I’m reading One Spirit Medicine by Alberto Villoldo, and I’m trying, truly trying, to keep an open mind.
But I keep noticing something that I can’t unsee: every expert he cites is a man. Every doctor, every researcher, every authority on the gut, brain, or spirit. Men. The only woman he mentions? His wife, in passing, as someone who did a journey for him once when he was ill. No mention of what she found. No mention of her voice.
And that makes me angry.
Because this book claims to be about healing, about spirituality, gut wisdom, ancestral memory. Yet it’s built on a foundation that ignores or sidelines women’s wisdom entirely.
It’s the same pattern I’ve seen in so many spiritual and wellness spaces: male gurus, male teachers, male authors co-opting ancient traditions, especially those rooted in indigenous and feminine knowledge, while continuing to center male voices as the authorities.
Then he starts talking about how carbs are toxic. How grains are destroying us.
And listen, some of it is valid. Yes, the wheat we eat today is more processed and gluten-heavy than what our ancestors ate. Yes, food has changed. But the sweeping claim that carbs and grains are inherently harmful?
That erases entire cultures. Entire ancestral foodways. Entire bodies, like mine.
I tried the high-fat, low-carb “keto” diet years ago. I counted macros. I cut carbs. I lost weight (thirty pounds in a year). But I also lost my period. My hair. My glow. My sweat started to smell like onions, something no deodorant could fix. My hormones were shot.
And no doctor, no expert, no male wellness guru had warned me about that.
Because they weren’t studying women.
My body was trying to tell me something long before the science caught up.
She was saying: I need carbs. I need rhythm. I need nourishment, not just discipline.
I need balance, not control.
I reintroduced carbs slowly. And with them, I brought back life. Color. Softness. Cycles. I made myself a promise: never again will I silence my body’s wisdom in order to fit someone else’s idea of health.
So when I read Villoldo, or any man, talking about “bad foods” and “gut science” and ancient medicine, but only through the lens of male experts and westernized frames of authority, I start to shut down.
Because I know what’s missing:
Women’s voices. Women’s bodies. Women’s experiences.
We are not side notes.
We are not footnotes.
We are not support staff for the hero’s journey.
We are the soil. The seed. The ceremony.
And I don’t need a PhD to know what my body knows.
MOOSHOOflow 