Yesterday did not start off on a good note. I weighed myself and the number was above my “comfortable fat weight”. Only by a pound but still not a number that I am comfortable seeing. As I look back on the past month, I know why my weight continues to rise. I have turned intuitive eating into permission to eat whatever I want again. I also bailed on exercise on most days. This month I was filled with depression and anxiety and food is my greatest source of healing. Even if it only makes me feel better for a few moments, those moments are better than none. I only had a few “happy” days though my therapy was productive and I developed some good coping skills.
When I saw the number yesterday, it set me up for failure. This is why I only weigh myself once per month, it has such power over me. I knew in my logical mind that I had gained weight without getting on the scale because of the choices I had been making. But still, I decided to punish myself and step on anyway. And as a result, the same thing happened that always happens when I don’t like the number. A food festival. No dosha balancing, no intuitive eating, no anything but letting the disordered eating mind rule. And while shoveling it in my mind tells me that I will start a diet as soon the “last supper” eating is through.
When I look back on the day, I realize that I have had many many many many “last supper” eating days that have been much much worse on the calories end of things but it isn’t the calories that bother me. It is the mindset and the disordered thought processes. I wish that I could look at my eating and exercise patterns and tell myself that this is a result of being taught that me and my feelings weren’t important. This is a result of not learning the coping skills needed to get through day to day life. Eating is the only coping skill that I know through and through. It is the only one that I can turn to and feel those few moments of pleasure. Well, sometimes, I do think to turn to a bottle of wine but then I might end up just like the person that led me here. So, I settle into the chocolate cake and ice cream and wear my suit of armour to protect myself from having to deal.
I often wonder, what does my fat get me? It gets me to a place that feels shameful about who I am. It gets me to a place that makes me feel safe from abuse. It gets me to a place that makes me feel like I won’t be hunted for my feminine wiles. It gets me to a place that tells me that at this point it is OK to just eat it all because it doesn’t really matter any more, anyway. In my eyes, my fat suit protects me from being hurt but the internal harm is so much greater than having to shop in the big girls section. It causes so much hurt to hear the comments people make and the assumption they hold dear because I am not a size 2.
I sit here now as I type this with the tears pouring down my face preparing to face another day in this world. It hurts so much that I have created a world for myself that just hurts and hurts and hurts. Why don’t I look at the bright side of things more often? Why can’t I see that I have a wonderful, supportive dear husband? Fabulous friends that love me for who I am and see through the fat to the inside of a person who just wants to be loved? A beautiful home that is the envy of the neighborhood? A sporty little car that carries me to my well paying job? The girl that has every material need that she could ever wants but really is just in search of that one thing to make it all whole. Love and acceptance.
Because none of this is actually about the food, I won’t be posting what I ate yesterday. Like I said, looking back my choices weren’t really all that bad and calorie wise, I probably only ate a little more than I truly needed. What this post and this whole blog IS about is my healing and a small glimmer of hope that my pain of writing this out and letting it be free into the world will help someone who struggles just like me.
I hope this whole post will thought provoke.