What made it harder was that I was trying. Low-carb, daily walks, skipping meals, supplements that sounded promising — nothing worked the way it used to.
The scale barely moved, belly fat stayed, joints still hurt, and energy disappeared halfway through the day.
One night, standing in my kitchen rubbing my lower back and staring at a sink full of dishes, I remember thinking, “Is this just how life feels now?”
I stopped volunteering for neighborhood walks.
Even grocery shopping felt like a task I had to “prepare” for.
It wasn’t laziness or lack of effort. It was the quiet sadness of trying hard and feeling like my body had stopped responding.
Months later, at a family gathering, my sister pulled me aside and said, “Something’s different. What did you do?”
That question stopped me, because for the first time in years mornings felt easier, movement didn’t hurt the same way, and my clothes fit differently.
The number on the scale changed later — but it wasn’t the first thing that shifted.
What surprised me most was how it started.
Not with a diet, exercise, or willpower, but with a small orange peel habit I almost laughed at.
Something quietly used in parts of Spain, passed down for generations.
No gym, no food rules, no suffering — just a simple daily ritual using something most people throw away.