I am frequently asked about my own personal wellness. I suspect it is a side effect of writing about the wellness-industrial complex.

I am asked by reporters. On podcasts. At meetings. On social media.

I must have a wellness strategy! There can be no dodging the question. (People are persistent when it comes to wellness).

It is apparently a thoroughly unsatisfying answer when I reply that wellness is without definition. I’m a doctor who writes about the industry. I read books on the subject. I’ve even attended a conference. I understand preventative medicine, but wellness — what does that even mean?

Wellness, in its current form, makes me think of Alice and the Cheshire Cat from “Alice in Wonderland.” When Alice asked the Cheshire Cat what road she should take he asked her where she was headed. When she didn’t know he replied, “It really doesn’t matter, does it?”

Without a medical definition, wellness cannot be applied to health. There are no validated wellness scales or wellness meters (despite what some people try to sell you at wellness conferences) to measure progress.

Really. If you don’t know where you are going, how can you get there?

Without definitions and measurable outcomes, ideas or products can change to suit the person selling them, never mind the basic inability to communicate about progress. Imagine if there were no precise way to diagnose cervical cancer, let alone talk about it? Would you accept your doctor using the terminology “cervical toxin screening” instead of “cervical cancer screening”?

The imprecision of wellness helps no one hoping to feel better or live longer.

The wellness-industrial complex also uses problematic terminology, especially for women who are the prime targets. Clean. Natural. Pure. To me, these words sound like a dog whistle for the patriarchy. They could easily be advertising for America’s Next Virgin Bride, not a pathway to health.

For centuries women have been told they are impure or dirty if they have sex before marriage. That a vagina gets used while a penis apparently gets refreshed. Women are shamed and ostracized during their menstrual cycles. They are told to clean their vaginas, or at least the need to is implied despite the fact that the vagina is a finely tuned evolutionary marvel that requires no cleaning rituals.

And yes, women can perpetuate the words of the patriarchy. Sometimes because these words are a pathway to profit, but other times because the message has been so ingrained that repetition has bred belief.

When I explain these reasons for my lack of a wellness practice they are ignored and the follow up question is always, “OKy, sure, but what do you do for wellness?”

Sigh.

I have decided if I can’t exterminate the term wellness, I am going to define it so then I can write and speak about it. No purity — — —terminology allowed.

What do you, Dr. Gunter, do for wellness?

Thank you so much for asking! Such a great question. I like solid definitions as imprecision is typically not a good idea when we are talking about what we do with and put in our bodies. I also never use terms that feel like weapons of the patriarchy, so please don’t ask me about pure, natural and clean.

With that in mind I’d like to start with my definition of wellness: things or activities to make me healthier, meaning live longer with less pain and medical complications, and things that make me happy and do not exact too much of a toll health-wise.

— Fiber. This is my No. 1 wellness practice. I am a fiber fan. Perhaps even an acolyte. Fiber prevents constipation (a source of much unhappiness and a major cause of hemorrhoids, another destroyer of happiness). It also lowers the risk of heart disease and diabetes. Fiber is also a prebiotic. It resists breakdown and absorption in the stomach and upper gastrointestinal tract, so is can be fermented by bacteria lower down in the gut. This helps to stimulate the growth of good gut bacteria. Instead of probiotics, which studies are telling us are a bit of a bust, I focus on fiber.

— Studies seem pretty consistent about another health miracle — exercise. No pill or procedure or potion or poultice comes anywhere close to the benefits of exercise. I aim for a minimum of 75 minutes of vigorous aerobic activity (meaning breaking a sweat) each week, but when that doesn’t happen I don’t beat myself up; I go for a brisk walk. I do my best to have a 20 minute walk at lunch five days a week so I have some exercise as part of my routine.

— I signed up for a meal delivery service. They send me the food and I prepare it. This accomplishes both health and happiness. I hate grocery shopping. It is a black hole of despair that I dread each week. Not anticipating the weekly shopping grind has given me joy. After 20 years of making meals I had also run out of ideas. Taco Tuesday loses its charm around the 201st time. So, not having to think of what to make? Also happiness. The added health bonus is I pick two fish meals each week. In addition, eating out is linked with obesity so keeping meals at home is good preventative medicine.

— My happiness indulgence is pedicures. As a gynecologist I look at my feet a lot. Seeing nicely appointed toes makes me smile. I grew up where winter boots or rain boots (for slush) were a requirement eight months of the year, so seeing myself in open-toed shoes year-round always makes me smile. I don’t kid myself that pedicures are healthy. As a doctor I know they are linked with infections, but for me the risk-benefit ratio is worth it.

If you like something and it brings you joy, you don’t need the wellness-industrial complex to bless it as pure or clean, you just need to decide if you like it and if the risk-benefit ratio is worth it for you.

As for your health? We already have preventative medicine. Wellness has appointed itself as the flashier alternative, but any industry that requires made up terminology with no definitions, metrics or reliable data isn’t interested in your health or happiness; it is simply interested in making a sale.

And to me that is the opposite of pure.

Dr. Jen Gunter is a Marin resident and an ob/gyn in San Francisco. Her column appears every fourth week.