On wellness content, taking the heat, and turning 50

I was sweating and crying by the end of this one.

Dearest Reader,

I’m writing because I’m feeling sensitive, hurt, and a little bit angry (though the anger is mostly a cover; the hurt runs much deeper). This might come out disheveled—more a collection of thoughts and feelings than a polished essay or argument. Still, it relates to this newsletter and feels important to share.

Deep inhale. Deep exhale. I’m already sweating.

Lately, I’ve noticed more and more writers vilifying holistic health content. As a Chinese Medicine doctor since 2012 and someone who writes about wellness, I can’t help but wonder if I’m one of “those people” being called out.

Most of the time, I take note of the vitriol and move on. Over the past decade as a licensed healthcare professional, I’ve watched with relief as attitudes toward traditional, complementary, and so-called alternative healing modalities have shifted. Gradually, they’ve become more accepted in North America—finally catching up with other parts of the world.

Despite this progress, bias, skepticism, and America-centrism not only persist but have recently seen a resurgence. Coming to expect this, I’ve gotten pretty good at ignoring those who dismiss traditional medicines and cling to the myopic, xenophobic, potentially racist, ridiculously arrogant belief that only Western, allopathic medicine holds value. Hell, if I hadn’t found my way to traditional medicines some thirty years ago—when in a health crisis and desperate—I might still be a skeptic myself.

But here’s where it stings: I struggle to stand tall in my professional capacity without feeling like I’m twelve years old again, convinced I’ve done something wrong, when the criticism and condemnation come from someone I otherwise respect and even admire. In those moments, when I’m left wondering, Oh my god, are they talking about me?, it no longer matters how many years I’ve devoted to learning or how much I’ve seen holistic medicine and wellness practices help me, my clients, and so many others. Staring at the screen, confronted with fresh hot takes and sweeping assumptions, heat rises to my face and nervous sweat pools under my arms. I feel hurt, ashamed, and embarrassed.

Why does someone with no formal medical training (who might not even be talking about ME specifically) make me want to slam my laptop shut and run away from the internet? It has little to do with reality and everything to do with deep-rooted patterns since childhood: a constant hum of amorphous guilt and fear of getting in trouble without a clear cause, the feeling of never being good enough no matter how hard I try, and an unrelenting thirst for people not just to accept me, but to genuinely like me.

But, even though these moments make me feel like I’m right back in grade school, I refuse to make myself smaller or hide what my teachers, ancient lineages, and a decade of professional practice have taught me. So, please allow me a few thoughts on wellness content, from someone deeply engaged in creating it.

Image of me by Rachael Shrum

In defense of (some) wellness content

Of course I know there’s unhelpful wellness content out there—just as there’s unhelpful content about everything. (Welcome to the internet, glad you could make it!) But to anyone jumping on the anti-wellness bandwagon or nodding along to that sentiment, I want to say this: Some wellness content comes from people who’ve devoted years or decades of their lives to studying, training, and helping others. For me, on the receiving end, that content has been not just transformative but possibly life-saving.

As long as we stay within the scope of our knowledge and training and show up with integrity, I see nothing wrong with making a living sharing wellness content online. This is true even if some of it, to some people, feels “aspirational.” Honestly, I love aspirational content when it’s conveyed with integrity and aligns with my values; I find it deeply helpful and it’s changed my trajectory. While such content won’t resonate with everyone or be the “solution” for all situations, for others, it offers hope or expands their sense of what’s possible. This is the content I’m most excited to share because I’ve seen firsthand how it helps people make supportive changes, feel better, and find true relief.

Importantly, I know that not everyone is on the same chapter. What I needed and sought out ten years ago—sobriety content, healthy eating tips, lifestyle guidance—isn’t what I most need today. But many people do need that content because it meets them where they are now. As I’ve aged, encountered new challenges, gone through transitions, and shifted my priorities and preferences, the content that supports me most (and what I feel most called to share) keeps changing. This is natural, but it also shows that just because something isn’t a fit for me (or my critics!) doesn’t mean it’s not helping others.

Then there’s the issue of access.

Right now, I’m fortunate to have the financial resources to receive frequent, in-person, holistic healthcare—a blessing I’ve only had twice in my life: since moving to Thailand this past summer, and in my twenties, when I lived here before. Conversely, while living in Canada and the United States, I couldn’t afford holistic care—or optional lab tests, practitioners, or doctors. In Canada, where basic Western healthcare is technically free, I’m still on a years-long waitlist for a family physician. Over the decades, in the absence of adequate medical access (holistic or allopathic), reading and learning about wellness online was vital for helping me recover from eating disorders, resolve health conditions, and get and stay sober.

Making my health a priority isn’t selfish, and it’s not narcissistic. When I nurture myself—when I care for my mental and physical well-being as I’m able, given my desire, capacity, and the resources available to me—I’m better positioned to show up for others and the causes I care about.

By sharing wellness content online, my aspiration is not only to make a meaningful living aligned with my values, but to help others reach this place too.

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Turning 50

To be completely honest, part of my sensitivity around “purpose” and “livelihood” stems from turning 50 next week. I loved my forties and am not ready to leave them behind. After quitting alcohol at 44, I reached a whole new level of inner knowing and confidence, deepened my personal practice, and embraced a more present, more awake way of being. For maybe the first time since childhood, I felt secure in who I was and at home in my body.

And yet, sitting on the precipice of this next decade, I can’t help but think about how little savings and status I’ve accumulated despite having two graduate degrees, working my heart out, and living a minimalist lifestyle. In a culture where we’re shown—if not outright told—that money’s what matters, I find myself questioning whether my work in the world is “enough” or “successful.” Logically, I can absolutely make the case that it is! But logic rarely wins out over beliefs and feelings—even when I know those beliefs and feelings don’t tell the full story.

So, as I approach my 50th and someone I’ve long admired seems to be taking swings in my direction online, here’s what I’m telling myself (in case you, too, feel attacked and need this reminder):

First off, they don’t even know you! Plus, in the internet seas we swim in, it’s normal to have doubts about “success” and “purpose.” You’re not alone, and your presence in the world—how you connect with others and live in accordance with your values—is what truly matters. No one writing online, no matter how much you respect, admire, or even adore them, can take that away from you. And there’s no way in hell you should see them as the arbiter of whether you share about health or recovery.

Lastly, I want to let you in on a realization that’s been helping me move through this with more equanimity and a little less anger:

I’ve noticed that when I’m outraged or ranting, my thoughts or words often target an idea, construct, persona, assumption, or belief magnified by the internet—something that, while it might exist in some form in daily life, rarely feels as dominant or all-consuming when I’m offline. The moment I shift my focus to a specific person—real or imagined—my instinctual response is one of connection and heart-sourced compassion. My breathing comes easier, my racing heart slows, I see them as an entire person with their own history, family, and deep-held beliefs.

When I look at the thing as an abstract whole—and it is a thing, not a person—I tend towards fear and catastrophizing, anger and outrage. But if I zoom in and picture a single individual, softening and listening rise to the surface. Through this lens, I can also (and effortlessly) make room for more than one truth, belief, and perspective.

These two focal points feel worlds apart: One leaves me fixated, angry, and craving more anger. The other brings me in touch with profound grief, yet also grounds me in peace, embodiment, and a deep sense of connection.

So, from this more tender, human-focused, connected place, I want to move forward. This is the place from which I want to act in the world, stand in integrity, and offer my gifts.

I also want to remember my younger self—at 20, 30, or 40—and how different I was in some ways. I might’ve even held beliefs or harbored hostility similar to what’s being aimed at me now. This helps me to soften, broaden my perspective, and offer more grace to all of us. After all, we’re only human. As humans, we’re still figuring self and life out.

One really great part about turning 50? I feel myself maturing in a way I didn’t expect. I’m able to access this human-first lens far more quickly and internalize it far more fully than I could even five years ago. While it might surprise them to hear this, I actually picture my online critics and others who hold different views from mine as part of my meditation each evening. Not in a patronizing, spiritual-bypassing, airy-fairy kind of way. More like I just bring them to mind, get genuinely curious, and think about how, as humans, we all experience the same basic things: fear, anger, sadness, joy. A deep longing to be known, cared for, and safe—and to protect and take care of others. Picturing them, letting myself wonder what they might be feeling, my heart opens. I set righteousness and rebuttals aside. I’m flooded with tenderness.

Okay, now I’m not just sweating but crying.

Honestly, the tears have been flowing a lot lately. I can’t shake the feeling that life has gone by terribly fast. I’m simply not ready for it to be over.

And of course, it’s not over! But for all of us humans, life is so short, and there’s so little time. Especially in online spaces, where we don’t have immediate access to one another’s humanity, my deepest wish is that we tread more gently, offer each other more generosity of spirit, and remember our hearts and our sameness. Maybe not all of the time, but a whole lot more often.

With love,
Dana

I’m grateful you’re here. I invite you to share.

In case you’re new to this newsletter, welcome! Just a quick note: I ask that everyone in this space please refrain from offering unsolicited advice, spreading hate and division, or engaging in political debate and commentary.

There are plenty of other places to do that online—I lovingly challenge all of us (self included) to try something different.

Before you go, please tap the little ♡. The more people who discover and support this newsletter, the more time I can devote to creating it.