive issues, skin rashes, and frequent mouth ulcers. At the time, it felt like a series of unrelated problems rather than something with a single underlying cause.

I went back and forth to my GP, looking for an explanation that would make sense of what was happening and ideally a cure. Blood tests came back normal every time. The diagnosis I was given was that I had a virus, which did not explain the range or persistence of the symptoms over many years. During that period, I was managing a young family, working, and trying to function as normally as possible while feeling consistently unwell.

When your body stops behaving in a way you recognise and there is no clear explanation for it, the instinct is to try to make sense of it in whatever way you can. You look for patterns and consider different possibilities.

The positive thinking trap

At one point I came across ideas that suggested the mind could influence physical health in a more direct way than I had previously considered. Without a proper diagnosis and no treatment, the idea that I could think myself back to health was appealing. It suggested that there was something I could do, that I was not entirely at the mercy of whatever was happening inside my body.

The difficulty was in the way this idea was framed. If your thoughts can improve your health, then it follows that they can also make it worse. That line of thinking gradually turns inward. I started paying close attention to my internal state, monitoring my reactions, trying to keep everything calm and positive in the belief that this would have a physical effect. When my symptoms did not improve, the conclusion was difficult to avoid. It felt as though I was somehow responsible for not getting better.

That kind of self-scrutiny becomes exhausting very quickly. It adds a second layer to what is already a physical problem, and it shifts your attention away from what might actually be going on. Looking back, the causes were far more concrete than anything to do with my mindset, but at the time it was not obvious.

Finally finding a diagnosis

It took five and a half years to get to a proper diagnosis. I eventually saw an allergy specialist, who quickly raised food intolerances as a possibility. An elimination diet confirmed that I was not reacting to one or two things, but to almost everything. The relief was immense. There was a diagnosis, I was not imagining it, and this was at least somewhat within my control.

The treatment I was offered helped, but it also came with its own limitations. It stabilised things enough that I could sleep again, which made an immediate difference, but it did not restore normality. My diet became highly restricted, limited to around 40 types of food and drink, which brought its own challenges.

The underlying cause was not something I was given as part of that process. I was told that I would likely be managing these restrictions long term, without a clear explanation of why they had developed in the first place.

Eventually it became clear that my microbiome had been significantly affected, through a combination of diet and repeated courses of antibiotics. I had developed leaky gut, which led to chronic inflammation and explained the range of symptoms I had experienced. It was a relief to understand what had been going on inside my body. At the same time, I could see how certain patterns in my own life may have contributed to it, and I had to be careful not to slip into self-blame.

Slow improvements

Improvements took time and they were gradual to the point of being almost unnoticeable. There was no single moment where I felt healed or able to eat most foods again. It was more a matter of small differences accumulating over time. A slightly better week, a symptom that was less intense than it had been before, periods where I felt more like myself.

Because of that, it took a long time to recognise that something had changed quite significantly. It is easy to focus on what is still not working and miss the incremental improvements that are happening.

Alongside those physical changes, there was a shift in how I understood what my body was doing. I stopped seeing it as something that had failed and started to see it as something that was trying to recover and regain balance.

How I look after my body today

The way I approach things now is not rigid and it is not based on trying to control every variable. I try to eat in a way that supports my gut, which means including a reasonable variety of vegetables and fruit, along with foods that I know make a difference such as kefir, nuts, seeds, and supplements. These are not rules that I follow out of obligation, they are choices based on experience.

At the same time, I do not aim for complete consistency. I still eat chocolate and cake, and there are days when convenience matters more than optimisation. When life gets busy, I might have a sandwich or a ready-made soup.

The difference is not in trying to do everything perfectly, but in having a clearer sense of what helps and what does not. That makes it easier to make decisions without overthinking them. It feels less like managing a problem and more like maintaining something that needs a certain level of attention to function well.

The relationship I have with my body now is different from the one I had before I became unwell. It is not automatic in the way it once was, and I need to be more deliberate in how I eat and live than before.

I understand more clearly what my body needs and what the consequences are when I ignore that. That understanding does not come with a sense of restriction, but with a recognition that there is a balance to maintain.

When I think back to that earlier period, what stands out is not just the symptoms, but how long it took to piece together an explanation that actually made sense.

There is no self-blame attached to it anymore. Just the recognition that this is the body I live in, and that looking after it makes a difference. 

Living with food sensitivities often means reorganising your life around food, planning, adjusting, and trying to stay one step ahead. If you’re trying to make sense of what’s triggering your symptoms, having everything in one place can make it feel more manageable. The Food Sensitivities Support System from Nurture & Thrive is designed to help you track symptoms, see patterns, and reduce the constant second-guessing.

Explore it here: The Food Sensitivities Support System

About the Author
Nurture & Thrive is written from lived experience of managing multiple food sensitivities over more than 15 years. The content reflects personal experience of navigating symptoms, diagnosis, and recovery, and is focused on the practical and emotional realities of living with it day to day.