Monday, July 18, 2011
Workaholism
Emotional eaters often have more than one compulsion. And we tend to be ultra-responsible, often co-dependent. It's no surprise that many compulsive eaters are also workaholics. While we may not get the cultural approval we seek by being thin, we can get it by being good workers. But as with any addiction, workaholism comes at a high price. If you think you (or someone you love) is using work to avoid feelings, relationships or both, read this article by Erin Lenderts. Next time, I'll follow up with more about how to recover if you are a workaholic. Till then, be as gentle with yourself as you can possibly be.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Not all overeating is emotional eating
My focus in this blog and in my work with clients is on the emotional component of overeating. Yet, as I navigate the waters of peri-menopause, I'm discovering something really important about my body. As I get older, my body is processing food differently.
Till a short time ago, I've was having BIG hunger (it was waking me up in the middle of the night) and I had to eat every two hours or I'd get a headache. The blood sugar tests my doctor ordered appeared normal, but my body was not behaving normally.
For most of my adult life, I've been a plant eater, with a little meat sprinkled in here and there. I love bread. For years I've made my own sourdough from scratch - starter and everything. I love potatoes - mashed, fried, baked. I love pasta, especially farfalle - little bows of joy. And I love cake, especially princess cake with it's edible, pastel-green wrapping.
But what I'm discovering is that these foods don't love me back. And I'm not talking about weight gain here. This is about ginormous blood sugar crashes, complete with headache, grouchiness, and hunger pangs like I hadn't ever eaten in my life.
A friend, about my age described the same symptoms. Then another friend. We are all perimenopausal. Could there be a connection? What we all started to discover, through advice and experientation, was that contrary to what a lot of "experts" say, our bodies felt better when we ate more meat and stopped eating sugar and starch.
If you read my blog, you know, I'm not a fan of the experts. I trust the messages my body gives me. For the moment, the message is clear. Eat meat. Eat animal fat. Don't eat the pretty princess cake. And I'm listening with all love and tenderness I've learned in the process of healing my emotional eating.
My inner child sometimes really wants cake, and I tell her, "I know honey, cake would make my mouth really happy right now. But after, it would feel bad, really bad. And she knows, having felt so much better recently, that the pleasure of cake, at least in this moment, is not worth the suffering it brings. So we stay with what works, in this case, what many have called "the candy of meat." Bacon :-).
I would love to know how you have been listening to your body - or would like to. And what you have learned. Comments are welcomed and encouraged.
Till a short time ago, I've was having BIG hunger (it was waking me up in the middle of the night) and I had to eat every two hours or I'd get a headache. The blood sugar tests my doctor ordered appeared normal, but my body was not behaving normally.
For most of my adult life, I've been a plant eater, with a little meat sprinkled in here and there. I love bread. For years I've made my own sourdough from scratch - starter and everything. I love potatoes - mashed, fried, baked. I love pasta, especially farfalle - little bows of joy. And I love cake, especially princess cake with it's edible, pastel-green wrapping.
But what I'm discovering is that these foods don't love me back. And I'm not talking about weight gain here. This is about ginormous blood sugar crashes, complete with headache, grouchiness, and hunger pangs like I hadn't ever eaten in my life.
A friend, about my age described the same symptoms. Then another friend. We are all perimenopausal. Could there be a connection? What we all started to discover, through advice and experientation, was that contrary to what a lot of "experts" say, our bodies felt better when we ate more meat and stopped eating sugar and starch.
If you read my blog, you know, I'm not a fan of the experts. I trust the messages my body gives me. For the moment, the message is clear. Eat meat. Eat animal fat. Don't eat the pretty princess cake. And I'm listening with all love and tenderness I've learned in the process of healing my emotional eating.
My inner child sometimes really wants cake, and I tell her, "I know honey, cake would make my mouth really happy right now. But after, it would feel bad, really bad. And she knows, having felt so much better recently, that the pleasure of cake, at least in this moment, is not worth the suffering it brings. So we stay with what works, in this case, what many have called "the candy of meat." Bacon :-).
I would love to know how you have been listening to your body - or would like to. And what you have learned. Comments are welcomed and encouraged.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Weight Loss Advice - Who to Trust
My local Borders is closing (I guess they all are). So I stopped by to pick up some bargains. Books that support the non-diet approach always catch my eye, so I picked up a book called Full: A Life Without Dieting. And just as my mother told me, you can't judge a book by it's cover, or title. The book starts out interestingly, explaining the biology of fullness and confirming what real* non-diet practitioners know. Hunger and fullness are signaled by a complex system of chemical reactions in the body. Our chemistry is dictated in large part by our DNA. And then environmental factors like stress, overwork and emotional disconnect can make it hard to pay attention to our hunger and fullness signals.
Where the book loses me is at the moment when Dr. Snyder begins talking about what to eat, when to eat, and how much to eat. Excuse me, but isn't that... a diet? And then, the doctor begins contradicting himself. Early in the book, he notes that the top 10% of the stomach is where the nerves that signal fullness are located. And he recommends eating enough to activate those nerves, noting that diets are doomed to failure, in part, because they leave people hungry. But then later in the book, he advocates eating less in order to shrink the stomach.
In his "troubleshooting" section, he briefly mentions emotional eating and recommends that you let go of stress. Really? Like the complex system that governs appetite, there is another complex system that governs our emotional states. If we could let go of stress by simply deciding to do so, guess what? We all would!
So, once again, we have an "expert" telling us what to do. Another expert is recommending a diet, and then saying he doesn't believe in diets. And yet there are a few gems among the dross of this book. I'll sum it up for you and save you the time and expense of buying and reading the book.
1. Your stomach has fullness sensors that get activated when you've eaten enough. However, they can get short-circuited by emotional distress, preoccupation, or the smell of freshly baked cookies.
2. If you are eating beyond fullness, it may be helpful to practice mindfulness. If mindfulness is not helping (I know I'm full, but I feel compelled to eat anyway), then you may be hungry for something else.
Here's why expert advice doesn't work. YOU are the only expert on you. You are the one receiving those signals. So only you can know when to eat, what to eat, and how much to eat. If you are an emotional eater, you may need help differentiating emotional hunger signals from food hunger signals and then learning how to respond to both with care and self love.
So let's talk about mindful eating. Turn off the TV. Eat alone if possible. Eat slowly and really enjoy your food. After each bite, pause and notice how your body is responding. If you are feeling pleasure, revel in that pleasure. Notice flavors, textures, temperature. Notice belly feelings. Is there relief as you move from hunger to fullness. Your job is to increase your awareness of the physical signals your body is sending you about the experience of eating. That's all. If you find yourself worrying about food "rules" or feeling fear/shame about your body while you're eating, ask the part that is worried if it can move aside temporarily so you can listen to your body. If the worried part can't let go, you might find it easier to start with the emotional stuff.
Food is soothing. Food is distracting. Even worrying about your weight or your health can provide a great distraction from other feelings that are harder to face. This is why real non-diet followers abstain from all forms of food restriction. We know that dieting, just like overeating, is a distraction from difficult feelings.
Feelings 101:
With rare exception, we are all born with the need and capacity to feel a range of emotions at a range of intensity. Our emotions are like the dials on the dashboard of a car. They tell us when things are going well. And they tell us when we need to make adjustments. We are also born with the need and capacity to bond. Bonding with our parents keeps us safe, comforted, and connected.
Our ability to feel a full range of emotions without getting distressed or overwhelmed DEPENDS on the quality of our bonding experiences. If our parents made us feel safe, soothed and valued as children, regardless of our emotional expression, then we learned that our emotions are fine. We can bring them to others and receive care. And when others are not available, we can draw on the care we received as kids and self-soothe.
Many overeaters have less-than-optimal bonding. Parents may have been abusive/scary, preoccupied/distant, or intrusive/needy. Because bonding is essential to our survival, we will shut down any feelings that threaten our bond. This can be obvious. For example, I've worked with clients who had abusive parents and don't feel safe in relationships. When they feel lonely or upset, they turn to food because it calms them. And food won't yell at them (though they often yell at themselves later for eating).
Sometimes the bonding problem is a little obscured. Another client had a hard time receiving compliments. Whenever someone acknowledged her skill or strengths, she would change the subject and brush off the kind words, not really believing them. It turns out her mother criticized everything she did. As a kid, she longed to have her mom beam at her with pride. Instead, when she had an accomplishment, it was dismissed, creating deep shame. In therapy, she was able to start taking in positive feedback. And in the process, she was able to notice hunger and fullness more easily.
Figuring this stuff out is hard. Most of us need a healthy adult bond where we can explore all of our feelings with another person, and have our feelings/our truest selves be accepted and held with respect and regard. Attuning to our feelings and welcoming the messages they carry is in direct parallel with attuning to our appetites and welcoming the messages of hunger and fullness. This is why diets don't work (even when you call them something different).
*Real non-diet practitioners trust that our bodies know when they are hungry and full. They trust that when emotions are nurtured, emotional eating falls away. They trust that each body has a size and shape encoded into its DNA. That size and shape may not fit cultural ideals. But instead of pushing and punishing bodies into unrealistic sizes and shapes, real non-diet practitioners advocate for self-acceptance, health at every size, and activism that challenges the shaming and devaluing cultural beliefs about size and weight.
Where the book loses me is at the moment when Dr. Snyder begins talking about what to eat, when to eat, and how much to eat. Excuse me, but isn't that... a diet? And then, the doctor begins contradicting himself. Early in the book, he notes that the top 10% of the stomach is where the nerves that signal fullness are located. And he recommends eating enough to activate those nerves, noting that diets are doomed to failure, in part, because they leave people hungry. But then later in the book, he advocates eating less in order to shrink the stomach.
In his "troubleshooting" section, he briefly mentions emotional eating and recommends that you let go of stress. Really? Like the complex system that governs appetite, there is another complex system that governs our emotional states. If we could let go of stress by simply deciding to do so, guess what? We all would!
So, once again, we have an "expert" telling us what to do. Another expert is recommending a diet, and then saying he doesn't believe in diets. And yet there are a few gems among the dross of this book. I'll sum it up for you and save you the time and expense of buying and reading the book.
1. Your stomach has fullness sensors that get activated when you've eaten enough. However, they can get short-circuited by emotional distress, preoccupation, or the smell of freshly baked cookies.
2. If you are eating beyond fullness, it may be helpful to practice mindfulness. If mindfulness is not helping (I know I'm full, but I feel compelled to eat anyway), then you may be hungry for something else.
Here's why expert advice doesn't work. YOU are the only expert on you. You are the one receiving those signals. So only you can know when to eat, what to eat, and how much to eat. If you are an emotional eater, you may need help differentiating emotional hunger signals from food hunger signals and then learning how to respond to both with care and self love.
So let's talk about mindful eating. Turn off the TV. Eat alone if possible. Eat slowly and really enjoy your food. After each bite, pause and notice how your body is responding. If you are feeling pleasure, revel in that pleasure. Notice flavors, textures, temperature. Notice belly feelings. Is there relief as you move from hunger to fullness. Your job is to increase your awareness of the physical signals your body is sending you about the experience of eating. That's all. If you find yourself worrying about food "rules" or feeling fear/shame about your body while you're eating, ask the part that is worried if it can move aside temporarily so you can listen to your body. If the worried part can't let go, you might find it easier to start with the emotional stuff.
Food is soothing. Food is distracting. Even worrying about your weight or your health can provide a great distraction from other feelings that are harder to face. This is why real non-diet followers abstain from all forms of food restriction. We know that dieting, just like overeating, is a distraction from difficult feelings.
Feelings 101:
With rare exception, we are all born with the need and capacity to feel a range of emotions at a range of intensity. Our emotions are like the dials on the dashboard of a car. They tell us when things are going well. And they tell us when we need to make adjustments. We are also born with the need and capacity to bond. Bonding with our parents keeps us safe, comforted, and connected.
Our ability to feel a full range of emotions without getting distressed or overwhelmed DEPENDS on the quality of our bonding experiences. If our parents made us feel safe, soothed and valued as children, regardless of our emotional expression, then we learned that our emotions are fine. We can bring them to others and receive care. And when others are not available, we can draw on the care we received as kids and self-soothe.
Many overeaters have less-than-optimal bonding. Parents may have been abusive/scary, preoccupied/distant, or intrusive/needy. Because bonding is essential to our survival, we will shut down any feelings that threaten our bond. This can be obvious. For example, I've worked with clients who had abusive parents and don't feel safe in relationships. When they feel lonely or upset, they turn to food because it calms them. And food won't yell at them (though they often yell at themselves later for eating).
Sometimes the bonding problem is a little obscured. Another client had a hard time receiving compliments. Whenever someone acknowledged her skill or strengths, she would change the subject and brush off the kind words, not really believing them. It turns out her mother criticized everything she did. As a kid, she longed to have her mom beam at her with pride. Instead, when she had an accomplishment, it was dismissed, creating deep shame. In therapy, she was able to start taking in positive feedback. And in the process, she was able to notice hunger and fullness more easily.
Figuring this stuff out is hard. Most of us need a healthy adult bond where we can explore all of our feelings with another person, and have our feelings/our truest selves be accepted and held with respect and regard. Attuning to our feelings and welcoming the messages they carry is in direct parallel with attuning to our appetites and welcoming the messages of hunger and fullness. This is why diets don't work (even when you call them something different).
*Real non-diet practitioners trust that our bodies know when they are hungry and full. They trust that when emotions are nurtured, emotional eating falls away. They trust that each body has a size and shape encoded into its DNA. That size and shape may not fit cultural ideals. But instead of pushing and punishing bodies into unrealistic sizes and shapes, real non-diet practitioners advocate for self-acceptance, health at every size, and activism that challenges the shaming and devaluing cultural beliefs about size and weight.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Cheesecake, Feelings, and Self Love
I had a client* recently tell me she ate a half bag of chips, a pack of girlscout cookies, and part of a still-frozen cheesecake without understanding why.
Then as our session progressed, she told me about taking her sister to the airport. My client had a back spasm from sitting at a computer for too long. Her sister called at 4pm, stating that she had forgotten to arrange a ride to the airport, and needed to be there by 6:30pm for an 8pm flight. My client dropped what she was doing, and drove to her sister's house. Her sister was not packed, and there was rush hour traffic. "I was more worried than she was," my client laughed.
"Can I slow you down?" I asked.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, "am I going too fast?"
"It's not that," I offered, "I'm just wondering if we can make space for your feelings?" She took a deep breath and sighed.
"That was a big sigh," I said.
"Yeah. I don't know what this is," she said, pointing to her throat.
"What are you noticing?" I asked.
"It's like a lump, like I swallowed something, and it's just sticking there."
"Stay with the lump. See if it can tell you what you swallowed." I encouraged.
"My pride," she said, tears starting to flow.
This was not the first time she had put her own needs aside for someone and ended up feeling used or lessened in some way. And this was not the first client to share a similar story - overeating without connecting the binge to an emotional upset.
Like so many of us, this client learned from a very early age that she was expected to be helpful, no matter the cost to herself. She had strong, painful memories of being called selfish by her mother and sister, if her needs conflicted with theirs. Her mother was unemotional. Her dad, while kind, was just not around all that much. When she needed care, support or understanding, she was usually criticized for being too needy.
The one place she felt soothed and safe was with food. Food filled up the empty space inside. It calmed her. It was her one haven, till she hit puberty and had a crush on a boy who called her fat. Then, her one safe form of self-care became completely unsafe. She still ate to soothe herself, but now, after a binge, she would yell at herself and criticize herself, even more harshly than her mother and sister did.
What I find hopeful and tender and heart-opening, is that this woman has never stopped trying to take care of herself in the best, and often only ways available to her. First with food, then with a great education she paid for on her own, and then with a high-paying job that allowed her to have therapy, as well as acupuncture and yoga for her back. As much as she was used to self-criticism and shame, there was always this thread of awareness (I need to feel better), that allowed her to keep reaching for more.
As this session progressed, we uncovered more feelings through her physical sensations:
"I feel a burning in my stomach, like heartburn, but lower." (her)
"What does the burning want to tell you?" (me)
"I'm angry. I'm really angry. My sister is so selfish." (her)
It's no mystery that these physical sensations often centered in her belly, her chest and her throat. All along our digestive tract are clusters of neurons that give us our "gut feelings." For emotional eaters, these feelings often get lumped into "hungry" or "empty" and food does a really good job of numbing us out. In therapy, we are just starting to sort out what is physical hunger and what is emotional pain, fear, anger, shame, hope, etc.
At the end of the session I asked her, "If you could have a do-over, what would you want to say or do?"
"I want to tell my sister that it's too bad she didn't make arrangements for herself, but I have to take care of my back, and I'm sure she'll find a way to get to the airport. She always gets what she wants."
"And as you say that out loud, what do you notice in your body or emotionally?" I ask.
"I feel lighter," she says, smiling. "I feel a fullness, a solidness." Her face is lit up. "I think I feel happy!" She says, laughing, surprised.
"And when you look in my eyes, what do you see?" I ask.
"You're happy too. You're happy for me."
"Yes. I'm really happy for you." We both tear up.
This progression from not knowing, to feeling something, to naming anger, and then finding her voice is nothing short of miraculous. Voicing feelings was a punishable offense in this client's family, and the punishment was either getting criticized (shamed) or ignored (devalued). It is going to be essential for this client to keep looking into my eyes and seeing my care for her, my continued presence, my desire to know all of her feelings, my joy in her joy, my compassion for her pain.
Spending time with her, and seeing again and again her commitment to her own happiness and well being tells me that we will convert her shame into compassion and that her urges to eat will become a beacon that tells her when she needs comfort and care. And I know she will show up for herself with kindness and love because those things are already in her.
*This client is an amalgam of many clients over time so that confidentiality is protected.
Then as our session progressed, she told me about taking her sister to the airport. My client had a back spasm from sitting at a computer for too long. Her sister called at 4pm, stating that she had forgotten to arrange a ride to the airport, and needed to be there by 6:30pm for an 8pm flight. My client dropped what she was doing, and drove to her sister's house. Her sister was not packed, and there was rush hour traffic. "I was more worried than she was," my client laughed.
"Can I slow you down?" I asked.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, "am I going too fast?"
"It's not that," I offered, "I'm just wondering if we can make space for your feelings?" She took a deep breath and sighed.
"That was a big sigh," I said.
"Yeah. I don't know what this is," she said, pointing to her throat.
"What are you noticing?" I asked.
"It's like a lump, like I swallowed something, and it's just sticking there."
"Stay with the lump. See if it can tell you what you swallowed." I encouraged.
"My pride," she said, tears starting to flow.
This was not the first time she had put her own needs aside for someone and ended up feeling used or lessened in some way. And this was not the first client to share a similar story - overeating without connecting the binge to an emotional upset.
Like so many of us, this client learned from a very early age that she was expected to be helpful, no matter the cost to herself. She had strong, painful memories of being called selfish by her mother and sister, if her needs conflicted with theirs. Her mother was unemotional. Her dad, while kind, was just not around all that much. When she needed care, support or understanding, she was usually criticized for being too needy.
The one place she felt soothed and safe was with food. Food filled up the empty space inside. It calmed her. It was her one haven, till she hit puberty and had a crush on a boy who called her fat. Then, her one safe form of self-care became completely unsafe. She still ate to soothe herself, but now, after a binge, she would yell at herself and criticize herself, even more harshly than her mother and sister did.
What I find hopeful and tender and heart-opening, is that this woman has never stopped trying to take care of herself in the best, and often only ways available to her. First with food, then with a great education she paid for on her own, and then with a high-paying job that allowed her to have therapy, as well as acupuncture and yoga for her back. As much as she was used to self-criticism and shame, there was always this thread of awareness (I need to feel better), that allowed her to keep reaching for more.
As this session progressed, we uncovered more feelings through her physical sensations:
"I feel a burning in my stomach, like heartburn, but lower." (her)
"What does the burning want to tell you?" (me)
"I'm angry. I'm really angry. My sister is so selfish." (her)
It's no mystery that these physical sensations often centered in her belly, her chest and her throat. All along our digestive tract are clusters of neurons that give us our "gut feelings." For emotional eaters, these feelings often get lumped into "hungry" or "empty" and food does a really good job of numbing us out. In therapy, we are just starting to sort out what is physical hunger and what is emotional pain, fear, anger, shame, hope, etc.
At the end of the session I asked her, "If you could have a do-over, what would you want to say or do?"
"I want to tell my sister that it's too bad she didn't make arrangements for herself, but I have to take care of my back, and I'm sure she'll find a way to get to the airport. She always gets what she wants."
"And as you say that out loud, what do you notice in your body or emotionally?" I ask.
"I feel lighter," she says, smiling. "I feel a fullness, a solidness." Her face is lit up. "I think I feel happy!" She says, laughing, surprised.
"And when you look in my eyes, what do you see?" I ask.
"You're happy too. You're happy for me."
"Yes. I'm really happy for you." We both tear up.
This progression from not knowing, to feeling something, to naming anger, and then finding her voice is nothing short of miraculous. Voicing feelings was a punishable offense in this client's family, and the punishment was either getting criticized (shamed) or ignored (devalued). It is going to be essential for this client to keep looking into my eyes and seeing my care for her, my continued presence, my desire to know all of her feelings, my joy in her joy, my compassion for her pain.
Spending time with her, and seeing again and again her commitment to her own happiness and well being tells me that we will convert her shame into compassion and that her urges to eat will become a beacon that tells her when she needs comfort and care. And I know she will show up for herself with kindness and love because those things are already in her.
*This client is an amalgam of many clients over time so that confidentiality is protected.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
Resolutions
I just got my favorite non-diet newsletter, Stay Attuned, from Karin Kratina and Amy Tuttle at Nourishing Connections (http://nourishingconnections.com). They do such a good job of uncovering the harmful messages at the heart of the weight loss commercials that abound every new year.
Personally, I've been bristling at the latest Special K commercials - the ones that ask, "What will you gain when you lose?" What a waste of time to keep measuring our success on the bathroom scale, our happiness by the size of our jeans. Uch. It's enough to make you lose your appetite!
What I really hate are the promises - implicit and explicit - that being thinner will make us happier and more successful. I've been thinner. I gained two things when I was at my thinnest:
It's been a long journey. I've had to grieve the truth, that my parents didn't know how to love and value me as I was (and so I had to teach myself how to do just that). I've had lots of starts and stops. I've had lots of amazing help (especially from Robyn Posin at http://www.forthelittleonesinside.com). And now, at 46, I really know in my bones that what I craved in my twenties could only come from one place: myself.
So today, at the start of this new year, I am recommitting to the resolutions I've made as I've recovered from my eating disorder. Here they are...
This is my only "diet," and it's the only one that's ever delivered on the promises of love and happiness.
If you find yourself contemplating a diet for the new year, I invite you to stop and listen to what you are really craving, and ask yourself if being thinner will really get you there. Whatever you need to find happiness, you have the power to provide for yourself, regardless of your size.
Personally, I've been bristling at the latest Special K commercials - the ones that ask, "What will you gain when you lose?" What a waste of time to keep measuring our success on the bathroom scale, our happiness by the size of our jeans. Uch. It's enough to make you lose your appetite!
What I really hate are the promises - implicit and explicit - that being thinner will make us happier and more successful. I've been thinner. I gained two things when I was at my thinnest:
- The attention of narcissistic men who wanted have sex with me, but had no interest in who I really was.
- A temporary reprieve from my own meanness and constant self-criticism, which ended up being no reprieve at all, as it was immediately replaced by the terror that I would soon regain what I'd lost.
It's been a long journey. I've had to grieve the truth, that my parents didn't know how to love and value me as I was (and so I had to teach myself how to do just that). I've had lots of starts and stops. I've had lots of amazing help (especially from Robyn Posin at http://www.forthelittleonesinside.com). And now, at 46, I really know in my bones that what I craved in my twenties could only come from one place: myself.
So today, at the start of this new year, I am recommitting to the resolutions I've made as I've recovered from my eating disorder. Here they are...
- I resolve to listen deeply to my body and honor the messages it sends me. I will eat when I'm hungry, stop when I feel fed, and eat what I crave, whether it's brussels sprouts or buttermilk donuts.
- When I'm tired, I will rest, and not push through the fatigue.
- When my body wants to move, I will dance, walk in the woods, stretch - or anything else that answers the need.
- I will not overwork, over-stress, or over-do.
- When I feel worried, confused, distressed, sad or angry, I will stop and listen carefully and do whatever I can to bring myself relief.
- I will say No to anything that doesn't feel right, even if there is a voice in my head saying, "but you really should..."
- I will ask for help and accept kindness whenever it is offered.
- I will actively seek out experiences and friendships that make me feel alive and fulfilled.
- I will actively stop experiences and relationships that are depleting.
- And above all else, I will treat myself with love, gentleness, tenderness, respect and care.
This is my only "diet," and it's the only one that's ever delivered on the promises of love and happiness.
If you find yourself contemplating a diet for the new year, I invite you to stop and listen to what you are really craving, and ask yourself if being thinner will really get you there. Whatever you need to find happiness, you have the power to provide for yourself, regardless of your size.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
The Most Expensive Cup of Soup… Ever
Yesterday was my first day back to work after six days off for the Thanksgiving break. I had slid into a delicious schedule of waking up whenever I wanted, going for long walks in the redwoods, and eating whenever I felt like it.
I wasn't ready to go back to work. I wasn't ready to think ahead or to plan for what I might need at three o'clock when it was only 10 AM. And after a week away from work, there were none of my usual staples in the fridge, no individually wrapped string cheese, no fruit, no left overs from last night's dinner or yesterday's lunch. I cleaned it all out so as to avoid the growth of strange science projects while I was away.
So when three o'clock rolled around, and I had a little break between clients, the only thing in my office was a granola bar. Better than nothing, but not by much. When my day ended at 4:30 PM, I was long past being hungry and in that fugue state where it's probably not even safe to drive, let alone order in the drive-through.
If I'd had my wits about me I would've headed straight to food, without a thought to the “healthiness,” or “good for-you-ness” of that particular food. But my wits however had gone missing. And I found myself driving to my local produce store – a great place to find heads of broccoli, bunches of kale, and even a juicy pear, but in my hunger driven dementia, all I could think was that I had pears at home, so why would I want to buy another one. And it was cold, and I wanted to eat something hot.
So I left the produce store, even hungrier, and headed to Trader Joe's, realizing on the way there, that while they would have delicious things to heat up once I got home, I would have to get home and heat them up. Fortunately I have recently discovered a little hole in the wall right across the parking lot from Trader Joe's–a place where they serve all kinds of sandwiches and… soup. Hot, delicious soup.
That day they had both vegetarian minestrone and minestrone with meatballs. This is exactly what I needed. Hot soup filled with veggies and beans and yummy little meatballs. My tummy was so excited, it couldn't wait. And so I sat in the car, blowing furiously on the hot soup, desperate to get it into my body as quickly as possible. It was truly delicious. Within several spoonfuls, my hunger pains started to subside and I thought, “now I can drive home.”
Having allowed myself to go for that long without eating had not only taken a toll on my ability to think, it apparently wrecked a little havoc on my fine motor skills. So when I went to put the lid on the soup I found it slipping from my fingers. As the first scalding drops hit my lap, my hands instinctively moved as if to throw the soup out the window of my car. The window being closed meant that the soup coated half the window, the door, the door handle, the armrest, the lock button, the window button, the map compartment, the trunk release, the gas cap release. Several meatballs and kidney beans managed to ricochet onto the back seat and rear floor mat.
I got myself home, where my husband, bless his intuitive heart, somehow knew that I would be in need of sustenance. I stripped off my minestrone soaked clothing, and sat down to a plate of his stirfried chicken and veggies before mustering the strength to assess the damage to my car. The spilled soup had the consistency of very moist refried beans and the smell of an Italian restaurant. It took about a half an hour and a half roll of paper towels to get most of it up.
This morning I took my clothes to the cleaners, and my car to be detailed, bringing the total cost of my soup to about $130.
After nearly sixteen years of demand-feeding, you'd think I'd have it down by now. I guess there is always room for more growth. Arggh. I'd like to say "lesson learned," but I know better. So I will just say, lesson reinforced. And now I will go make myself a bag of lunch and snacks for tomorrow :-).
I wasn't ready to go back to work. I wasn't ready to think ahead or to plan for what I might need at three o'clock when it was only 10 AM. And after a week away from work, there were none of my usual staples in the fridge, no individually wrapped string cheese, no fruit, no left overs from last night's dinner or yesterday's lunch. I cleaned it all out so as to avoid the growth of strange science projects while I was away.
So when three o'clock rolled around, and I had a little break between clients, the only thing in my office was a granola bar. Better than nothing, but not by much. When my day ended at 4:30 PM, I was long past being hungry and in that fugue state where it's probably not even safe to drive, let alone order in the drive-through.
If I'd had my wits about me I would've headed straight to food, without a thought to the “healthiness,” or “good for-you-ness” of that particular food. But my wits however had gone missing. And I found myself driving to my local produce store – a great place to find heads of broccoli, bunches of kale, and even a juicy pear, but in my hunger driven dementia, all I could think was that I had pears at home, so why would I want to buy another one. And it was cold, and I wanted to eat something hot.
So I left the produce store, even hungrier, and headed to Trader Joe's, realizing on the way there, that while they would have delicious things to heat up once I got home, I would have to get home and heat them up. Fortunately I have recently discovered a little hole in the wall right across the parking lot from Trader Joe's–a place where they serve all kinds of sandwiches and… soup. Hot, delicious soup.
That day they had both vegetarian minestrone and minestrone with meatballs. This is exactly what I needed. Hot soup filled with veggies and beans and yummy little meatballs. My tummy was so excited, it couldn't wait. And so I sat in the car, blowing furiously on the hot soup, desperate to get it into my body as quickly as possible. It was truly delicious. Within several spoonfuls, my hunger pains started to subside and I thought, “now I can drive home.”
Having allowed myself to go for that long without eating had not only taken a toll on my ability to think, it apparently wrecked a little havoc on my fine motor skills. So when I went to put the lid on the soup I found it slipping from my fingers. As the first scalding drops hit my lap, my hands instinctively moved as if to throw the soup out the window of my car. The window being closed meant that the soup coated half the window, the door, the door handle, the armrest, the lock button, the window button, the map compartment, the trunk release, the gas cap release. Several meatballs and kidney beans managed to ricochet onto the back seat and rear floor mat.
I got myself home, where my husband, bless his intuitive heart, somehow knew that I would be in need of sustenance. I stripped off my minestrone soaked clothing, and sat down to a plate of his stirfried chicken and veggies before mustering the strength to assess the damage to my car. The spilled soup had the consistency of very moist refried beans and the smell of an Italian restaurant. It took about a half an hour and a half roll of paper towels to get most of it up.
This morning I took my clothes to the cleaners, and my car to be detailed, bringing the total cost of my soup to about $130.
After nearly sixteen years of demand-feeding, you'd think I'd have it down by now. I guess there is always room for more growth. Arggh. I'd like to say "lesson learned," but I know better. So I will just say, lesson reinforced. And now I will go make myself a bag of lunch and snacks for tomorrow :-).
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Just when you thought it was safe to go into the kitchen...
Here we are again. Thanksgiving. Around the corner, Christmas or Hanukah or Kwanza or some other feast lies in wait, ready to make you feel like a little kid again (and not necessarily in the good way). I've stopped celebrating with my family. After the years of conflicting messages (I made this stuffing because you love it. Should you really be eating that much?), I decided to make Thanksgiving my own.
After starting the work of self acceptance and self love, it just became impossible to enjoy a celebratory meal with people who wanted me to keep joining in the chorus of their favorite holiday song (to the tune of Jingle Bells):
I'm so fat
I'm so fat
I can't stand my thighs
You could stand to lose a few
Please pass the pumpkin pie...
A few years ago, my husband and I started the tradition of an orphans' Thanksgiving - not hard to do in the Bay Area, where so many people are transplanted. At the first Thanksgiving without family, I felt liberated. We consciously threw out any "shoulds" that would make the holiday feel like work. We told our friends to bring their favorite Thanksgiving dishes. We bought a smoked turkey, not knowing it would be the best one we'd ever had.
I made my personal favorites, a corn casserole - the recipe taught to me by my old roommate's Southern mom. It's one of those crazy, easy, cheesy yummy recipes - a can of corn (Trader Joes' is sweet and crispy), a can of creamed corn, a bag of shredded cheddar cheese, a jar of pimentos, a half a sheath of crushed saltine crackers, a slightly beaten egg to hold it together and a blob of sour cream for a little extra tang. Mix everything together, reserving some cheese to sprinkle on top. Cook at 325, or 350 or 375 till the cheese on top is bubbly and golden. Yum.
My friend, Shauna, brought her favorite - yams with marshmallows. My friend Shawn brought an old staple from his family's table, cottage cheese (I know, weird, but hey, that was Thanksgiving for him!). Laura brought apple pie with the only crust I've ever liked. And my husband grilled marinated veggies on our barbecue in the rain. It was all so good. But looking back, what I remember most is the ease and comfort, the complete absence of pressure, guilt or remorse about eating. I remember that we laughed a lot that night, a string of Martha Stewart jokes, building on each other.
And I still feel thankful - thankful for the many friends who've taught me that love really can be without condition, without criticism, without body-baggage. I'm thankful for the freedom I've created, from the tyranny of my own inner critic who almost never pops up these days (and even when she does, I know now that she is probably feeling afraid and needs me to soothe her).
And this year, when my mom said, "You could come to our house for Thanksgiving," I was grateful that I have learned to lovingly decline.
What boundaries are you grateful for this year? Are their new ones you'd like to be grateful for in the years to come? What would make this holiday season one that feeds and sustains you without guilt or drama? What do you need in order to give yourself permission to have true joy and peace through the holidays?
After starting the work of self acceptance and self love, it just became impossible to enjoy a celebratory meal with people who wanted me to keep joining in the chorus of their favorite holiday song (to the tune of Jingle Bells):
I'm so fat
I'm so fat
I can't stand my thighs
You could stand to lose a few
Please pass the pumpkin pie...
A few years ago, my husband and I started the tradition of an orphans' Thanksgiving - not hard to do in the Bay Area, where so many people are transplanted. At the first Thanksgiving without family, I felt liberated. We consciously threw out any "shoulds" that would make the holiday feel like work. We told our friends to bring their favorite Thanksgiving dishes. We bought a smoked turkey, not knowing it would be the best one we'd ever had.
I made my personal favorites, a corn casserole - the recipe taught to me by my old roommate's Southern mom. It's one of those crazy, easy, cheesy yummy recipes - a can of corn (Trader Joes' is sweet and crispy), a can of creamed corn, a bag of shredded cheddar cheese, a jar of pimentos, a half a sheath of crushed saltine crackers, a slightly beaten egg to hold it together and a blob of sour cream for a little extra tang. Mix everything together, reserving some cheese to sprinkle on top. Cook at 325, or 350 or 375 till the cheese on top is bubbly and golden. Yum.
My friend, Shauna, brought her favorite - yams with marshmallows. My friend Shawn brought an old staple from his family's table, cottage cheese (I know, weird, but hey, that was Thanksgiving for him!). Laura brought apple pie with the only crust I've ever liked. And my husband grilled marinated veggies on our barbecue in the rain. It was all so good. But looking back, what I remember most is the ease and comfort, the complete absence of pressure, guilt or remorse about eating. I remember that we laughed a lot that night, a string of Martha Stewart jokes, building on each other.
And I still feel thankful - thankful for the many friends who've taught me that love really can be without condition, without criticism, without body-baggage. I'm thankful for the freedom I've created, from the tyranny of my own inner critic who almost never pops up these days (and even when she does, I know now that she is probably feeling afraid and needs me to soothe her).
And this year, when my mom said, "You could come to our house for Thanksgiving," I was grateful that I have learned to lovingly decline.
What boundaries are you grateful for this year? Are their new ones you'd like to be grateful for in the years to come? What would make this holiday season one that feeds and sustains you without guilt or drama? What do you need in order to give yourself permission to have true joy and peace through the holidays?
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