Who’s Really Bugging You?Biodecoding, Boundaries & the Art of Saying No

🌿 The Invisible Feasters

There are two kinds of parasites in life: the microscopic ones your doctor can’t find, and the human ones who somehow always know when you’ve been paid.

Both live off your energy — one feasts on your iron, the other on your patience.

When I first began studying Biodecoding, I expected disease to be clinical and logical. Yet what I found felt almost poetic: the body staging small tragedies to express the emotions we’d rather ignore.

Parasites, it turns out, are not random guests. They’re messengers — cheeky, persistent little metaphors reminding us where our boundaries have gone mouldy.

Our biology, in its infinite mischief, never acts against us. It acts for us — to make visible the conflicts we refuse to name. The worms, the microbes, the itches and upsets are simply the body’s way of saying,✨ “Darling, you’ve let someone (or something) nibble at your peace again.”

👶 Children, Cleanliness and Control

Let’s start with children — the purest mirrors of our madness.

If you’ve ever dealt with recurring worms in your child, you know the mix of horror and guilt that follows.“ But I clean everything!” mothers cry — as if Dettol could disinfect emotional tension. 😅

In Biodecoding, these tiny guests often show up when a child feels cornered by rules — the pressure to be good, tidy, quiet, perfect. The constant choreography of “say thank you,” “sit still,” “don’t touch that.”

The worms appear as a biological protest — a wriggly little revolution whispering,💬 “Let me be real, even if I’m messy.”

Threadworms are masters of rebellion. They tend to visit children who live under constant correction — wash better, clean faster, keep your room neat. Their role is poetic: they “clean” what’s already too clean, finishing a job that was never emotional to begin with. The child’s body, in its exquisite irony, fulfils the mother’s command — must be cleaner — until both sides are exhausted.

Lice, on the other hand, are creatures of longing. They often appear when a child feels starved for gentle touch, affection or attention. In nature, primates show care by grooming and picking each other’s fur — it’s intimacy disguised as hygiene. Lice, then, bring people together by force: someone finally touches the child’s head, looks closer, tends to them.

I remember being around ten or eleven when lice became my unwanted companions. It wasn’t dirt — it was loneliness. The ritual of combing and washing was the only time someone’s hands lingered in my hair. When the infestation wouldn’t stop, the solution was simple: cut it all off.✂️ Short hair, fewer lice… and one more quiet message from life — “Better be easy to manage.”

Children’s intestines, skin and scalps all learn about territory — who’s allowed close, who’s not. When they can’t mark their own space, the body does it for them. Hence the itching, the fidgeting, the unspoken plea for autonomy.

🪞 Ask yourself (or rather, your inner parent):– Do I let my child explore, or do I supervise their every breath?– Does my approval depend on their behaviour?– Is my love unconditional, or is it perfectly ironed?

Because sometimes, the parasite isn’t in the gut or the hair. It’s in the family script.

🦠 Microbes with Personality

I’ve grown rather fond of microbes. They’re like characters from a Victorian novel — dramatic, loyal, and very specific in their emotional appetites. Each species seems to feed on a different human mood.

Fungi are the melancholics of the microbial world — thriving in damp corners of sorrow.They appear when grief lingers too long, when we refuse to let go of what has already decomposed.A simple ritual can often shift their hold: write the goodbye you never said, and let the paper burn.🕯️ Ashes are elegant closure.

Bacteria, on the other hand, are the fiery revolutionaries. They bloom where anger festers unspoken — the fights we rehearse in our heads but never voice aloud.They love suppressed outrage, the kind served with a polite smile at Sunday lunch.A single honest “no” can starve them faster than any antibiotic.

And viruses — oh, they’re the gossips. They adore shame, especially the flavour of “I shouldn’t have” or “What will they think?” They thrive on fear of judgement, multiplying in silence and secrecy. The cure? ☀️ Exposure. Speak it. Laugh at it. Shame, like a vampire, hates daylight.

These aren’t superstitions. They’re patterns — elegant, predictable, almost musical. Our microbes simply dance to whatever tune our emotions hum. 🎵

🧍 Adults and Emotional Parasites

Of course, adults host a more sophisticated fauna. We’ve traded sandpit squabbles for office politics, marriage diplomacy, and the subtle art of being drained politely.

You know the type:– The friend who “just needs a chat” and leaves you emotionally anaemic.– The colleague who delegates like it’s a sport.– The parent who still expects you to orbit their moods.– Or the lover who mistakes devotion for servitude.

In Biodecoding, persistent parasitic issues often mirror unspoken dynamics of domination and guilt. Somewhere, we’ve agreed — unconsciously — to feed someone else’s survival at the cost of our own vitality. The body, in its honesty, refuses to keep quiet about it.

Sometimes, it speaks through symbols as old as the earth itself:

🐍 Tapeworms tend to show up in stories of dominance — the invisible contract of obedience. Usually, a demanding boss, a critical partner, or a parent whose approval feels like currency. The long, segmented body of the parasite even mirrors the feeling of being pulled along, carriage by carriage, by someone else’s agenda.

🌬️ Roundworms, with their restless migration through the lungs and gut, echo anxiety born of unsafe homes — families steeped in shouting, tension, or silence heavy enough to choke. They whisper of children who grew up holding their breath, now adults who still do.

💧 Flukes, especially those linked with the liver, are about helplessness — the sense of being trapped in someone else’s will, unable to move freely or choose one’s path. They feed not on flesh, but on surrender.

🌪️ Giardia (lamblias), those erratic wanderers, so often mirror relationships with manipulative mothers or partners — affection one day, withdrawal the next.

They dance through the gut exactly as emotional instability moves through a relationship: here, gone, back again.

When worms return despite the herbs, diets and detoxes, I always ask:💬 “Who’s really feeding off you?”

Because until that answer is felt, not merely understood, the medicine only trims the symptom — never the story.

🍋 The Real Detox

Everyone loves a cleanse. We’ll juice, fast, sweat, purge — anything to feel lighter. 🥒But rarely do we detox from what truly consumes us: expectations, guilt, unspoken anger, the need to be liked.

The real parasites don’t live in our intestines; they live in our calendars and conversations. They sip our life force politely, through words like “Could you just…” or “I need you to be there.” We oblige, smiling, while something inside mutters: again?

In Biodecoding, this quiet exhaustion is the modern epidemic — chronic over-giving disguised as virtue. Our bodies, faithful narrators that they are, eventually stage the protest. Fatigue, bloating, rashes, flare-ups… all tiny rebellion notes saying:🪞 You’ve gone too far from yourself again.

Sometimes I see it in clients who can’t stop helping everyone. Others who never ask for help because “someone has it worse.” The body, however, refuses martyrdom. It knows balance, not politeness.

When they finally set a boundary — one clear no — their symptoms often ease faster than any supplement ever could. Biology adores truth.

So here’s a small practice, elegant in its simplicity:

1️⃣ Write a list of every person, task, or idea that drains you.

2️⃣ Circle the one that hurts most to admit.

3️⃣ Start there.

That’s where the worm lives.

🌸 Final Reflection

I often say: healing isn’t about killing the bug — it’s about hearing it.

Parasites, microbes, even our most inconvenient symptoms, all belong to the same orchestra of survival. They don’t lie; they perform. 🎻

When my own body once spoke through scalp and skin, I learned that no amount of shampoo could wash away loneliness. Only presence could. Only honesty — and a little irreverence.

The beauty of Biodecoding is its brutal compassion. It doesn’t flatter, it doesn’t sugarcoat. It invites you to see your biology not as an enemy, but as a poet with poor social skills — a creature that would rather itch, ache, or crawl than let you keep pretending.

So perhaps, before you reach for the next detox, anti-parasite pill, or self-help checklist, pause. Ask: Who’s really bugging me?

And be ready for an uncomfortable answer.

Because once you face it, you’ll find that the real cleansing doesn’t happen in your gut —✨ it happens in your relationships, in your calendar, in the mirror.

And maybe, just maybe, the next time life itches, you’ll scratch differently — not in panic, but in recognition.

💫 Real healing isn’t sterile. It’s intimate, honest, sometimes messy. And perhaps, beneath all our soaps, serums, and supplements, the only true hygiene is clarity.

Disclaimer: This information is for educational purposes only and should not be considered medical advice. Please consult with a qualified healthcare professional for any health concerns.