Natalia Schneider

I grew up in the Soviet Union. Difficult childhood. A lot of criticism about my body. Food was basic. Sweets practically didn't exist.

By 14, I left home and moved to New Zealand alone. No family, no friends. Pain I didn't know how to process. And for the first time in my life, food was everywhere.

It became my way of coping. My way of numbing. The only comfort I had. That's when my relationship with food broke.

For the next 13 years, the pattern followed me everywhere. New Zealand. America. Germany. Binge. Restrict. Binge. Restrict. Water fasts. Diet pills. Extreme exercise. I thought I had no willpower. I thought something was broken in me.

At 27, my body started falling apart. Skin problems. Hair loss. Gaining weight without overeating. Finally, one of the many doctors I'd seen checked my thyroid. Completely off. They put me on medication immediately.

No one asked what I was eating. No one asked how I was living. They just gave me pills.

“I'm not anti-medication. It saved me. But I wonder what might have been possible if someone had asked the right questions earlier.”

By my late 30s, I was running on 3–4 hours of sleep. Barely any cycle. Depressed. Exhausted. I went through 10 rounds of IVF. None worked. Every doctor wanted to dismiss me with pills. Not one asked about my lifestyle.

After my daughter was born, my liver enzymes were 10 times higher than normal. The doctor assumed I was drinking heavily. I hadn't had alcohol in two years.

For 10 years, every blood test showed elevated liver enzymes. I kept asking: could it be my thyroid? They all said no. I started developing fatty liver. That was my alarm bell.

I spent thousands on functional medicine testing and supplements. Practitioners put me on 20-plus supplements. Made me feel worse.