onceafatgirl

Peace is better than chocolate

Archive for the tag “peace”

I’ve been down that path. It sucked…

I heard recently that there is link between telling girls they are fat and them becoming fat. Not girls who were already big or trending toward weight gain. Girls across the body spectrum were 60% more likely to become fat if they were told they were fat as children. And NOT because of their diet. It is through a cortisol path. Hormones. That the shame of being told this *literally* instructs the body to store energy as fat. 

It is a self fulfilling prophecy that we blame the girls/women for.

I actually had heard about this many years ago from Gary Taubes, who wrote The Case Against Sugar. He said that “calories in calories out” isn’t true because some foods affect our hormones, and fat storage is essentially a job for hormones. He also noted that sugar, especially processed sugar, affects our hormones as much as it nourishes. This of course made perfect sense to me. Because after I stopped eating compulsively and quit sugar and grains, and I lost a lot of weight, those calories never added up. I ate SO MUCH FOOD! High calorie and decadent. And I was a skinny!

And then I quit smoking and gained 30 pounds eating less and lower calorie. Quantifiably less. (Remember, I weigh all of my food.) And the answer was that smoking also affects your hormones. 

We have used weight as a moral issue for decades; centuries. By insisting it’s the actions of the individual alone that create fatness, without any understanding of why or how our bodies work. And we have brought it into being by shaming girls, any girl.

There is an uptick in anti-fat sentiment that promotes disordered eating right now. There is woman who posted a few months ago that if you weigh more than 160 pounds you don’t have the right to give her attitude. Ma’am, if I’m going to give you attitude, your opinion about my body is irrelevant to me. My attitude isn’t based on the holy vessel of another being. For you, it would be because you’re an ass. 

(Also HOW BIG DOES THIS WOMAN THINK 160 POUNDS IS???? And any height? Like if she’s 6’ does that count? Where did she get this number? Is she 157????)

Then I saw a MAN get on the internet to say that size 14 is plus sized. Bitc- ahem, Sir! You are not part of this conversation. This is for women to decide where to shop. Not for you to morally dehumanize and degrade the majority of post-pubescent women. If your ideal partner had body is of a teen girl…well, there’s a term for that….

So here is your reminder that weight is not an indicator of health. That you cannot see what a person eats by the size or shape of their body. And that EVEN IF THEY ARE UNHEALTHY people still have the right to exist in peace and love in their beautiful fat bodies. 

No stoop for you

My threshold for settling or pivoting or accommodating is rapidly diminishing. 

A couple of weeks ago, I reached out to some painters and only one guy got back to me. And then he proceeded to be out of contact for a week. By the time he got back to me, I still didn’t have a painter. But I knew my painter wasn’t him. (I have since gotten my apartment painted by someone else and I love it!)

Then I needed someone to do a repair on the house we are selling. Since my husband and I live on the road in a different town, I had my sister-in-law let a handyman from a service in and ask him to call me so I could get explain exactly what the job entailed. He never called. He wrote up an estimate of “what he would do if it were his house.” 

At first I blamed myself for not traveling all the way there to talk to him in person. My sister-in-law then called me apologizing telling me she tried to get him to call me. That she wrote my number down and handed it to him.

That was when it occurred to me that there were two 40 something women apologizing for not making it possible for this man to do his job. A job he easily could have done if he had just followed directions. The first step was just to call me.

Needless to say, I didn’t even look at the estimate. If I can’t trust someone to listen I should not give them the job. I texted them that I would not be using them. 

But this was scary! Because this company is so well respected in our suburb. These are the 5 star people. So who am I to say they are not for me?

Anyway I have a different guy coming tomorrow to start taking out my bathroom sink and wall. 

Even my husband has felt this change. We were looking at air fresheners the other day, and he picked one and said, if we don’t like it we can change it. So I said ok. But then we got like 5 steps and I said to myself, Kate, you hate that brand and you most definitely don’t like “Ocean” scented stuff.  So I said sorry. Nope. Can’t do it. 

I want to be clear that I am very good at going with the flow. And marriage has taught me that I only need to have an opinion when I really have an opinion. If my husband had picked something tropical, which is not my favorite, but is lovely and is one we can both agree on, I could have not had an opinion. I wouldn’t need to say that I would prefer something more floral. It would have been fine and I would been content.

But I hate ocean. Why does it smell like the worst of the 90s???

I don’t need to settle for something that is just going to make me unhappy. I don’t need to be annoyed when I can just opt out. 

Resentment is poison for me. And it almost always happens because I knew better and I didn’t listen to myself. 

20 years of weighing my food and abstaining from my drug foods, like processed sugar and carbohydrates, has taught me to be my most authentic self. Every day I don’t eat compulsively, or eat to get high, is a day I have a clearer path to my truest heart. 

So every time I see that clear path and choose something else to please someone else, I get resentful. 

The truth is I have always been resentful. It’s just that having my eating under control lets me see that it’s not actually anyone else’s fault. That my resentment is a lack of responsibility. 

I take responsibility every time I say “no, that’s not for me.” And I end up getting what I want with out a bunch of extra steps.

I can’t have my cake and condo too

As I get close to the end of my home saga, and everything changes, little by little until it’s one giant completed new chapter, I am so grateful that I am not shoving food in my face. Because this whole experience has been and continues to be *uncomfortable!*

If I were eating sugar and eating compulsively, I would be an absolute wreck. This whole process may have gotten done. But it would have come with costly mistakes, important things falling through the cracks, and my very bad attitude making everything worse and more difficult and frustrating and scary. 

And I would have been miserable. And even when the whole thing was done, it would have been filled with shameful memories of ways I behaved. 

And all that time I would hate myself. Eating compulsively makes me hate myself.

I don’t hate fatness. And I could be fat and happy. By some standards, I AM fat and I am certainly happy. But I cannot eat compulsively, eat drug foods, eat addictively and be happy. So if I were to let myself eat the way I used to, while I stuffed cake in my mouth I would simultaneously feel better (high/numb) and worse (ashamed) and I would hate myself the entire time. 

It’s not the body. It’s the eating. 

So IF I had the kind of life where I manifested my dream home while I was eating compulsively (doubtful) I still would have been filled with dread. I still would have been filled with bad energy! 

As we get closer to selling our house, and moving exclusively to our smaller condo, I get scared all over again. About space. About downsizing. My body panicks pretty regularly. And if I were in the food, I would be filled with regrets. 

But I am not! I am clear headed, capable, even tempered, genuinely excited and joyful! I know that 80% of the hard part is done. And while I have not enjoyed every moment of the process, all in all it has been a time of wonder. A dream come true. 

(Oh, and also I have been giving away as much stuff as I can when I have a moment. So you know…taking action helps.) 

Giving Nature a vaccuum

As of Wednesday, my husband and I are the proud and happy owners of a high rise condo in the South Loop of Chicago. Today we went to just be there and enjoy it. There is nothing there. But it’s beautiful and it makes me so happy.

We also just finished moving from one town to another for my husband’s job because he finished one construction job and started another.

And BOTH places are MUCH smaller than their predecessors.

We gave ourselves a week to move from one work apartment to the next. And it was not the wisest decision we ever made. Because instead of packing efficiently and throwing away the overflow, I just moved everything one car load at a time. And too much came with me. And now I have to cull.

This is actually good. I know. I am reminded that clearing space, internal or external, makes room for what’s next, what’s better, what’s currently unimaginable.

Historically, when I have gone through my clothes to see what I want to keep or toss, there were a number of things that I didn’t like or really want that thought I “should” keep. It’s a basic piece, so everyone should have one type of thing. But I don’t wear plain white shirts. Because I spill coffee on myself regularly. So I would have a white shirt simply taking up space. But I had the space.

I no longer have space, and that is so freeing. I don’t need to keep pants because they are cute and new and I have never worn them. In fact, I NEED to give them away because I don’t have room for them.

Here’s the thing. I know that I always feel better after I get rid of things. But it doesn’t always feel like that before I let it go. It feels like “but what if I *need* it?” Which is how change always feels.

Since I got my eating under control, I have experienced first hand the ways that letting go of difficult things is worth it. Every time. And it still isn’t easy. I just have a past reference that if I give it a shot, it will probably work out for the best.

So the people I know are about to get some free high quality clothes. (And yarn.)

At least on par with my wildest dreams

Over the past few weeks, since we started the process of buying our new condo, it occurred to me that at 48 years and eleven months old, my childhood dreams are all coming true. 

I love my body, I am a decade married to the childhood crush of my life who I lost touch with for 20 years, and now I am going to be traveling the country but coming home to a high rise South Loop Chicago apartment with amazing city views, and some of the best public transportation in the world. 

And all of that has me 1) recognizing how powerful I am. And 2) realizing that I don’t know what I want for the future.

I have been asking myself what I want to create for myself, who I want to be, and what that would look like. And frankly I am coming up blank. 

And not just coming up blank. Blocked. It feels like hitting a different kind of glass ceiling. Self imposed, and at least a little opaque. A frosted glass ceiling if you will.

So I have been looking. For directions on how to unblock my creativity. For physical actions I can take to shift my thinking. For solutions, both practical and woowoo.

Because if there is one thing I have learned about my life since I have had my eating under control, it is that if I seek, I will find. Maybe not what I expected, but something as good or better than I asked for.

So I am out here seeking. What I want to put out into space. How to be more authentically myself. How to be of service in the best way for me. How to hold my own joy and peace and also bring joy and peace to the people around me. What my next right move would be. 

I trust that as long as I keep my drug foods out of my body and live my most authentic life, that I will continue to have a life beyond my wildest dreams. Or at least on par. 

It’s not called a super chill system for a reason

I have had an absolutely insane week. Before we went to sleep last Sunday, we heard that our offer on a high rise condo with amazing Chicago city views had been accepted.

One thing a lot of people don’t actively think about is the fact that when we change, especially when we grow into people we have been hoping to become, our brains don’t cheer us on. They send our nervous systems after us. Like thugs in flat caps with tire irons. (My nervous system is apparently Irish.) 

So I have been managing a series of mini panic attacks in between filling out paperwork, signing electronically, and uploading documents. 

But there is a thing that having my eating under control for 20 years has done: it has taught me that I can act through my fear and my panic. That I can just take the next right step. I don’t have to feel like it to do it. I don’t have to be ready. 

What I am talking about is not just worry that I made a mistake or missed something. It’s not just about the process of buying a condo. It’s worry about all of the things that come from this change. For example, downsizing. 

I have been changing my wardrobe over the past year or so. Entirely switching up my style. And while I have had an apartment on the road and big house in the suburbs, I have not been thinking about space. I just get the new clothes I want. But there are still so many old clothes. Or new clothes that I realize I am just kind of meh about. So after a series of panic attacks about downsizing my wardrobe, I just took some steps. And it was a relief. I literally just made some piles to give away and packed them up. 

I have a problematic amount of craft supplies too. And this little voice in my head that sees something that inspires me, but that I have no current need for, and thinks “you have room.”

Guess what, voice, there is no more room for potential. 

So the purging of the craft supplies will be coming soon to a suburban house near me. (Mine.) 

Every time my nervous system tells me we are making a big mistake, I remember that it is fighting for the status quo. Because it knows we are surviving here. But survival and thriving can’t live in the same place.

As a person who wants more, who wants it all, love and friendship and joy and contentment without complacency, I can make friends with the panic, and move forward anyway. As long as I weigh and measure my food and keep my drug foods out of my body, I’m available to show up and do things, big and small, mundane and life-changing.

If it’s right it will be

Four months ago I assumed my husband and I would live in our house in the suburbs of Chicago until he retired. And then we would move somewhere warm.

And today we put in an offer on a Chicago condo with the expectation that we will keep it until we move to a lakefront Chicago condo in retirement. 

I absolutely love this! I am a city girl at heart. When I started this blog 14 years ago I was a single girl living in NYC. I love public transportation. I love walkable neighborhoods. I love the energy of a city. I love city fashion. I love 24 hour convenience. The ability to blend in or stand out as you see fit in the moment. I love the ability to find anything and everything you are looking for and so many things you didn’t know you were looking for until you found them.

When I keep my eating under control I can be flexible, I can go with the flow, I can enjoy the ride. I can change my mind, and I can be available for my husband to change his mind. 

Don’t get me wrong. If I would have been unhappy I would speak up for myself. It’s not that I would be unhappy, so much as overwhelmed. Stunned.

We have had a loose plan for most of our relationship, and one day about 4 months ago, my husband said he wanted to entirely change the plan. And if I were in the food I would have had to have a whole-ass panic attack about something like that. 


Because even if I love cities, it’s a huge change. It’s a major downsizing of our stuff to fit into a smaller space. It’s leaving the place that has been my home for 13 years and my husband’s for over 25 – a place we renovated to be just our taste. It’s grocery shopping with a cart not a car. It’s keeping my 10 year old car until the wheels fall off instead of getting a new one because I will need a car to live on the road for my husband’s job, but won’t want a nice car in the city.

It’s a whole bunch of future happenings that I have not had a decade plus to consider and imagine and troubleshoot. 

But I trust. 

For as long as I have had my drug foods down and my compulsive eating in check, whenever I didn’t get what I wanted – the job, the apartment, the boyfriend – I always ended up with better than I thought I wanted. 

I really want this condo. I love it. But I also believe very strongly that I get the best, most right, most beneficial treatment from life. Every time all the time. And that if we don’t get this home, it’s because the best home for us, the “right” one, is somewhere else. 

I set myself up

There is a concept/dichotomy that has come up for me in two different contexts lately.

Internal vs external. 

First it was an Instagram reel about tight hips.

I have very tight hips, particularly my right one. It has been an issue since my late twenties. I have lived in pain on and off since then. And over the past 5 or so years, I have found more and better stretches to get them to release. But there was a portion of my right hip, deep in the joint, that never got any real satisfaction. 

And then I saw this video a couple of weeks ago, of a woman saying if you have tight hips and you get a “cramp” kneeling, it’s not a cramp. 

It turns out it was the end of my range of motion for my “internal rotation.” The same with the top of my right foot. All of the stretches I have been doing up until now are working, but only for part of my motion, my external rotation. And then she demonstrated stretches for internal rotation. 

And if that didn’t change my life! It took more than one session of these new stretches for my hip to get full range. But I have finally managed to hit the spot!  THE SPOT!

Since then I have been doing my new stretches with every workout. And additionally any time my hips are paining me. I have the most relief and least hip pain I have ever had in my adult life.

The other thing was a reel about the differences in the brains of people who live by internal validation vs external validation. That there is a difference in their brains. But it’s not about parts. It’s about practice. That the rewards and the reward systems are different. And lead to very different life experiences.

And this made perfect sense to me because what the reel described was the difference between me before getting my eating under control and after. 

And it also made other people come into clearer focus for me. It made strangers on the internet make just that much more sense.

I definitely didn’t know when I got my eating under control that what I was *doing* was engaging in less external validation seeking and more internal, but I ABSOLUTELY knew I was rewiring my brain. 13 years ago I was writing blogs about it. 

One thing I know from 20 years of having my eating under control. That my brain is as elastic as I let it be. My hormones are not entirely in my control, but they are not entirely out of it either. That when I make a choice to remain calm, I can take actions to remain calm, and I can stop from brain from flooding my body with hormones. I can make friends with my body. I can retrain my brain. I can choose peace. I can set myself up for the best experience.

Available for connection

Last night I went to a party with a dozen or so awesome ladies, about half new to me. And it was a delicious delight. (And I didn’t even eat the party food!)

There was so much laughter, candor, humor, insight, and love. There was a spirit of mutual respect and appreciation. There was the desire to support each other.

A few years ago I made the deliberate choice to cultivate my friendships. Especially with women. I felt like I had lost my connections to people who liked me, and whom I liked. Not for any other reason than grown up life doesn’t have a lot of built in structures for relationship that aren’t partner and kids. As an individual, one has to make it a priority. Or not as the case may be.

13 years ago, I moved away from my friends when I left New York City to be with my husband. And we were all already grownups. Navigating partnerships and parenting while we were in the same city was hard enough. From long distance, it takes even more. And I am inconsistent. And so are my long distance friends. This is not a judgement. It’s an observation. Life gets lifey fast and sudden.  

So when I noticed the lack of everyday friendships in my life, I took actions to change that. To reach out to old friends. To make new friends. To be an asset to communities. To find new people that I like, that like me back.

When I was heavy in my addiction and depression, I would isolate for long periods of time. I would hide away in my room and binge eat and avoid my friends. And then when I was better or lonely or ready to be back in the world, I would have to go mend the friendships I had harmed. And that made friendships feel like a kind of burden. And it made me feel bad about myself. And all of those feelings led me to want to isolate more, eat more, hate myself more. 

By keeping my food boundaries and bringing my own food to this party, I looked a little weird at first. But I got to be authentic and funny and fully present. And that is when I can be part of the community. That is where I can make a difference. Just by being there, available for connection. 

I probably won’t stop, but I can learn

My husband and kitten and I all packed ourselves into the truck for an hour and a half yesterday, to spend less than 24 hours at our house, and then drive an hour and a half back to our apartment this morning. 

The other day I packed all of my food for those next meals. Then I packed the cat’s toys and food. The cat’s water fountain. Then my clothes. Craft stuff. 

I could have literally just packed my food and Harlow’s cat fountain. (When I type it out even that seems a little overkill. No I will not stop bringing her fountain.) 

We were barely there to need anything. I never opened the suitcase. I never made anything. Food or craft wise. I went from one home to another and anything I brought to one was already in the other one.

Really I just hung out with family and ate the meals I brought. Then we left this morning. After repacking all of the cat stuff. And dragging the kitten out from under furniture…

But even though I can see that I’m a little obsessive, I know I feel better when I am prepared. For eventualities. I feel better when I know I have taken care of my own comfort, peace and happiness. It keeps me from being mad, at myself or anyone else, if things DO go pear shaped. When I am prepared I know I did what I could, so I can just shrug and say “that’s life,” and do what I can to fix it. 

So I will still probably over pack two weeks from now when we go back for less than a day. 

But also. I can learn. That I don’t need to bring two outfits a pair of pajamas, and 4 pairs of underwear for 20 hours at home….

Harlow Gold on the road in her harness giving me the ears

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