So I’ve got a new friend who is helping me with my program. And, I’ve been submitting a list of the things I eat each day. I’ve been completly honest in my submissions, but everyday as I type the list I find myself fighting an urge to justify the things I’ve eaten. Why am I so set on making excuses? What am I hiding and why am I trying to hide it? Why is it so difficult to be honest about what I eat?
I’m ashamed. I’ve known that for a while. I hide what I eat from my family. Aside from simply not mentioning it, I lie about it. If I eat too much at dinner I will tell them that I didn’t eat lunch. If I’m alone I will eat 2 breakfast sandwiches from McDonald’s instead of just one (which is bad enough!). It’s bad that I lie to my family but what is even worse is that I’ve lied to myself. Why can’t I be honest with myself?
I’m hopeful that the exercise of writing it all down and sharing it with someone will help me. Knowing that I will not be judged or criticized or doubted is key. Sharing that list with someone who knows, works and understands the program is key. I guess it’s all about being accountable - and that is the purpose. Learning to be honest with myself is the purpose of that exercise - I think.
Now I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the honesty. I’m afraid of the my truth. I’m afraid of what will be revealed. I know that I’m an emotional eater. I eat when I’m mad. I eat when I’m happy. I eat to celebrate. I eat when I’m sad. I eat when I’m bored. I eat when I’m not hungry. In fact, I was down with the flu just after Christmas and I remember actually feeling hunger pangs. I wasn’t eating a lot because I didn’t feel well and I actually got hungry at lunch time and again at dinner time. I remember taking special notice of it because it was unusual. I usually never feel hunger pangs because I keep myself full. Back to my truth. What will I find? I suppose only time will tell…
I do remember when I first began to struggle with my weight. It was in junior high. I grew up in a small town where there was just one school - K-12 all on one campus. I spent kindergarten through 5th grade with the same people, the same friends. My father got a promotion and we moved to a larger city. One with many grade schools, a couple of junior highs and one high school. Moving is always difficult on friendships, but this was a particularly bad time for me. I was 12. My new 6th grade classes were filled with kids who had been together for years. They all knew each other so well. And then there was me. I made friends easily enough, but then we had to go to 7th grade at the junior high. And suddenly we were all new again to each other. Again I left behind friendships and had to forge new ones. It was junior high though - we were all going through that - but it was more difficult for me than most - at least that was my perception. So I think this is also when I had my first bout with depression too. Missing all those long-term friendships, greiving the ones I had just made and lost. That, added to all the stresses of entering my teen years…it was hard.
In the fall of ‘87 (2 years after the move) my uncle died. He was the fun uncle - the youngest of my mother’s siblings. He was the uncle that would hang us over the stairwell and threaten to drop us - the one that would chase us down on our birthdays and give us our spankings and never forgot the ‘pinch to grow and inch’. He took us ‘tanking’ down the Arkansas River back when it still had water flowing freely from Colorado. He was just a big kid.
His death was the first I’d ever experienced. He’d had his troubles with drugs and he had gone to the state mental hospital for a 90-day treatment program. We were young so they didn’t tell us a lot - but we overheard things. I remember overhearing conversations about him seeing faces outside his bedroom window and hearing voices. But he was back now, he was clean now and he was on the right track - or so I overheard. He was hit by a train. No one really knows what exactly happened. Had his truck stalled out on the tracks? Had he parked on the tracks? Did he just not see or hear the train? No one knew - or no one ever told me. And it was probably the one thing I needed to be told. What I needed to overhear. I didn’t know, so I speculated - I wrote a story about him for a school publication. I don’t know if what I wrote was fact or fiction.
So - that was when I began putting on weight. In hindsight, I think the lack of communication - the secrecy bothered me. I think they all were just trying to protect us. They let us help with arrangements, we participated in meetings with the minister and the funeral director. They used our input in the service. We were allowed to view the body. They included us in the mechanics, but they didn’t talk to us. They didn’t ask us how we felt. But - that was the way - no talking about the tough stuff. Just be together and sit around Grandma’s kitchen table and eat all the food that well-wishers had brought. Don’t talk. Eat.
I think I’ve stumbled on to something here: Don’t talk. Eat. And I think I will close for tonight on that revelation…
Eating less, not feeling ravenous in early evening. No jitters, no headache. Plenty of water. I’m liking this…