With the holiday season upon me, all of my favorite sweet and savory foods come racing to the forefront of most family, work, and holiday social functions. And I am a social girl! I love a party. And even more than the party, I love party food.
When I go to a party with a buffet-style spread of foods, I always pretend not to notice the food...at first. I move around the room, meet and greet old friends and new, and then I casually make my way to the refreshments. No don't think for even one second that the food isn't my primary focus from the second I walked in the door because it was and is but, just as any good food addict, I need the few minutes of meet and greet time to plan out my strategy. "How could I make as many trips as possible to the buffet to get as much of the best food as possible without drawing attention to myself?"
Now to everyone in the room it looks like I really care about my fellow guests and the kind party hosts who are most likely my friends. But the reality is I am multi-tasking. I might be talking to you and pretending to give you my undivided attention but in reality you are a part of my cover.
Now after a few minutes I have assessed from a distance the tasty tidbits present, looked at the plates of my fellow guests and listened to their comments about said tidbits and I have a plan in mind. I then make my way very casually over to the buffet and make some comment like, "well, I was going to be good tonight but who can resist all of these wonderful treats!"
Then I casually put at least one of each tasty items on my plate and eat them. At this point I don't move very far away from the buffet. As soon as I finish the first plate, I seek out and comment to the hostess* about her "wonderful, homemade goodies". And they are wonderful.
I then make a follow up comment about my favorite items and all more of those specific items to my plate. This process continues until I am very full of food and beverages.
And then, and only then, will I relax enough to truly enjoy the company, some of whom I only see once a year at this particular party. The food is more important that my friend relationships and everything else. The food calls me from the moment I walk in the door and it has my full attention.
This scenario describes how my holiday season was one year ago. But today, I have almost 7 months of abstinance from flour, sugar and mass quantities of food marked off on the calendar. All of the food named above is not my food anymore.
Homemade pan caramels, and her evil bars, fudge, peanut and pecan brittle, Hershey's kiss peanut butter cookies, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, gingerbread cookies, rice krispy treats, sugar cookies slathered with frosting, cornbread dressing, gravy, potatoes mashed with cream and butter, green bean casserole, yams swimming in butter and brown sugar and topped with marshmallows, chocolate truffles, buckeyes, pita chips and many, many other holiday goodies are all examples of what is NOT MY FOOD.
Thursday was Thanksgiving. Many of my ex-boyfriends are named in the list above and came to the party. But instead of answering the siren call of those lost loves, I changed up the routine. I started out my day by spending over an hour on the phone with other food addicts talking about all the reasons we are thankful. Then I ditched my family and had my Thanksgiving meal with seven other food addicts where every bite was weighed, measured and abstinant. After dinner, even though it was a holiday, I made a couple of outreach calls to fellow food addicts.
AND, BY THE GRACE AND PROTECTION FROM GOD, I MADE IT THROUGH! I went to work, the day after Thanksgiving, wearing baggy pants and thinking with a clear mind. No headache, no bloating and no hangover from the excess from the day before. In past years I have often planned ahead and taken the day after holidays off because of how sick I knew I would be. But not this year.
With a sincere heart, I can honestly say that I am finally beginning to experience what it means to be a greatful food addict. My recovery is not easy and the program is tough but the rewards make all the difference. This is best summed up by a quote from my favorite poet in my favorite poem:
"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--I took the one less traveled by, And that has made
all the difference," as written by Robert Frost in The Road Not Taken.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Why I like being fat
Sometimes I like being fat. I'm sure that may be surprising to some but it's true. When a person lives their whole life a certain way it is hard to change. Even when the change is good. With a almost seven months of abtinance from flour, sugar and quantities of food, I find that I am being pulled outside of my comfort zone, or as I like to call it "the fat zone." My pants are baggy, even my shoes are smaller. I tried on a pair of winter gloves that I couldn't wear last year and they were lose on my hands. I even dropped two sizes in my underwear. I am losing weight in the strangest places. I have saggy skin on my fingers. Weird, right?
In the past when I successfully dropped pounds, I always had a magic "number" on the scale that caused me to freak out. About 12 years ago it was 352. I never dropped below that. Then when I had my weightloss surgery, I never dropped below 389. Now, I find myself obsessing at 424. I've lost 60 pounds since I committed myself to my addiction recovery program and more and more people have noticed the changes and are making encouraging comments. This "positive attention" is part of what freaks me out.
I am used to comments from people about my weight but not the nice comments. I am used to stares from people in public but not the good kind of stares. Now, with my recent success, I receive much positive feedback AND IT BOTHERS ME. I've really been thinking about this and I have a few fledgling conclusions: First, I don't feel worthy of the positive attention, second, if you could see the real me on the inside you would not feel the same about me and third, I really believe deep down that this "diet" will turn out like every other diet and I will gain back all the weigh plus more and then all of the negatives will be true again.
What I describe above is the root of my addiction...the root of any addiction in my humble opinion...and that is fear, doubt and insecurity. Fear that I'm not worthy of love, care and concern, doubt that my lack of worthiness will ever change and the insecurity that even though I have friends and family who love me, if they new the real me they would do a 180 and go the other direction.
I ate to numb the feelings that "we" had. By "we" I mean me and all the voices in my head that tell me over and over and over why I deserve to be fat and disgusting and miserable.
As I got the poisons of flour, sugar, alcohol and mass quantities of food out of my system, I began to hear the voices louder and clearer. At times I was tempted to go back to the food but I knew that it would not work. Right before committing to my recovery program, the food wasn't "doin' it for me anymore." My quantities were going up, the combinations of foods were becoming more bizarre and I was adding in alcohol on a pretty consistent basis. The disease of food addiction was progressing and it became harder and harder to find the high. I was at my rock bottom. I couldn't walk, my clothes were the largest size and getting tighter and tighters and I could barely breath.
So I took one small step of faith, a step toward my "higher power" and He met me, took my hand, and held me up when I couldn't stand on my own anymore. I realized that what Christ wanted from me, needed from me, was for me to put down my pride and come to HIM.
The words of a worship chorus that we sing at church comes to mind...and I would site the source if I could remember more that just a few lines...but here goes:
Brokeness, brokeness is what I long for
Brokeness is what I need
Brokeness is what You want from me
Take my heart and form it
Take my mind, transform it
Take my will, conform it
To Yours, to Yours, oh Lord
I can't say it better than that!
In the past when I successfully dropped pounds, I always had a magic "number" on the scale that caused me to freak out. About 12 years ago it was 352. I never dropped below that. Then when I had my weightloss surgery, I never dropped below 389. Now, I find myself obsessing at 424. I've lost 60 pounds since I committed myself to my addiction recovery program and more and more people have noticed the changes and are making encouraging comments. This "positive attention" is part of what freaks me out.
I am used to comments from people about my weight but not the nice comments. I am used to stares from people in public but not the good kind of stares. Now, with my recent success, I receive much positive feedback AND IT BOTHERS ME. I've really been thinking about this and I have a few fledgling conclusions: First, I don't feel worthy of the positive attention, second, if you could see the real me on the inside you would not feel the same about me and third, I really believe deep down that this "diet" will turn out like every other diet and I will gain back all the weigh plus more and then all of the negatives will be true again.
What I describe above is the root of my addiction...the root of any addiction in my humble opinion...and that is fear, doubt and insecurity. Fear that I'm not worthy of love, care and concern, doubt that my lack of worthiness will ever change and the insecurity that even though I have friends and family who love me, if they new the real me they would do a 180 and go the other direction.
I ate to numb the feelings that "we" had. By "we" I mean me and all the voices in my head that tell me over and over and over why I deserve to be fat and disgusting and miserable.
As I got the poisons of flour, sugar, alcohol and mass quantities of food out of my system, I began to hear the voices louder and clearer. At times I was tempted to go back to the food but I knew that it would not work. Right before committing to my recovery program, the food wasn't "doin' it for me anymore." My quantities were going up, the combinations of foods were becoming more bizarre and I was adding in alcohol on a pretty consistent basis. The disease of food addiction was progressing and it became harder and harder to find the high. I was at my rock bottom. I couldn't walk, my clothes were the largest size and getting tighter and tighters and I could barely breath.
So I took one small step of faith, a step toward my "higher power" and He met me, took my hand, and held me up when I couldn't stand on my own anymore. I realized that what Christ wanted from me, needed from me, was for me to put down my pride and come to HIM.
The words of a worship chorus that we sing at church comes to mind...and I would site the source if I could remember more that just a few lines...but here goes:
Brokeness, brokeness is what I long for
Brokeness is what I need
Brokeness is what You want from me
Take my heart and form it
Take my mind, transform it
Take my will, conform it
To Yours, to Yours, oh Lord
I can't say it better than that!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
One bite's too many and a whole cake is out of the question!
I battle fatigue. With a sleep apnea machine and oxygen therapy assisting my sleep, I get more good sleep than I used to but often it is still not enough. I struggle with insomnia. I am not sure of the cause, but there are nights when I lay awake for hours. Last night I slept less than 3 hrs. Now for a night or two, little sleep is an inconvenience. Four nights in a row is debilitating. I can't think, I am cranky, my joints hurt, my feet and legs swell and I WANT TO EAT. And what I want to eat is not my weighed and measured sugar free and flour free meals. I want snacks and chocolate because it will make me feel better...for a moment.
Today marks 131 days of abstinence in my recovery program. This number never ceases to surprise me. I wouldn't have belived that I could do this program for that long. But, despite my disbelief, I am proud of what I have accomplished. And my pride, which is truly a defect of character, partially keeps me from eating. I don't want to have to start over. Fear also keeps me in check. I know me. One bite of a forbidden food would never be enough and the whole cake is just out of the question but not out of the realm of probability.
When my dad was in the end stage of his alcoholism, I remember a doctor telling him that his health was so fragile that he did not have one more drunk in him. This is me also. My health is improving somewhat, but I was in pretty bad shape about 132 days ago. I am not sure that I have one more binge in me. I have heard my fellows say that they know that there top weight is still out there if they go looking for it. I know this is true for me. Although my top weight of around 525 was not comparable to where I would end up if I got back into the food.
Another piece of my puzzle that makes my desire for food kick in is when I throw up. In March 2003 I had Lap Band surgery and the side effect that never went away for me is vomiting. I vomit daily. Many times. This messes with my head. Like many other food addicts, I seek the overfull sensation. So when I throw up several times during a meal I start to panic. I worry that I am not getting in enough nutrition. I worry that my hair will fall out, my body will leech calcium from my teeth and that I will be even more tired. BUT more than anything, I feel deprived.
Fast forward to today...I am tired, I threw up part of my lunch and dinner and I am wanting to eat something that I know will go in and stay in. I know it will make me more calm and I will mellow out a bit...for a moment. Instead I did a little reading, wrote on this blog and said a little prayer to God..you know the one...about serenity, courage and wisdom.
Turning to God is not so easy for me. I struggle with thinking that how I feel about me is how God feels about me. But that is a topic for another blog. I think I'll take myself to bed, a momentarily reluctantly abstinant food addict.
Today marks 131 days of abstinence in my recovery program. This number never ceases to surprise me. I wouldn't have belived that I could do this program for that long. But, despite my disbelief, I am proud of what I have accomplished. And my pride, which is truly a defect of character, partially keeps me from eating. I don't want to have to start over. Fear also keeps me in check. I know me. One bite of a forbidden food would never be enough and the whole cake is just out of the question but not out of the realm of probability.
When my dad was in the end stage of his alcoholism, I remember a doctor telling him that his health was so fragile that he did not have one more drunk in him. This is me also. My health is improving somewhat, but I was in pretty bad shape about 132 days ago. I am not sure that I have one more binge in me. I have heard my fellows say that they know that there top weight is still out there if they go looking for it. I know this is true for me. Although my top weight of around 525 was not comparable to where I would end up if I got back into the food.
Another piece of my puzzle that makes my desire for food kick in is when I throw up. In March 2003 I had Lap Band surgery and the side effect that never went away for me is vomiting. I vomit daily. Many times. This messes with my head. Like many other food addicts, I seek the overfull sensation. So when I throw up several times during a meal I start to panic. I worry that I am not getting in enough nutrition. I worry that my hair will fall out, my body will leech calcium from my teeth and that I will be even more tired. BUT more than anything, I feel deprived.
Fast forward to today...I am tired, I threw up part of my lunch and dinner and I am wanting to eat something that I know will go in and stay in. I know it will make me more calm and I will mellow out a bit...for a moment. Instead I did a little reading, wrote on this blog and said a little prayer to God..you know the one...about serenity, courage and wisdom.
Turning to God is not so easy for me. I struggle with thinking that how I feel about me is how God feels about me. But that is a topic for another blog. I think I'll take myself to bed, a momentarily reluctantly abstinant food addict.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Mourning the Food, Feeding the feelings
When I am sad or lonely or tired or angry or happy, I want to eat. Basically, I always want to eat. I fantasize about certain foods. Like chocolate. Specifically, a very specific chocoalte cake made at Costco. I fantasize about Tim's Cascade Salt and Vinegar or Dill Pickle flavored potatoe chips. Or chips and really good salsa. Or s'mores. Or stuffing with gravy. Or fresh cut fries and ketchup.
On the one hand, I am mourning the loss of my companion. But when I get real, I remember that before entering into my food addiction recovery program, the food was not doing it for me anymore. I remember one specific day at work. I was having a bad day. That alone was no so unusual because I had a lot of bad days. But on this particular day I was pretty depressed. One of my co-workers noticed how down I was and decided to cheer me up and suprise me by bringing me one of my favorite lunches. From a favorite local diner she brought two grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches, an order of fries and extra fry sauce and a medium hot fudge milkshake. All favorites.
As I opened the bags and the smells filled my office, I remember thinking...maybe this will make me feel better. I took a bite of my first sandwich. Hot buttery bread, melty American cheese followed by a pull on a thick, icy shake. Ahhhh, the perfect combination...right? Nope. I did not feel anything. In the past, the start of the eating ritual was instantly calming. And as my belly filled to capacity, I would feel comforted, cared for and nurtured. But not this time. I just felt worse. I wanted to cry. I gagged on my bites. The hot fudge shake was too sweet on my throat. My stomach started to feel queasy.
At that moment I remember thinking, where do I go from here? How can I feel better? My addiction had progressed to the point of no return and I did not know what new flavor or combination of flavors was going to hit the spot and take away the sadness and nurture me.
So what did I do? I started mixing my favorite food choices with alcohol. I started drinking after work. After a couple of drinks, I found I could really loosen up. Then my co-workers started to arrange girls night out. I really enjoyed tequila. It took away my emotional pain and had the added bonus of taking away my physical pain too. This turn of events frightened me. I watched my father die from alcholism. I knew where that road ended...I'd seen it first hand.
Fortunately for me, it was only a few months later that got into my recovery program and started traveling the recovery road. I learned that by abstaining from all sugar, flour and quantities of food AND ALCOHOL, I had the hope of a healthy life and a healthy body.
After I got through the physical withdrawls, I realized that that was the easy part. What was I supposed to do with all these feelings? I could not eat or drink to numb out. Forced to deal, I started learning new coping skills. It happened slowly, and in fact is still a work in progress, but when I am hungry I eat, when I am tired I sleep, when I am sad I cry, when I am lonely I call a friend or go visiting and when I am happy I laugh. In other words, I feel and I try and take care of myself.
Some days I am more successful than others. The thing that trips me up is that I miss my emotional cues. I am unfamilar with recognizing my own needs or anticipating them. In the past I reacted/self soothed with food or alcohol when I even started to feel like I might have an emotion. Now, I call another food addict or I read information about my addiction.
Sometimes, I find myself falling back into old patterns of denying my needs and that is when I fatasize about the food. In my recovery program we have a lot of sayings. The saying that I leaned that relates to this circumstance is this: "Don't let yourself get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired." Very true.
On the one hand, I am mourning the loss of my companion. But when I get real, I remember that before entering into my food addiction recovery program, the food was not doing it for me anymore. I remember one specific day at work. I was having a bad day. That alone was no so unusual because I had a lot of bad days. But on this particular day I was pretty depressed. One of my co-workers noticed how down I was and decided to cheer me up and suprise me by bringing me one of my favorite lunches. From a favorite local diner she brought two grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches, an order of fries and extra fry sauce and a medium hot fudge milkshake. All favorites.
As I opened the bags and the smells filled my office, I remember thinking...maybe this will make me feel better. I took a bite of my first sandwich. Hot buttery bread, melty American cheese followed by a pull on a thick, icy shake. Ahhhh, the perfect combination...right? Nope. I did not feel anything. In the past, the start of the eating ritual was instantly calming. And as my belly filled to capacity, I would feel comforted, cared for and nurtured. But not this time. I just felt worse. I wanted to cry. I gagged on my bites. The hot fudge shake was too sweet on my throat. My stomach started to feel queasy.
At that moment I remember thinking, where do I go from here? How can I feel better? My addiction had progressed to the point of no return and I did not know what new flavor or combination of flavors was going to hit the spot and take away the sadness and nurture me.
So what did I do? I started mixing my favorite food choices with alcohol. I started drinking after work. After a couple of drinks, I found I could really loosen up. Then my co-workers started to arrange girls night out. I really enjoyed tequila. It took away my emotional pain and had the added bonus of taking away my physical pain too. This turn of events frightened me. I watched my father die from alcholism. I knew where that road ended...I'd seen it first hand.
Fortunately for me, it was only a few months later that got into my recovery program and started traveling the recovery road. I learned that by abstaining from all sugar, flour and quantities of food AND ALCOHOL, I had the hope of a healthy life and a healthy body.
After I got through the physical withdrawls, I realized that that was the easy part. What was I supposed to do with all these feelings? I could not eat or drink to numb out. Forced to deal, I started learning new coping skills. It happened slowly, and in fact is still a work in progress, but when I am hungry I eat, when I am tired I sleep, when I am sad I cry, when I am lonely I call a friend or go visiting and when I am happy I laugh. In other words, I feel and I try and take care of myself.
Some days I am more successful than others. The thing that trips me up is that I miss my emotional cues. I am unfamilar with recognizing my own needs or anticipating them. In the past I reacted/self soothed with food or alcohol when I even started to feel like I might have an emotion. Now, I call another food addict or I read information about my addiction.
Sometimes, I find myself falling back into old patterns of denying my needs and that is when I fatasize about the food. In my recovery program we have a lot of sayings. The saying that I leaned that relates to this circumstance is this: "Don't let yourself get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired." Very true.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Feeling the need to isolate
Tonight I am tired and angry. I know why I am tired...limited sleep in the past few days. But I don't know why I'm angry. I have no reason to be angry. Life is going well. Work is work...always chaotic and stressful. So nothing new. My friend relationships are going well. And my family relationships are going well. I really have nothing to be angry about. I spent a good portion of the day trying to figure out what my problem is and the only thing I can come up with is that I am lonely.
I struggle with loneliness. In recent months, feeling lonely was not that big of an issue because I was very sick and almost immobile. But now I'm feeling better. I lost about 25 pounds in my first 30 days and my next weigh is scheduled for Monday, June 2nd. I know that I've lost more weight because my pants are getting really baggy. My point? Now that I am feeling better, I find myself wanting to get out and do more.
Let me share a little history...
I used to be a very active person. Always on the go and the life of the party. I didn't let my weight stop me. Sure it slowed me down...I mean at 480 pounds I did not move quickly...but I moved. I went to movies, restaurants, church functions, work, friends houses...just about everywhere. Then I got sick and started skipping the party. My world became very small. My socializing narrowed to just a few friends at work, phone conversations and an occasional friend or two that I considered safe enough to invite to my less that spotless house.
And when I did have company I was not a great hostess because I wasn't able to move around much. This was a hard transitions for some of my friends. I went from being social coordinator and life of the party to sick, needy and nearly home bound. My health deteriorated to a point where I could barely walk from my car to my office. I wasn't even sure how much longer I would be able to work. I looked into disability and even started the process of making my will. BUT...then I found FA, got a sponsor and felt the first real glimmer of hope in years.
Now, back to today and feeling lonely...
I live alone. I have critters that keep me company but sometimes it is just nice to have someone to sit and talk to face to face. My struggle comes when my friends are busy with their own families and their own lives. At the tender age of 39, most of my friends have children and families of their own that keep them busy and it is hard to find extra time to come over and hang our or go and do something. Logically, in my head I know that my friends cannot always be there but my heart feels rejected and lonely.
I am single. And I will likely remain single. My life choice to overeat contributed to my being single. My head knows that it is not fair for me to expect other people to fill the "hole in my heart" but my heart feels angry. Angry with my situation, angry with God and angry with my friends and family who cannot meet my needs.
I must find a way to cultivate and maintain relationships where others feel safe enough to set boundaries and hold them. Also, I need to build enough self confidence to realize that I am loved no matter how much I weigh. Then maybe, just maybe, I can allow others to be in relationship with me on their terms. Maybe, just maybe, I don't have to completely control my environment and everything will still work out okay. Or maybe even better?
I struggle with loneliness. In recent months, feeling lonely was not that big of an issue because I was very sick and almost immobile. But now I'm feeling better. I lost about 25 pounds in my first 30 days and my next weigh is scheduled for Monday, June 2nd. I know that I've lost more weight because my pants are getting really baggy. My point? Now that I am feeling better, I find myself wanting to get out and do more.
Let me share a little history...
I used to be a very active person. Always on the go and the life of the party. I didn't let my weight stop me. Sure it slowed me down...I mean at 480 pounds I did not move quickly...but I moved. I went to movies, restaurants, church functions, work, friends houses...just about everywhere. Then I got sick and started skipping the party. My world became very small. My socializing narrowed to just a few friends at work, phone conversations and an occasional friend or two that I considered safe enough to invite to my less that spotless house.
And when I did have company I was not a great hostess because I wasn't able to move around much. This was a hard transitions for some of my friends. I went from being social coordinator and life of the party to sick, needy and nearly home bound. My health deteriorated to a point where I could barely walk from my car to my office. I wasn't even sure how much longer I would be able to work. I looked into disability and even started the process of making my will. BUT...then I found FA, got a sponsor and felt the first real glimmer of hope in years.
Now, back to today and feeling lonely...
I live alone. I have critters that keep me company but sometimes it is just nice to have someone to sit and talk to face to face. My struggle comes when my friends are busy with their own families and their own lives. At the tender age of 39, most of my friends have children and families of their own that keep them busy and it is hard to find extra time to come over and hang our or go and do something. Logically, in my head I know that my friends cannot always be there but my heart feels rejected and lonely.
I am single. And I will likely remain single. My life choice to overeat contributed to my being single. My head knows that it is not fair for me to expect other people to fill the "hole in my heart" but my heart feels angry. Angry with my situation, angry with God and angry with my friends and family who cannot meet my needs.
I must find a way to cultivate and maintain relationships where others feel safe enough to set boundaries and hold them. Also, I need to build enough self confidence to realize that I am loved no matter how much I weigh. Then maybe, just maybe, I can allow others to be in relationship with me on their terms. Maybe, just maybe, I don't have to completely control my environment and everything will still work out okay. Or maybe even better?
Monday, May 12, 2008
Please don't compare my outsides to your insides or your outsides
I am a food addict. Not too hard to figure out really since I weigh more than 450 pounds. I carry my problem around on the outside of my body for the world to see. My 39 years of life experience and my14 years of work in the human services field have convinced me that every person has their "thing". I eat. Some people use alcohol, drugs, sex, gambling, shopping or a combination to cope with life.
I am not sure how old I was when someone first told me I was fat but it had to be at a very young age because I don't ever remember a time when I didn't believe I was fat. From pictures, I know that I started gaining weight around the age of five or six. When I was in the first grade my parents took me to a pediatrician who put me on a 1000 calorie a day diet and recommended that I get involved in a fitness activity. The diet, as I remember it, was really fun for a 6 year old kid. Especially when I was the only one on the diet.
My dad was a southern boy from Mississippi and he was a naturally skinny snacker. Our father daughter evening routine was to sit in his "big chair" and shell and eat peanuts and suck on hard candy. Of course when I went on THE DIET that came to a screeching halt. Picture this...a 6 year old blue eyed little girl, scrubbed up, wrinkled from the tub and decked out in her favorite flannel nightie that mom made running to the living room ready to jump up in daddy's lap. Only to be told that she can't sit with him anymore because she is on a diet. It's 33 years later and I still cry as I type this.
Needless to say I hated the word diet. To me it meant rejection, it meant that I was not good enough...there was something wrong with me. My mom was a chunky teenager in high school and she did not want me to have to go through what she went through so she wanted to catch my "problem" before it got out of hand. So she did the only thing she knew how to do...consult the medical community. Unfortunately, she and my dad had no intention of eating the same way...after all they didn't have a weight problem.
The end result for me was resentment. In our family, food is a huge deal. It is abundant at all family functions and our traditions are marked with special recipes. My weight became a full family focus. And that first diet started my 33 year journey of jumping from one diet to another and hearing phrases like "you have such a pretty face" or "you would be so cute if you lost some weight" or "if you lose weight I'll buy you all new clothes". Now, I know that my family loved me and they were just trying to do anything they could to convince me to stop eating. The problem was my perception of rejection. I kept trying because I knew if I got skinny then I would be good enough and worthy of love.
Another layer to this story is this: I'm adopted. I don't look like anyone else in my family and I am the only fat one. In both my mom's and dad's families are all naturally thin people. And my personality is also very different. I am driven, articulate and spontaneous. I love to laugh loud and long and I can yell with the best of them. I have a quick wit that can entertain or cut to the core. I value absolute truth above all else and I believe that if you just "lay the shit out there" you can deal with it. As a result I can be too honest.
When I first started FA and this blog one of my friend's said, "I am so glad you're not in denial anymore." That could not be further from the truth. I haven't been in denial for a mighty long time. I know I am an addict. I mean, seriously, I own a mirror. Knowing that I am fat and knowing what to do to stop eating are two very different issues. I have tried almost everything possible. And I have tried diligently for a time. But it just never seemed to last for the long haul.
And because I have a tendency to be too honest I have shared my short term successes and many failures very openly. This has resulted in much judgement passed on me. I had a boss who conducted a survey of my customers to measure how they felt about having a fat case manager. I had another coworker tell me that SHE needed to be honest with me and tell me that she was prejudiced against fat people and believed all fat people to be lazy and undisciplined. I had a boss tell me that many of my coworkers resented me because they felt like I was forcing them to watch me die day by day.
In all honesty, I really would like to go line by line and share the faults of the unnamed critics mentioned above and tell you what their "thing" is but I choose to offer them the courtesy not given to me and instead I hope for their health and happiness.
So I am sure by now you are asking yourself what does the title of this post have to do with anything I have written? Just this, everyone has their own "thing" that they use to cope. Mine is obvious and out there for the world to see. But just because I am fat doesn't mean that I don't feel. Mu soul bleeds from the verbal wounds of strangers and family and friends. And I am not blind. I notice when you don't look me in the eye, point, whisper and look at me with disgust.
Also know that I am really perceptive...it is a survial skill for me. It is quite likely that I see your faults but know that I am not judging you because I don't ever want to make you feel the way I have felt. Instead of judging me imagine what it must be like to walk in my shoes and most importantly pray for me. Pray that God will show Himself to me and give me the strength to overcome and be the woman He created me to be. Or come along side me and tell me that you love me just the way I am.
My motto, which I borrowed from some random email, is this: "Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle."
I am not sure how old I was when someone first told me I was fat but it had to be at a very young age because I don't ever remember a time when I didn't believe I was fat. From pictures, I know that I started gaining weight around the age of five or six. When I was in the first grade my parents took me to a pediatrician who put me on a 1000 calorie a day diet and recommended that I get involved in a fitness activity. The diet, as I remember it, was really fun for a 6 year old kid. Especially when I was the only one on the diet.
My dad was a southern boy from Mississippi and he was a naturally skinny snacker. Our father daughter evening routine was to sit in his "big chair" and shell and eat peanuts and suck on hard candy. Of course when I went on THE DIET that came to a screeching halt. Picture this...a 6 year old blue eyed little girl, scrubbed up, wrinkled from the tub and decked out in her favorite flannel nightie that mom made running to the living room ready to jump up in daddy's lap. Only to be told that she can't sit with him anymore because she is on a diet. It's 33 years later and I still cry as I type this.
Needless to say I hated the word diet. To me it meant rejection, it meant that I was not good enough...there was something wrong with me. My mom was a chunky teenager in high school and she did not want me to have to go through what she went through so she wanted to catch my "problem" before it got out of hand. So she did the only thing she knew how to do...consult the medical community. Unfortunately, she and my dad had no intention of eating the same way...after all they didn't have a weight problem.
The end result for me was resentment. In our family, food is a huge deal. It is abundant at all family functions and our traditions are marked with special recipes. My weight became a full family focus. And that first diet started my 33 year journey of jumping from one diet to another and hearing phrases like "you have such a pretty face" or "you would be so cute if you lost some weight" or "if you lose weight I'll buy you all new clothes". Now, I know that my family loved me and they were just trying to do anything they could to convince me to stop eating. The problem was my perception of rejection. I kept trying because I knew if I got skinny then I would be good enough and worthy of love.
Another layer to this story is this: I'm adopted. I don't look like anyone else in my family and I am the only fat one. In both my mom's and dad's families are all naturally thin people. And my personality is also very different. I am driven, articulate and spontaneous. I love to laugh loud and long and I can yell with the best of them. I have a quick wit that can entertain or cut to the core. I value absolute truth above all else and I believe that if you just "lay the shit out there" you can deal with it. As a result I can be too honest.
When I first started FA and this blog one of my friend's said, "I am so glad you're not in denial anymore." That could not be further from the truth. I haven't been in denial for a mighty long time. I know I am an addict. I mean, seriously, I own a mirror. Knowing that I am fat and knowing what to do to stop eating are two very different issues. I have tried almost everything possible. And I have tried diligently for a time. But it just never seemed to last for the long haul.
And because I have a tendency to be too honest I have shared my short term successes and many failures very openly. This has resulted in much judgement passed on me. I had a boss who conducted a survey of my customers to measure how they felt about having a fat case manager. I had another coworker tell me that SHE needed to be honest with me and tell me that she was prejudiced against fat people and believed all fat people to be lazy and undisciplined. I had a boss tell me that many of my coworkers resented me because they felt like I was forcing them to watch me die day by day.
In all honesty, I really would like to go line by line and share the faults of the unnamed critics mentioned above and tell you what their "thing" is but I choose to offer them the courtesy not given to me and instead I hope for their health and happiness.
So I am sure by now you are asking yourself what does the title of this post have to do with anything I have written? Just this, everyone has their own "thing" that they use to cope. Mine is obvious and out there for the world to see. But just because I am fat doesn't mean that I don't feel. Mu soul bleeds from the verbal wounds of strangers and family and friends. And I am not blind. I notice when you don't look me in the eye, point, whisper and look at me with disgust.
Also know that I am really perceptive...it is a survial skill for me. It is quite likely that I see your faults but know that I am not judging you because I don't ever want to make you feel the way I have felt. Instead of judging me imagine what it must be like to walk in my shoes and most importantly pray for me. Pray that God will show Himself to me and give me the strength to overcome and be the woman He created me to be. Or come along side me and tell me that you love me just the way I am.
My motto, which I borrowed from some random email, is this: "Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle."
Saturday, May 10, 2008
36 Days and Counting...
Today marks the 36th day since I stopped eating sugar and flour. I started on the sponsored FA food plan on April 5th, 2008. It's the best decision I've ever made and one of the hardest. The first two weeks were hard because of the withdrawal symptoms...erratic mood swings, headaches, body chills, fatigue, nausea and interrupted sleep. After about three weeks, the bulk of the symptoms to leveled out.
By going to meetings and listening to other food addicts talk, I heard about cravings for the sugar and flour going away immediately. That has not been my experience (so far), but I am only about a month into the rest of my life. One thing I can say, is that every day it gets easier to make right food choices. The surprising and hard thing is that as I am peeling back the layers of my addiction, I find challenges in unexpected areas of my life.
I always thought that once I got the sugar and flour out of my system the cravings would go away...and the physical cravings have gone away. But the emotional cravings haven't. While my head knows which food is my food my heart wants what my heart wants. As I write this post I am lonely. I want to feel arms around me, to feel someone stroking my hair and face and hear a voice telling me that I am loved. I want to be cherished. And I miss the smell of a man. For 20 years food has been my runner-up lover. Always available, saying just the right thing at the right time and making me feel warm, content and full. Food "completed me".
For me, success in abstinence means divorcing food. Like any woman in relationship with an abusive lover, I have left many times only to go back again and again. I know that if I don't make a successful break, food will kill me. But at the same time my heart longs.
This hole in my heart, that I filled with food, is the hole that God created in me and He intended to fill it Himself. But being the most perfect of gentlemen, God never forces His way in. Instead, He waits patiently to be invited. In the New American Standard Bible, Revelation 3:20 says, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me."
When I re-read this scripture I was amazed. Although I have read this many times I had forgotten the last few words...I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me...not only was God waiting for me, HE WOULD DINE WITH ME. HE WOULD BE PRESENT AT EVERY MEAL.
Now, since I graduated from a Christian College located in the Bible Belt, I must confess that this is not the first time I've read this scripture. But I always interpreted this verse as referring to the act of becoming a Christian. I never thought about this verse referring to God's companionship.
The third step of the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous says, "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him." My understanding just changed. If God's desire was to fill my lonely heart and "dine with me" why not let Him plan the menu?
Does turning my will and life over to God make my struggle any easier in the heat of the moment? Sometimes, yes.
The only time God does not ease my struggle is when I refuse to submit to His authority and I rebel against the structure of my FA food plan. I know that God led me to FA and God led me to my sponsor, but my pride and my desire to "be the boss of me" creates moment by moment struggle.
But, with God's help, and in spite of myself, just for today, I am abstinent. And for that, I AM grateful.
By going to meetings and listening to other food addicts talk, I heard about cravings for the sugar and flour going away immediately. That has not been my experience (so far), but I am only about a month into the rest of my life. One thing I can say, is that every day it gets easier to make right food choices. The surprising and hard thing is that as I am peeling back the layers of my addiction, I find challenges in unexpected areas of my life.
I always thought that once I got the sugar and flour out of my system the cravings would go away...and the physical cravings have gone away. But the emotional cravings haven't. While my head knows which food is my food my heart wants what my heart wants. As I write this post I am lonely. I want to feel arms around me, to feel someone stroking my hair and face and hear a voice telling me that I am loved. I want to be cherished. And I miss the smell of a man. For 20 years food has been my runner-up lover. Always available, saying just the right thing at the right time and making me feel warm, content and full. Food "completed me".
For me, success in abstinence means divorcing food. Like any woman in relationship with an abusive lover, I have left many times only to go back again and again. I know that if I don't make a successful break, food will kill me. But at the same time my heart longs.
This hole in my heart, that I filled with food, is the hole that God created in me and He intended to fill it Himself. But being the most perfect of gentlemen, God never forces His way in. Instead, He waits patiently to be invited. In the New American Standard Bible, Revelation 3:20 says, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me."
When I re-read this scripture I was amazed. Although I have read this many times I had forgotten the last few words...I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me...not only was God waiting for me, HE WOULD DINE WITH ME. HE WOULD BE PRESENT AT EVERY MEAL.
Now, since I graduated from a Christian College located in the Bible Belt, I must confess that this is not the first time I've read this scripture. But I always interpreted this verse as referring to the act of becoming a Christian. I never thought about this verse referring to God's companionship.
The third step of the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous says, "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him." My understanding just changed. If God's desire was to fill my lonely heart and "dine with me" why not let Him plan the menu?
Does turning my will and life over to God make my struggle any easier in the heat of the moment? Sometimes, yes.
The only time God does not ease my struggle is when I refuse to submit to His authority and I rebel against the structure of my FA food plan. I know that God led me to FA and God led me to my sponsor, but my pride and my desire to "be the boss of me" creates moment by moment struggle.
But, with God's help, and in spite of myself, just for today, I am abstinent. And for that, I AM grateful.
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