Saturday, October 24, 2015

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Straightening the Cake

I wrote this essay several years ago, and just ran across it again...

emotional eating blog, overeating
S'mores Cake
I remember as a kid, standing in front of the refrigerator, scanning for something I wanted to eat and not finding it amidst the low-fat cottage cheese in the pink container, the non-fat milk in the blue container, and the steamed, skinless chicken breast wrapped in plastic. My mother would yell at me to shut the door and stop wasting energy. She meant the energy the fridge used. Looking back I realize I was wasting my energy trying to find something I actually wanted to eat. Outside in the garage we had an extra freezer that housed Sara Lee cheese cakes and pound cakes - for my mother's dinner parties. I liked to open that freezer door and stand there too, wasting energy.
My mother hid "goodies" for herself. On top of the fridge in a big wooden bowl, under a towel lay a bag of malted milk balls. Her stash. My two older sisters taught me to climb onto the counter and find the bag. We would each have a couple. Not too many or Mother would notice.
When my mother threw those elaborate dinner parties, she created dishes out of Gourmet magazine. Gourmet magazines filled the rack in the bathroom. I could read about buttery sauces and cheese filled pasta while sitting on the toilet. But in the kitchen, there was nothing good to eat.
At my mother's parties, I learned to sit at the table and pretend to be satisfied with a smidge of this and a sliver of that. I ate the salad with the real dressing, full of fat, and pretended I didn't want more. I ate the pasta filled with ricotta and spinach and parmesan and pretended I didn't want more. I ate the dessert - one of those frozen cheesecakes, now defrosted and decorated with cherry pie filling. I pretended I didn't want to eat the whole thing.
When the parties were over, and it was my turn to help clear the table and clean the kitchen, I would sneak more food. I carried the warm brie and crackers from the living room back to the kitchen, sneaking a bite as I set it on the counter. I ate the remnants of pasta off the serving plate before washing and drying it. And when there was cake left over, I sliced off a tiny wedge, so no one would notice.
My sisters would do the same. We were in cahoots, conspiring with each other as we ate forbidden food, literally behind my mother's back. Sometimes my mother would even be "in" on the process. If my mother turned around at just the right moment, she might catch one of us enjoying a transparently thin slice of cake. My sister Sue, in training to become a master manipulator, would say innocently, "I'm just straightening it out. It was crooked."
We would all laugh, nervous laughter, the laughter of recognition. We ALL wanted more cake, even mom. Sometimes, we would put the cake in the middle of the kitchen table. Mom and her three daughters would sit around the table talking, making each other laugh, and straightening the cake.

Though my mother restricted our food (or tried) and dragged us to Weight Watchers, and complained bitterly when we got fat, and despaired over her own (usually minimal) arm flab, I can't blame her for the shame I felt about my body. It was her shame too. In the process of trying to protect us and ensure our happiness, living in a culture that hates fat, she did her best to keep us thin. She fed us her anxiety on a bed of undressed lettuce, topped with a weighed and measured portion of very dry chicken.

Saturday, October 10, 2015

Do I Have to Forgive, Part 2 (When the Answer is Yes)


In my first post on forgiveness. I focused on the importance of having your own permission NOT to forgive. The key was to be certain that you protect yourself from the person who harmed you. This permission is so essential when the person who is harmful cannot or will not behave differently. Not everyone is capable of taking responsibility for their behavior. Some people will continue to shame or blame you for getting hurt. In these situations, boundaries are more important than forgiveness.

But there are times when forgiveness becomes necessary - not for the other person, but for YOU. Forgiveness in this sense is not about mending or repairing a relationship. It's about letting go of the indignation, the hurt and above all, the WISH that the other person could one day develop the capacity for empathy, care and repair.

The folks at www.nomoreshameproject.com have a one-page on forgiveness that describes this so well...
Forgiving your abuser(s) is ultimately a benefit for you, not only a benefit to your abuser. Forgiving them can relieve a weight of heaviness, bitterness, anger and resentment you might be harboring that could be extremely damaging to your recovery or even your physical health.

For me the need to forgive comes on sleepless nights. My bladder or my cat (or very often, my cat standing on my bladder) wake me, and in the wee vulnerable hours, my poor little mind goes around and around the loop of insanity, trying to explain to myself why the person who has harmed me is wrong. The unseen person in the conversation is the part of me that WISHES so fervently for repair. The loud, repetitive one arguing is the one who knows that repair isn't possible. To reconnect would only mean further abuse.

In these 2am or 3am struggles, the only thing that gets me back to sleep is a sweeping, all encompassing declaration of forgiveness. Instead of the loop, I tell myself and the world that I forgive all wrongs ever done to me so I can sleep. I forgive everyone and everything, just for tonight. Tomorrow I may change my mind (this is for the one who needs to know I will not put myself back in harm's way). But tonight, when I am tired, and I need to let go, I forgive. I forgive big and broad and deep. And it gets me to sleep.

I like this idea of forgiveness as a tool to use as needed, rather than a thing to do to "get over it." On that same one-page from nomoreshameproject.com they write,
Forgiveness is not always a “one and done” action. Sometimes we must make a conscious effort to “re- forgive” when we are flooded with memories or the aftereffects of our abuse. Forgiveness can sometimes be a process that needs repetition often. 
 That’s okay. That doesn’t mean you’ve done it wrong. It just means the wrongs done against you were deep and lasting. 

Ultimately, what I am really forgiving is my own longing that things can be different. This is how it is for us who grew up with emotional abuse or neglect. We have little ones inside of us that are still hungry for the connection our bodies were wired for - the parent-child attachment based on safety, soothing and cherishing. I can apologize to the little girl I used to be. I can tell her, I'm so sorry mom and dad couldn't give you that feeling of security and connection you needed. I'm sorry they will never develop this capacity. It's not fair. It's not okay. You don't have to like it.

This is the apology that allows me to move out of the obsessive loop of longing for something that doesn't exist and into the grieving and letting go. The grief hurts, but it doesn't feel crazy. It's recognizing that what looked like an oasis was actually a mirage. And that realization lets me find water where it actually exists.