Every few months, I now practice fasting for twenty-four hours on a regular basis. Each time, I notice a familiar sense of recalibrating in the way my body feels and works. It isn’t about losing weight or chasing a trend; it’s a deliberate pause – a kind of biological housekeeping that reminds me how dependent we become on constant feeding. The first twelve hours of my fast are almost effortless, usually after dinner. The previous meal is still being utilized by the body, and glucose is still available for energy. After that, hunger begins to surface, but not suddenly; rather, it passes more like a wave. Something changes in the system by the 24th hour. The body moves from glucose metabolism to fat oxidation, and this change can be seen in reduced agitation and mental clarity. When the body is not digesting, there is a quietness to its behavior. For me, it’s not spiritual, but it’s physiological, and that’s reason enough to keep doing it once every few months. This science seems both straightforward and humble. Insulin levels drop during a fast, allowing stored fat to become the primary source of energy. Autophagy, in which cells eliminate damaged components, begins to accelerate. This, rather than being a detox, but rather a natural biological response to a lack of energy, is frequently cited as one of the most significant advantages of fasting. The body is made to go through such cycles of abundance and poverty.
The deprivation component is rarely accommodated in modern diets. Food is available on every corner, and the cultural expectation to eat three structured meals a day leaves little room for metabolic flexibility. Fasting relieves oxidative stress, resets insulin sensitivity, and gives the digestive system a break. Short fasts have been shown to improve metabolic health markers like glucose control and lipid levels, which are measurable benefits rather than abstract ones. I think about this when the day feels long during a fast—it’s not suffering, it’s recovery.
I always feel a distinct lightness after breaking a twenty-four-hour fast, not just in my stomach but throughout my body. The flavor of the subsequent meal is sharper and almost exaggerated. The body appears to be more responsive to signals, recognizing genuine hunger rather than ingesting regularly. Fasting every few months has evolved into a quiet way to assess how resilient my body is. It is not necessary to do it every week, and it is not sustainable. The body requires variation rather than extremes. In a year, a few well-timed fasts help to even out periods of overindulgence or mental exhaustion. Contrast the method’s simplicity with the complexity of the internal processes that respond to it by simply avoiding food. The heart rate slows down a little, the level of growth hormone goes up, and inflammatory markers usually go down. It is amazing that something so basic can still be used as a modern health treatment. I can’t separate the psychological aspect from the physical aspect. Fasting forces me to be aware of how much I rely on food to keep me going, distract me, and feel comfortable. Small snacks, tea, or coffee are usually consumed in the time between meals to establish a routine. My conditioned habits are made clear by the mental friction caused by their removal. After a few fasting cycles, it becomes clear that a lot of what we call hunger is just habit. The body can adapt faster than the mind. The clarity of thought by the second half of the day frequently astonishes me. Energy feels more evenly distributed when there is no food. There is less of the afternoon drowsiness that often follows a meal. Although I can’t feel molecules, I can feel the effect—cleaner focus and calmer mood—despite reading that ketone bodies fuel the brain more effectively while fasting. Balance, not euphoria, is what it is. I treat these fasts as maintenance rather than intervention when I schedule them. The ideal frequency seems to be every three to four months. It is sufficient to prompt adaptation without leading to depletion. I plan light daily tasks, drink plenty of water, and steer clear of strenuous exercise. There is no elaborate refeeding during the fast; instead, simple food in small portions is consumed. I’ve come to realize over time that intermittent fasting helps maintain a sense of bodily trust. After being left alone for some time, the body knows what to do. This feels refreshingly simple in a world full of supplements, metrics, and optimization trends. Fasting does not change my metabolism or extend my life, but it does remind me that the body thrives when it is occasionally challenged. It’s a reset button that doesn’t need equipment or expense—just time and patience.
