Lately I've been paying closer attention to my relationship with food. It's not something I want to do and it does NOT come easily, but I'm determined to take responsibility for my eating habits. I suppose the time will come in each of our lives when our eating catches up with us in one way or another, forcing us to take a look at how we're treating our bodies, fueling ourselves for whatever journey we happen to be on at a particular time in our lives. When I was just a baby of 23 and carrying a baby of my own, I was careful for those nine months to feed myself foods that would help build a strong, healthy baby. Because I was responsible for the making of another human being, I treated my body well. During my months of nursing the baby, the same was true....but once that was over, I was back to my old habits and ways. Now, all these years later, I'm asking myself if I'm capable of loving myself as much as I loved my baby. The answer is slippery and amorphous. My relationship with food prefers to remain hidden in the shadows and is resistant to close examination. I imagine most addictive relationships ARE, right? Because....that's what we're talking about here: a relationship of addiction, at least that's what's been surfacing for me as I draw my attention to this unexamined area of my life.
I love my food and I'm ambivalent as hell about giving any of it up. My sour cream, my mayonnaise, my cheese and my pasta and my bread. There's an attachment to these delights whose grip clings ever tightly. My secret stash of chocolate in the nightstand drawer calls to me after a long, exhausting day of work, inviting me to have just a bite (or ten) as I tune out in front of the TV and relax. And a hot soak in the tub is nothing without a small glass of iced Bailey's Irish Cream. We reward ourselves, celebrate our accomplishments, drown our sorrows....by reaching for something to eat or drink. Over and over and over again, our families, friends, co-workers invite us to share a meal, a cup of coffee, a slice of cake. It's the American way to spread out
the buffet and gorge ourselves in celebration, yes? We "biggie size" everything and then wonder why all of US are now biggie sized as well. So tell me, how will I fit in if I take responsibility for what goes into my mouth? And take responsibility I simply MUST. I am deeply unhappy with the current state of my body. I do not want to carry around extra weight. I do not want my movement restricted by flesh when I am trying chase a puppy down. I abhor tight clothing holding me back, hemming me in. My relationship with food has cost me the freedom I formerly had....freedom of movement, yes, but another sort of freedom as well. I used to feel good about my physical body. I was comfortable in my clothing and confident in my appearance. I could go running in shorts without feeling a sense of shame and embarrassment that someone would be disgusted by the sight of my thighs. It seems cruelly ironic that I'm contemplating giving up my comfort (food) when so many other things are falling by the wayside due to the natural aging process. What a vulnerable time. Wrinkles. Gray, dull hair. Aches and pains. The threat of menopause. Reaching for a donut seems like it would make me feel so much better. I could lose myself in the taste of sweet jelly on my tongue and powdered sugar on my lips, drown my sorrow for a moment. Wash it down with a latte.
But alas...my donut days might be over. I've been paying attention to my food choices for a few months now, getting ever more serious about it as the weeks tick away and I build awareness of my patterns (and bathing suit season threatens). It takes a whole lot of mindfulness, staying present, when it comes to making better choices about what to eat. Sometimes, the effort overwhelms me. It's hard to feed yourself well!! I have a million (valid)
excuses. You have to think about recipes and calorie content and then you have to shop so that you are prepared when it's time to get a meal together. And I'm ashamed to admit that I've become lazy about it, opting to eat out or grab some take-out when I'm exhausted rather than face the kitchen and prepare a meal. But working out is no longer enough to keep me in good physical shape. And my relationship with exercise is a whole OTHER issue (for a later blog....I can only take so much at a time).
So....back to the point of this blog. It's about loving yourself. That's the bottom line, at least for me. Believe me, it's a very hard, sad truth to admit that underneath my relationship with food is a woman who does not love herself enough to treat herself better. Don't poo-poo it away. It's my truth and I can and will face it. I'm gonna learn to love myself enough to stay in control of what I offer myself for fuel. I have a very busy life and I need better fuel so that I'm not tired, sluggish, sick. Making time to choose delicious fresh fruits, vegetables and grains is a way to honor and care for myself. Allowing myself to delight in an evening of preparing and sharing a healthy, home-cooked meal nourishes more than my tummy.
As I've embarked on this journey to take responsibility for my eating, some wonderful things
have been happening. Michael and I are losing weight....slowly but steadily. We are spending more quiet time together in the evening. We're saving money because we're eating in rather than stressing about finding healthy foods on a restaurant menu. We are celebrating our successes with mindful and moderate choices: a single glass of wine, asingle scoop of ice cream. On days when we've been hard at work and haven't made time to plan ahead for our next meal, we've found it challenging to stick with healthy choices. We've taken steps backward, felt badly....and moved forward again with renewed resolution to stay on the path.
Maybe lots of you have been on this journey for a long time....or all of your life. I grew up too skinny and I ate everything I wanted and more, lamenting over not having hips or boobs. As a child, I was offered Cap'n Crunch and Devil Dogs for breakfast and Spaghetti O's from a can for lunch. Now, as a mature (ha) middle aged woman, I've got to figure out stuff I really don't want to pay attention to. But I'm doing it. It's good for me and I'll get used to it. But it'll take a while. And I'll feel sad and edgy and even angry at times....as I notice the "wants" and the habits of a lifetime of eating bad shit. Many times, I'm able to feel the feelings, notice...and do nothing. When I resist the urge to reach into the nightstand drawer for my chocolate or my Twizzlers tonight while
losing myself in the mindlessness of another episode of The Bachelorette, I will grow just a little bit stronger. I am learning what I'm made of. I'm loving myself a little more each day.
No comments:
Post a Comment