What I Know for Sure about Emotional Eating

It's been a long time since I've written about food or weight or emotional eating. And yet, all the other topics - self esteem, self-protection, loss, cultural dogma - aren't those the things we eat over? I was wondering about the shift in the blog. It mirrors a shift in my own growth.

It's been fascinating to step back from myself and watch my relationship with food change over the years. Don't get me wrong. I still love bacon, and I'm a huge fan of ice cream.

Bacon Ice Cream (photo, from House and Home magazine)
no longer has the power to fix painful feelings or create self-loathing. Yay!

What's different is I don't turn to bacon or ice cream for soothing anymore. Also, my weight hasn't really changed significantly in the past fifteen years. What's different is I don't hate my body anymore.

This blog is a chronicle of how I got to this place of self love and self acceptance. In the beginning, I took it on faith, that if I practiced being loving with myself, I would create loving feelings for myself. I took it on faith that if I practiced unconditional self-acceptance, I would eventually stop criticizing myself or wishing for a different shape or size (the magical one that would end all suffering forever). And it worked!

I often tell my clients who struggle with overeating or other compulsive behaviors, that addiction is substitution. What we are all really hungry for is the safety of being loved and accepted exactly as we are. We live in a culture where there is so much judgement and rejection. And we imagine that a different size or shape (or income or title…) will inoculate us against that painful not-belonging-ness. But changing ourselves to avoid criticism doesn't work. As the young people say, "haters gonna hate."

The person who has to love you absolutely and fiercely, no matter what is YOU. You may have to take it on faith for a while. You may need help to change your inner critic into an ally. You may have to set limits with friends and family who still judge themselves and others negatively. The process is slow and marked with fits and starts. But I can tell you this. The freedom - not just from emotional eating - but from the insidious self-hatred that follows a binge or a weigh-in, that freedom is DELICIOUS.

Do You Have to Forgive?

Sometimes our spiritual traditions work against us, making us feel broken, sinful, or weak if we can't or won't follow their precepts. Often those precepts are offered as the only way to go or the only right way - even by people who say they embrace diversity and differences. One of the topics where this phenomenon occurs is forgiveness. I see all kinds of FB memes - especially in the wake of the new year - telling us we must forgive in order to set ourselves free. And while I agree that holding on to anger or resentment is damaging to the self, I don't agree that forgiveness is always THE path to freedom. It is one path. 

If you are finding it difficult to forgive, don't despair. If you feel bad or defective because you can't forgive, don't despair. Your grudge may be trying to tell you something important. Before you rush to get rid of your ill feelings, listen to them. What do they need you to know?

Recently, I found myself invaded by recurring thoughts of an injustice I experienced. I kept having fantasy conversations in which I would explain to the other person how they had wronged me. Yet I knew without a doubt that confronting this person would have no positive effect for either of us. In this situation, the serenity prayer was far more effective than forgiving. I needed to accept what I could not change (the other person) and change what I could (myself).

It's the story of the scorpion and the frog. If you don't know it, a scorpion asks a frog for a ride across a pond. The frog says, "But you'll sting me." The scorpion says, "No I won't. If I sting you, we'll both drown." The frog agrees. Half way across the pond, the scorpion stings the frog. The frog says, "Now we'll both die! Why did you do this?" The scorpion says, "It's my nature."

I didn't have to forgive my scorpion. I needed to stop giving it rides. 

I needed to look at why I had been forgiving the stings for so long. 

For me, it was about a deep fear, instilled when I was a child, that saying "no" would bring about retribution. It was about recognizing my fear as a post traumatic stress reaction, and taking the risk of showing myself that now, as an adult, I can say, "No more rides." Those who respect me will manage their disappointment. Those who don't will move on. If they throw tantrums, I can move on. 

When I worked my way through this process, my resentment disappeared. I didn't need forgiveness to let go. I needed to know I could and would protect myself. 

Often when we are hurt or violated in some way, we are left feeling powerless. If this is true for you, it might be important to reclaim your power. This doesn't mean holding power over others or taking vengeance. It just means knowing that you will love and protect yourself from relationships that feel depleting, diminishing, or disrespectful, even if it takes work and courage to get there. 

Befriending Your Inner Critic

So much has been written about the inner critic - that voice in your head that says you aren't good enough. Cognitive therapists use the term, "shame busting," to describe how they approach the inner critic. And many of the other psychological theories advocate some variation on this same theme - silence the inner critic, tame the gremlin, etc.

But most of my clients, like me, have inner critics that do not want to be killed off. Many therapists would call this "resistance," or some kind of self-sabotaging impulse. I disagree.

As an adult attachment therapist (I look at how early attachment in our families shapes our self-image and world-view), I learned that my inner critic developed to keep me in alignment with the values and needs of my family, peers, and teachers at a time when I was too little to survive in the world alone. Being so young, I could not know that many of the values and needs I was trying to conform to were unhealthy. They arose out of the insecurities of those around me, and they created insecurity inside of me.

I have written here about my dad and his abuse history, but my mom's insecurities were far more damaging. She is a classical narcissist, whose primary objective is to procure admiration from others. When I reflected well upon her, I was treated kindly, even celebrated. If I needed her (especially if I needed something she was not good at providing), I was ignored or rejected. I was constantly compared unfavorably to my sisters, cousins, even strangers. I spent a lot of my childhood depressed, but didn't know it. Depression was my normal. I turned to food for soothing, even though the price was more disapproval and rejection from mom, who needed thin daughters that people would admire.

As I began to understand this dynamic through my adult eyes, so did my inner critic. As soon as I stopped trying to kill her off (my inner critic, not my mother), she became my ally and took on a new job. Instead of keeping me in line with people who are not healthy for me, her job is to let me know when things don't feel right. Instead of yelling at me to conform or be "good enough," her job is to remind me that my life is for me, not others. I am no longer tiny and vulnerable. I can say "no" or walk away from anything that is depleting, diminishing, harmful - or even vaguely not-quite-right.

When I was little, I had no choice about who surrounded me. Today, I actively choose friends, clients, colleagues, and extended family who are healthy, safe, and loving. My inner critic is AWESOME at detecting narcissists, psychopaths, and other icky folk and sounding the alarm so I steer clear of them. I LOVE her in this role.

She also keeps me company now when I am alone. She knows this was the lynchpin for me - the thing that kept me stuck in one-sided relationships far too long. Now, instead of buying into the notion that my aloneness was my own fault, she reminds me that there are lots of people in the world who are compassionate and caring, who love and accept me as I am, warts and all. She also reminds me that she is with me now in the best of ways. I will always have her loving, supportive presence within. And that inner safety and sweetness is more than good enough.

"Coming out" with a mental health diagnosis

I love the art in this article in the Huffington post, but more than that, I love the message. SOOO many people have (or have had) a mental health diagnosis. The shame that often accompanies the diagnosis is, I think, one of the worst parts. Too many of my clients have refused or delayed seeking help because they feared the stigma. Let's make it safe for everyone to be who they are, warts and all. Ready, go!

What Bipolar Disorder Really Feels Like, By Sarah Klein in the Huffington Post

What to Do When the Difficult Person is a Narcissist or a Sociopath

Last month, I wrote about dealing with difficult people. Several of you wrote back or spoke to me off-line asking, "What if this person is really disturbed?"

Unfortunately about 4 to 8% of our fellow human beings have a serious personality disorder like narcissistic personality disorder or antisocial personality disorder (also known as psychopaths or sociopaths). When you have to deal with someone who has severe narcissism or antisocial personality disorder you will feel off-balance, anxious, and vaguely (or not so vaguely) threatened. It's not a fun experience.

Lucius Malfoy exemplifies a severe narcissist.
His primary aim is to feel better than others.

Severe Narcissism 

Both narcissists and psychopaths are controlling and manipulative. The narcissist seeks control in order to gain a steady supply of admiration. They need constant validation and support of their grandiose sense of self in order to defend against debilitating shame. Usually they begin by seducing others with charm and flattery. They may seem to understand you deeply. But this is not real. They have no felt sense of empathy.

Inevitably, you will fail them, because everyone does (their need is impossible to fill). Then their manipulation may turn to rage or withdrawal. Some narcissists can become vengeful, trying to turn others against you and moving into a position of grandiose victimhood. The narcissist wants others to see him or her as the best at everything, including being the most unjustly treated when in conflict.

Before he was Voldemort, Tom Riddle, the poster child
for anti-social personality disorder, was already
using people to gain power.

Anti-Social Personality Disorder (ASPD) 

The person with ASPD (also called psychopaths or sociopaths) wants control in order to feel powerful. Like narcissists, they begin relationships pouring on the charm and flattery. A sociopath can make you feel like you are part of a select and special group. They can make you feel special and important in ways that no one else ever has. They are also great at faking empathy. They are natural actors, and they study human behavior in order to manipulate others effectively and efficiently.

Often sociopaths are cult leaders, church leaders, and CEOs. Sociopaths are usually greedy, because money can be used to control or exert power over others. Psychopaths (at the more criminal or dangerous end of the antisocial spectrum) may use violence to control others. The more "high functioning" sociopaths will use vague threats as well as promises of great rewards that usually never materialize or those rewards come with a price tag - usually the feeling that you are betraying yourself.

Both narcissists and people with ASPD will leave you in a state of repetitive, anxious thinking known as rumination. Your thoughts will generally circle around to fantasies in which you teach the other person a lesson. This comes out of feelings of powerlessness and a normal, human a desire to be treated with respect and dignity. It is fueled by an underlying belief that if the other person could just "get it" they would change their ways. Letting go of this belief is the key to YOUR freedom and healing.

It is essential to know that people with these personality disorders almost never change. If they do, it is only with intensive, long-terms psychotherapy and usually only after a devastating experience in which their strategies for maintaining admiration or power completely fail.

Your Best Options 

Your best course of action is to have as little contact with a narcissist or psychopath as possible. Your energy will be far better spent doing other things. If possible, you may choose to cut off relationships with these people entirely. Technology can be a wonderful friend in this endeavor. Calls can be blocked. Emails can be deleted automatically so you never know that they were sent.

If you must interact with a narcissist or a sociopath, your best strategy is to become boring to them. Like cats playing with mice, they will lose interest when you stop being fun - which means when you stop being a source of admiration or wounding for the narcissist or stop being someone that the sociopath can use to feel powerful or gain money or other resources from.

Safety First 

Dealing with a sociopath or psychopath alone can be dangerous. They have no empathy and can't be reasoned with. Your safety is paramount. If these strategies don't work and you feel threatened, don't hesitate to get outside support from understanding friends, neighbors, coworkers, or if necessary, legal support from an attorney or the police.

If you grew up with a parent, sibling, or other influential person who had narcissistic or psychopathic tendencies, you may be more vulnerable to the seductions of these people. If this is true for you, then therapy to heal your own feelings of powerlessness and "not good enough-ness" will be invaluable in helping you to let go of these toxic relationships.

Missing Robin Williams

The thing I'm noticing most now, four days after  he died, is that everyone I've talked to, everyone who has written about him, whether we actually knew him or not, felt a sense of kinship with Robin Williams. I know, logically, I felt a kinship with the characters he played. If anything, I loved the writers who wrote those roles.

Yet he chose them, the roles. And he brought them to life in a way that no one else could. I've been binge-watching his movies. Today it was Good Will Hunting and Dead Poets Society. In both of these movies Robin Williams plays a role model for all of us who need to find a way to survive in a world where our individuality and vitality is shamed, where we are misunderstood, kept small with physical and emotional abuse.

The younger characters in these films learn to follow their own hearts, despite the threat of alienation. The teacher, Mr. Keating and the shrink, Sean Maguire provide a map. And more than even that, they offer themselves as safe havens, where it is okay to just be whoever you are. They offer unconditional love. They offer the understanding of a fellow outsider in a world where conformity is regarded above all else.

I love Robin Williams (and miss him like the father my own could never be) because I am a misfit. Growing up, I was told in so many ways that I did not fit, that my not fitting was wrong, and that I should feel ashamed. Mr. Keating gave me a desk to stand on, so I could see the world from a different perspective. Maybe being a misfit was not a bad thing. Maybe it was a gift. Sean Maguire looked at me with so much love and understanding and told me over and over again that the abuse I suffered was not my fault. It was not my fault. It was never my fault.

I keep finding articles and blogs that have used his death as a platform to raise consciousness about depression. That's a good thing. But it's not what I want right now. I just want to grieve what, for me, is a grave, personal loss. I never met him. But I desperately wish I could tell him how grateful I am for his courage in being the captain of the misfits, a team I am so proud to play on. I'm grateful that he was here for a short time. My heart is broken for his pain. And I already miss him so much.

Aging, Injuries, and Healing with Mindfulness

Getting older is a fine balance between the wisdom that can only come from experience and the frustration of not remembering what I was about to say or do a moment ago.

Going slowly and being fully in my body, moment by moment, have been among the greatest gifts of aging. I am still working on both of these practices, and I get distracted by busy-ness more than I would like. But the more I stop, and breathe, and feel, the easier it gets - mostly because it feels good.

Somatic Experiencing (SE) - which I mentioned a couple posts ago - has become an invaluable tool for settling in and noticing subtle energies and staying with them, just noticing and nothing more, as they transform just through the process of attending and watching.

Sadness becomes relief, then anger, then power, then excitement, then joy.

Fatigue becomes grounding, then settling, then calm, then alertness, then presence.

This may sound like meditation, but it's more than I've ever learned in meditation classes. There is no effort to stop thinking. Thoughts happen. There is no concentration on a meditative object. Sensation is the meditative object. And maybe that just works really well for me because I am at the super far end of the kinesthetic spectrum.

One of the main reasons I decided to learn SE was to see if it would help reduce physical pain, which I've long suspected my body holds as "emotional trauma in suspended form." In several of my SE experiences, I've noticed the feeling of my shoulders and back melting - as if old armor is gently falling away. It's a delicious feeling, and one that I hope will eventually become a new normal for me. What I didn't expect, is that SE would follow me out of the classroom, and out of my therapy office into my daily life. Specifically, it has shown up in my footsteps.

In March, I twisted my left knee, and it's felt twinge-y and wonky ever since - not painful, but not quite right. I don't think it's a coincidence that I also have bunion on my left big toe, and that my left foot has been growing progressively weaker over the last few years. So I did what we all seem to do these days; I scoured Google for everything ever written about knee injuries and bunions and muscle imbalances. Several articles recommended walking barefoot.

Then, in June, I ran into a friend who was wearing Vibram FiveFingers on her feet. I had a pair once. I got them right after reading Born to Run by Christopher McDougall. But I was much younger then (only 44). And I had only just begun learning about slow and gentle living. I didn't know that in my mid-forties, my body would begin to rebel against being pushed to hard. I didn't know the wear and tear that my earlier traumas, and the resulting tendency to dismiss and deny my body's pain and fatigue signals, was catching up to me. So I put on my new barefoot "shoes," and went for a run, giving myself a muscle spasm (in my left calf, of course) that lasted a month. I blamed the shoes, cursed the book, and went back to supportive, orthotically correct footwear. And I watched my bunion grow. And I felt my foot continue to weaken.

Fast forward to June. Now at the wise and sage age of 49 1/2, I listen to my friend describe the slow, gentle process of moving from shod feet to bare feet. She wore her FiveFingers an hour a day at first, only at home after work. Then on little trips, grocery shopping. Then, adding more time as her body grew accustomed, she eventually started wearing them all day, just walking, sitting, driving. Now, she says, she is "addicted to them."

There is no definitive information about whether barefoot living will fix my knee or my foot. Anecdotal evidence points both ways - it really helps or it really hurts. Though in scouring blogs and message boards, there is one theme that recurs over and over. If you transition to barefoot, go very, very slowly.

Yesterday my new (and surprisingly cute compared to the last pair) FiveFingers arrived. I wore them for two hours, mostly sitting. Today I wore them for three hours, sitting, sweeping the floor and taking a short trip to the store. When I took them off, the angle of my bunion-y toe was less pronounced. My knee is still wonky, but it also feels like the muscles of my foot, calf and thigh are more activated and more stabilizing.

What's really wonderful though is the mindfulness of each step. As I walk, I am keenly aware of the sensations in my feet and legs and knees and hips and back. I am feeling my gait from inside. I have no idea what this will lead to, if anything. And the blessing of SE and of getting older is that it's soooo okay with me not to know. I am happy watching, waiting, trusting my body's signals and discovering what the next step feels like, and then the next one, and the next.

And I am relishing the loving feelings that come with all of this self-care. The armor continues melting, and as it does, the love and joy that is my birthright (and yours too) grows full and bright, a little sun rising in my chest.