The Hidden Message at the Heart of RFK Jr.’s MAHA Revolution: “It’s on you now!”

How we realized Human Design was the ultimate tool for personal health decisions

Simon Esler

and

Amanda O'Donovan

Mar 11, 2025

This piece is co-authored by my love, and the warrior mom to my two boys, Amanda O’Donovan. Check her glorious Substack out over at The Individual Path.

The RFK Jr. Reckoning: My Wake-Up Call

When Robert F. Kennedy Jr. stormed into HHS on February 13, 2025, it wasn’t just a policy shift—it was a jolt I couldn’t ignore. The war on human health was finally shifting… but was it ending?

For over a decade, I’ve fought for health freedom outside the Western medical model, losing friends over vaccine debates, straining ties by questioning fluoride. So when RFK Jr. fired agency heads, paused vaccine contracts, and vowed to rip fluoride out of drinking water by March 9, I felt a rush—vindication for every argument I’d bled for. But then it hit me: gloating “I was right” isn’t the win here. It’s a trap. RFK Jr.’s flamethrower isn’t just torching a rotten system—it’s demanding we stop outsourcing our health, our choices, our lives.

And as I reflect, that’s a harder process than I expected.

I used to think “trust the experts” was the enemy—a lie I’d dodged. I’d scoff at the FDA’s junk, the CDC’s scripts, figuring I’d cracked the code. All the while, I had been giving my authority to Alternative health practitioners and advice.

I used to be a vegan warrior, armed with memes and a TCM doc who turned my health around—energy soaring, smug in my ‘right’ way. I’d preach it to anyone. Then that same doc botched my kid’s health crisis, missing signs I’d ignored under her spell, landing us in chaos. RFK Jr.’s war says no one’s saving us—not even the alt heroes. It’s on me now. (I am still vegan to this day and enjoying the benefits, but it is no longer about anyone but me.)

Old me would have said everyone needs to go vegan and get a TCM doctor!

“If you find the right alternative expert, and lifestyle fad, it will save you!”

Perfect example: Kennedy isn’t cutting vaccines. He’s demanding transparency and evidence. Why? So you can take on the responsibility to choose for yourself.

RFK Jr.’s war says it’s not about new saviours or experts. It’s on me now.

Engineered to Obey

RFK Jr.’s wildest swing is that this isn’t just broken—it’s a psy-op to break us. COVID proved it: propaganda turned doctors into drones, pushing pills and jabs that hurt people I know and love.

I’ve personally met mothers in those vaccine debates—kids wrecked by shots, development regressing, sudden autism—and doctors would sneer, “Reject what you’ve seen, trust us.” Like some haunted Nike ad—‘Just Do It,’ hollow-eyed, peddling dogma over truth.

So it means a lot to me to see RFK Jr. reviewing vaccine schedules, banning neurotoxins like fluoride, not to tweak the machine but to expose its intent—keep us sick, dependent, dying.

But here’s the kicker: I felt that betrayal years ago, trusting that same TCM doc who completely mismanaged our child’s health crisis.

So it’s not just the toxins and corrupt systems—it’s the mind game. Generations of us were engineered to obey, not question. COVID turned doctors into weapons of that war, ideologically captured to see threats where there were none. RFK Jr.’s chaos is ripping that veil off, but the alternative health crowd’s no better—shaming you off seed oils or pushing urine drinking like it’s gospel. Same game, new dogma. His victories won’t kill the groupthink—they’ll just shift it.

The High-Stakes Struggle

This is where it cuts deep. RFK Jr.’s MAHA revolution is a reminder, not that I was right, but that even in alternative health spaces I was sleepwalking, outsourcing my gut to gurus and influencers alike.

And it’s getting louder—AI corralling us with nudges and endless information, “experts” multiplying inside of algorithms, the line between truth and manipulation blurring. Who do I trust when it’s my kids’ lives on the line?

RFK’s demolition doesn’t make it easier—it makes it harder.

As the systems fall, the pressure’s on me now, and discernment’s no quick fix. It’s a slog—flailing through fads, screwing up, deconditioning years of “they know best.” I’ve chased trends, ditched them, felt the weight of my mortality—and it sucks. But it’s modern survival.

Setting the Stage

RFK Jr.’s arc isn’t about the hype—it’s the wake-up. Health freedom’s here, a chance we can’t waste, but only if we don’t swap one crutch for another. COVID showed doctors can be pawns in a psychological war—misleading us towards death while believing they are helping. But my own experience showed me the same can happen with health gurus.

Without inner authority, I’m prey to that chaos, old or new.

So I found a lifeline: Human Design. It’s not a fad—it’s a map. It stopped me from projecting my own experiences with health and wellness onto my children, and showed me a different way. It showed me that they need to be guided into their own inner authority with crucial decisions like what to eat and when, or which remedies are correct for them. It laid bare how unique each person’s relationship with health and sickness really is.

It showed me that even the most impactful health fads and newest alternative remedies can’t touch the power of the individual path.

It’s how I’m clawing back my authority and teaching my kids to do the same—and Amanda’s story shows why that fight matters. We wrote this together because you need this too.

You NEED a system to develop your inner authority. We all do.

- Simon

The High-Stakes Wake-Up Call

Simon’s right. RFK Jr. isn’t just exposing corruption in the system—he’s exposing how deeply we’ve been trained to outsource our inner authority. To hand over our health, our discernment, our very instincts to professionals who may or may not have our best interest in mind. And when you’ve been conditioned to do that your whole life, it can take a painful wake-up call to see just how easily your own authority can slip through your fingers.

I know, because it happened to me.

When the ground shifted beneath me

November 27, 2021:

It started with a persistent cough that wouldn’t let up. Three weeks of it, until one morning I coughed so hard that my body spasmed, sending searing pain down my right hip and glute. In an instant, I collapsed to the floor. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t stand, couldn’t get to my kids. Simon arrived and helped me while I tried everything I knew to ease it. To no avail. The pain intensified and had no choice but to call an ambulance.

At the hospital, the chaos was palpable. It was mid-pandemic, and the atmosphere was steeped in fear. I was wheeled into a room, separated from others only by a thin curtain, listening to the sounds of people moaning, crying, and gasping around me. I was in excruciating pain, but the energy of the place almost overshadowed it.

Thankfully I had come (somewhat) prepared. I knew I’d need support in that environment — and I knew my body would respond to scent. As I lied there on the gurney lost in time and space, I reached for my essential oils. Cedarwood for grounding amidst the chaos and fear. Adaptiv for keeping my mind from spiraling in mental anxiety. Neroli for the shock and overwhelm. Smelling them wasn’t just soothing — it was like tiny threads tethering me back to myself, to my body’s own knowing. Even as the environment tried to pull me under, I could still feel something steady within me.

And yet, despite that inner anchor, I could feel my authority slipping between my fingers. And I hated it.

Nurses tried to administer a COVID test, and when I declined, I found myself having to physically fend off multiple attempts to force the swab up my nose. I was exhausted. Threatened with assault charges if I swatted them away one more time. So I accepted it. Jamming that swab so far up my nose I jerked away, my authority felt farther and farther away.

A nurse eventually asked about injecting me with muscle relaxants, I agreed, but it didn’t work, so then handed me OxyContin, which barely took the edge off. Hours later, I was discharged in a wheelchair—still unable to walk—and sent home in a cab. My spine was fine and healthy. I had no answers. Just a broken body and a rattled spirit.

Simon was there to carry me into the house when I arrived. I spent the next few days unable to walk to the washroom without help. My mom showed up with a handheld ultrasound machine, a TENS machine, a walker, food, and the most vital thing—her love. My sister stepped in to help with the kids and more love. I did everything I could to suppress the cough so my body could catch a break. But as I suppressed the cough, I began suppressing the illness itself.

And then my health took a nosedive.

The battle between my knowing and their narrative

I grew weaker by the day—heart racing, shortness of breath, pure exhaustion. By December 13, I was back in the ER, pale, sweating, and terrified. My blood pressure was high—something I had never experienced before. I knew something was still wrong, but I was so depleted I could barely advocate for myself. They hooked me up to a saline IV, which immediately gave me some relief, but when it came time for answers, the situation took a strange turn.

The doctor examined me, ran an ECG, and told me I had pericarditis—an inflammation of the lining of the heart. Without hesitation, he said it was due to having had COVID (even though the tests were negative) and handed me a prescription for medication that cost $80 out of pocket. I was confused but also desperate. So I filled it.

A few days later, I saw a cardiologist. He asked if I had been vaccinated, and when I said no, his response stunned me. He said, “Interesting, because I’ve been seeing pericarditis in people who received the Pfizer vaccine—not the unvaccinated.” My jaw dropped. I realized, in that moment, how quickly the ER doctor’s diagnosis had been shaped by the prevailing narrative of the time. The cardiologist told me my heart was strong, there was no pericarditis, and to get off the medication immediately.

I was flooded with emotions. Relief. Anger. Betrayal.

But not by the system. Not by the doctors.

(Even though they were quite awful)

By myself.

Because the moment I first went to the ER and they didn’t check my lungs—I had felt a deep inner knowing that they should. I had an urge to advocate, to speak up, to ask. But I didn’t. I shoved it down in a millisecond. I overrode myself. Again.

And that was the real betrayal.

The next day, I dragged myself back to the ER. This time, I didn’t stay silent. I demanded a chest X-ray. And wouldn’t you know—it wasn’t my heart. It was bacterial pneumonia, plain and simple. A round of antibiotics later, my body finally began to recover. By Christmas Eve, I was taking short walks again. But my inner world was never the same.

What Human Design Showed Me

In the days that followed, my mind spun. How did I let myself get dragged through weeks of misdiagnoses, unnecessary medication, and declining health—when I knew something wasn’t right all along? Why did I keep deferring my authority to them?

So I reflected on my Design.

I have an undefined Solar Plexus, which means I’m highly susceptible to emotional nervousness, especially in high-pressure situations. Sitting in that fear-soaked ER, surrounded by panicked nurses and an overburdened system, my body didn’t just absorb the chaos—it took on the emotional intensity of those around me. Instead of advocating for myself, I went into emotional exhaustion mode. I avoided confrontation, stayed quiet, and just let the system handle me. It felt easier than pushing back.

But it wasn’t just my Solar Plexus that crumbled under pressure. I also have a completely open Ajna, which means I’m highly vulnerable to absorbing mental pressure from others. In that ER room, the doctor’s unshakable certainty that I had pericarditis hit me like a tidal wave. My mind spun. What if he’s right? What if I’m wrong? I wasn’t even sure if COVID was real, yet there I was. I absorbed his mental conviction as my own, second-guessing everything I had felt in my body.

That’s the possibility of an open Ajna. In the presence of someone with strong, certain opinions, you can quickly lose your grip on your own knowing—and that’s exactly what happened to me.

But here’s the thing: This isn’t just my story. This is all of us.

We’ve been trained—since birth—to override our inner authority. To hand it to professionals, corporations, and systems that may not have our best interests at heart. To assume they know better. And the very real danger of that conditioning is what RFK Jr. is exposing right now: a world designed to keep us sick, compliant, and disempowered.

But here’s where Human Design saved me.

It didn’t just help me understand my body—it helped me understand my vulnerability to absorbing external influences. It showed me how I might crumble under strong emotional and mental intensity and how I can consciously disrupt that pattern moving forward. It gave me a map to rebuild my ability to stand firm in my own knowing. A map to reclaiming my authority in real time.

And listen, I’m not perfect at it. There’s so much life to live. I can’t guarantee I won’t let my authority slip again. But here’s what I do know: Every time I override myself, it becomes easier to catch it. Every time I advocate for myself, my body responds faster. Every time I tune out the noise of “experts” and tune in to my own guidance, my life aligns.

This is the real work of deconditioning. It’s not about never making mistakes—it’s about being able to see the patterns that pull you out of your own knowing and discovering the way you return back to yourself. Over and over again.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:

The system doesn’t just want your health. It wants your authority.

Human Design is how you take it back.