onceafatgirl

Peace is better than chocolate

Archive for the tag “responsibility”

15 Mar 2026

No Super For Me

I have been what I considered a little sick lately. But over a couple of doctor appointments these past couple of weeks, my doctors and I discussed the fact that I was much more sick than I thought, and also that I am not good at knowing when my lungs are constricted. I basically can’t tell when I can’t breathe.

Here is the deal. I am a person who pushes through. For as ashamed as I have been of my feelings of inadequacy and laziness, the honest-to-god truth is that if I decide to do something I will do it, even if I have to barrel down toward it at full speed.

I also come from a family of people who push through. I can think of at least one uncle who found out he had a heart attack months after the fact. The kind of people doctors say things to like “I can’t believe you walked in here in that much pain.”

But also also, I grew up fat in a fat family. 

When I was a kid I was bad at most kinds of exercise. But I was fat. So it was just assumed that I was out of shape. And I would continue to be bad at exercise my whole life, but in my 20s I pushed through as a form of bulimia to work off what I ate and be skinny. It did not make me skinny. And then in my mid 30s I started a perfectly reasonable workout routine. A slow 2 miles a day 5 days a week. But it was hard. And I eventually got better and faster. I pushed through. 

And then in my 40s, when I got adult onset asthma, I realized that I had had exercise induced asthma my whole life. That I may or may not have been out of shape. But I *couldn’t breathe* because I had asthma. And that could have been treated young if my fatness were not always a “concern.”

I taught myself how to ignore my body. I taught myself how to push through. And now I literally don’t know when I can’t breathe. 

And there is a part of me that doesn’t want to let that go! As if there is some sort of virtue in pushing through at the expense of my body and my life. Which I suppose I have been taught. If it can’t be beautiful at least it’s useful. As if I have to be either a superhero or a supermodel. Those are my only acceptable options. There is a part of me that says that it is that self-flagellation that is saving me.

From what? I don’t know.

I am not a superwoman. I do not want to be. I believe in knowing what and when to sacrifice. I believe there is a time to dig deep into myself to give more than I think I can. But that I don’t want my body to be the sacrificial lamb. I don’t want to view not respecting myself as a virtue. I want to give freely and authentically as a gift to others, not an abasement of myself.

As to the practical application of this, I guess I will find out as I go…?

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08 Mar 2026

I got the promoted phlebotomist blues

I hate blood tests. Hate is not a strong enough word. I have been traumatized by blood tests. And the only phlebotomist I have been willing to sit for in the past over 20 years has moved up in the world. I am overjoyed for her. I am sad for me. 

My asthma doctor, located in the town where my house is, asked if I could move up my appointment to this week, and I already owed my primary doc a fasting blood test for my appointment next week. And the particular phlebotomist that I always went to was in the same area. Perfect.

So at 6 in the morning I drove an hour and a half on an empty stomach, and uncaffeinated to the lab to find out 1) it is no longer a walk in lab and 2) my blood test savior no longer works there. 

I texted my primary doctor and said sorry, I can’t do it in time. I don’t feel bad about it. I will drive another hour and half next week for that doctor appointment without having had a blood test.

I get to decide what I regret.

I don’t regret anything to do with that experience. Not driving an hour and a half on an empty stomach. Not failing to get a blood test anyway. Not learning about the lab or phlebotomist. Not saying “no” to finding a walk-in clinic that would have me taking my chances on a random phlebotomist. 

When I am doing the best for myself, the true best for me, as I decide it, I am never sorry. It feels good. But to know what is best for me, requires knowing myself, my own mind, my own heart. And actually listening. 

By driving an hour and a half on an empty stomach I was telling MYSELF that I am willing to get a blood test. That in spite of a long history of medical industry aversion, I am willing to do all of the things that need to get done to take care of myself. But when I said no to going in blind to a new phlebotomist just so I could get a lab done, I also did *that* with my own best interests in mind. My comfort, my wellbeing. That is also best for me.

Some people would disagree.

I don’t care.

I now KNOW what it looks like to get my blood taken by someone who makes me feel safe, who cares whether or not they are hurting me or harming me. I know what it looks like when someone can do the job even when the job is difficult. I have difficult veins. If you are bad at a difficult job, that is my skin on the line. Literally. I do not regret caring about my own feelings and my own pain.

There was absolutely a time when I would have been FURIOUS about every aspect of the situation! Furious at who? At the lab? At God? At anyone unlucky enough to be near? And I would NOT have been happy for my phlebotomist. I would have only been angry at her for not being available to be of use to me. (Shout out, Lisa!!! You were integral in changing my medical industry experience and I am forever grateful! I wish you all the promotions!!!) 

But the real reason I would have been furious is because it could have given me a bunch of yucky feelings about myself. About not complying with my doctor. About sliding back to not being able to go to the doctor out of resentment and fear again after years of regular visits. Or worse, I would have felt like I MUST get that test because I put myself through all of that hassle to get there without eating breakfast and my doctor’s appointment is this coming week. And I would have gone and would have blamed everyone else for making me get a blood test that hurt me and bruised me and made me have a panic attack.

As if I didn’t have the option to just say no.

I am going to figure out what to do about future blood tests. I can probably do some research. Maybe? I found Lisa because after I refused to take the test 3 times, they brought me to her and said “this woman has a gift. You will be okay.” And SHE promised that if she didn’t get me with just one stick, she’d just take it out and I could go. She got me in just one stick that time, and every time every six months for a few years now.

She has a gift. I know she’s not the only one. I figure as long as I am willing to do what is best for me, I will figure out how to get my blood drawn.

But I don’t have to have feelings about it. I don’t have to be ashamed of failing my doctor. I don’t have to be angry I have to find a new person to draw my blood. I don’t have to be afraid of having a bunch of terrible blood test experiences. 

Also I literally went 20 years without going to the doctor. I think this 6 months without one blood test will be fine. 

I only know my own mind because I have two decades of the mental and emotional clarity that comes from putting my drug foods down. Every day I don’t eat compulsively is a little more of my authentic self uncovered. And it really isn’t who I thought I would be. 

It’s definitely better. 

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01 Mar 2026

Not right. But just right

This week my husband and I had a talk about money and how he wants to move some around. 

The truth is I disagree with his plan. But entirely intellectually. And his plan is not bad. Just different than what I think we should do. What I think would make *his* long term money goals a reality. Because if we are honest my only long term money goal is to continue to never be stressed about money ever again.

But there is a part of me that is sort of trained to want to be recognized as right. Don’t you see…if we do it MY WAY you will get what you want. 

But I don’t do that.

What it comes down to is that honestly, I don’t actually care. Not the way my husband does. I don’t have the same kinds of *feelings* about money that he does. And there are very few money hills I will die on. 

Obviously I tell him what I think. But not in depth. If he pushes back even a little, I drop it. Because I am not emotionally invested the way he is. I don’t think about it the way he does. It does not affect my quality of life the way it does his. 

But I do have my own hills. Food of course. But also other things. After we ended up having to drag our kitten out from under furniture to get her on the road twice in 24 hours last week. My husband asked if I wanted to try to leave her home next time. It’s less than 24 hours. 

I said I was not comfortable with that and probably wouldn’t be for a while. That I would come up with some strategies for making it easier, but I was willing to drag her out if need be.

And he said “fair enough.”

There is voice in my head that says it’s stupid to care more about leaving my cat for a day than money. That money is objectively more important. More valuable. There is a voice in my head that says that it’s easy for me to not care about being poor while I am not poor. 

But I remember that I was poor for my pre-married adult life. I didn’t have high paying jobs. I did what I had to do to get by. (Like a quintessential xennial, I was participating in the gig economy before it was cool…) When I got married I stopped worrying about money. And when I stopped worrying I stopped having most feelings about money.

(Wow, I just realized that’s also true of fatness and Valentine’s Day. Maybe I should look into that pattern.)

But ultimately I most want to enjoy the peace of knowing I don’t need to be right. I don’t need to force my ideas on someone else’s feelings. I don’t need to judge myself for not caring about the things that most people care about. And I know how to take care of myself, and ask for what I need. 

So maybe not right but still just right.

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01 Feb 2026

Snipped Threads

This week my account on my favorite social media platform (Threads) is glitched. I cannot get on to access it but it seems to still exist. I have been getting notifications but I can’t access them. And the truth is I don’t really want to do anything to get my account back. And I don’t even know if it’s possible. And actually taking action about it doesn’t appeal to me right now. 

So I have been on social media significantly less. And I am all the happier for it.

I am not one of those people who think the internet is “not real.” There is plenty of real news and information there. Plenty of interesting perspectives backed by science and educated experts. There are plenty of real people there.  And I have made real, true, lasting friendships there.

But it has been so peaceful to not be dealing with personalities this week. Because another thing that is on the internet is bait. To be enraged. To be mean. To be justified. To be brutal. And even after years of personally taking steps to protect and regulate my mind and body when I am on social media, that is a lot of work! I still have to stop. Breathe. Remember I get to choose my actions. I don’t need to react. I don’t want to react.

One thing that is not really on the internet is accountability. A friend of mine (whom I know through social media) says that the internet eliminates “reputation” in a way that those of us who are over 40 *had to* learn because all of life was in person. (Ok, fine. Cyrano was managing to catfish in the 1890s. But it was harder and you had to be really smart…) On line, you can disappear after you make a mess. You can hide behind a blank profile picture. You can pretend to be someone you are not. You can have a thousand different accounts presenting a thousand different personas.

I, on the other hand, didn’t take accountability in the 3D world until I got my eating under control. For the first 28 years of life I was just ruining my reputation right there in the open. I didn’t have the skills or the confidence to be honest, take responsibility, or make amends. And when I began to learn 20 years ago, I learned that you can’t really be accountable for anything if you don’t have accountability as a way of being. The way you do anything is the way you do everything. That I can really only be the one me that I am.

I couldn’t be accountable for my food and then lie about my work, or my responsibilities. And conversely, I couldn’t be a liar and keep my eating under control. 

When I stopped eating sugar and eating compulsively, it became clear to me that I couldn’t compartmentalize my life and be content. I couldn’t only be myself when it was convenient for other people. So I became more and more myself. Unapologetically. Joyfully. And it continues to this day. 

Because I am accountable to myself first. Because I care about reputation. Because I choose my actions based on my own thoughts and beliefs. Not as a reaction to rage or hurt or difficult feelings. And when I fail I make amends. 

I am not accountable *for* others. To be liked o admired or praised. I do it because it makes my life easier, better, more peaceful. Because it makes me LIKE myself. I am accountable because when my words thoughts and actions all align that way of being makes me feel free.

I may get back on my favorite platform. I may not. But I am going to enjoy this break for as long as it lasts. 

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14 Dec 2025

An almost 20 year head start

I got my eating under control at 28. And that is a miracle. For me. But also, it’s not common. 

Most people (definitely not all) who come into food recovery are women. And most women come in about my age now. I’m 48. Essentially, when their hormones are changing. And when that need to please is greatly reduced.

I heard a woman say that society calls menopause “The Change” because that’s what it is for men. Their wives and mothers change. The women they relied on for everything are no longer as reliable, and some of the wives just LEAVE! (Can you imagine????) 

The older I get, and the less “reliable” my body gets, the MORE reliable my heart and soul and passion are. The more creative I am. The more proud I am of the time I spend learning and making and the product of my work. The more inspired and excited I am.

And I have all of this because in January of 2006 I decided that my sugar addiction had such a hold on me, that it would be better to give up all of my joy (I really thought that food was my only joy) than to live the rest of my life with the compulsion to eat and all of the shame that came with it.

A thing I hear a lot now is “I love your energy.” And they are right! I have great energy. I know I do because I WORK at it. And it’s a product of a lot of things that most people don’t actually like when it’s happening to them. 

You love my energy? I say NO to things that drain my energy. I limit my interactions with negativity and greed. I limit my interactions with drama. Even if I like you. Even if I love you. I say NO! I protect myself first, my family second, my friends third. 

And all of this is cumulative. I am just weeks shy of 20 years of taking care of my eating and letting that be the first step in taking care of the rest of my life. All of the rest of my life. So I have an almost 20 year head start of loving my body, of choosing my own peace and my own path, of living without resentment for the way I failed to measure up to someone else’s standards. An almost 20 year head start on so many women addicted to food, to sugar, to the idea of a perfect woman and the perfect body, or at least a “better body” that someone wants to sell us all. And I refuse to take that for granted. 

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28 Sep 2025

The gifts of being a slow learner

I have my first pet at 48 years old. A little black kitten named Harlow Gold. And if she has taught me anything, it’s that I have not eradicated that part of my brain that does not trust me.

Growing up addicted to sugar and carbohydrates I never trusted myself. I shut down emotionally when things went wrong. I second guessed every decision. I blamed Life and circumstance and other people for every failure. And I saw failure as a state of existence rather than a momentary experience in a longer process. So ultimately, I was, indeed, untrustworthy. 

When I got my eating under control 19+ years ago I learned to trust myself. I was being more and more authentic. Doing things because I wanted to do them, not to obtain a specific reaction from a person or persons. And I began to honor my word. Have my very basic understanding of integrity. Doing what you saying you are going to do when you say you’re going to do it and telling the truth. Things I was not good at before. 

So I began to like and respect myself. By not eating drug foods. By mending relationships. By being accountable for my own actions and their repercussions. 

And all of that made me feel like I really trusted myself. Until I got a little life to take care of. And now I can hear all of my second guessing in my head. 

This is a thing I have a lot of feelings about. That I might harm others. I have theories about why I have these feelings/fears but regardless, I do have them. And now that I have this kitten, that I am already in love with, I am constantly wondering if I am doing the wrong things. Now with a life in the balance. 

I could never have done this if I were in the food. Because I could not manage my emotions.

The truth is that I am a responsible, grown, disciplined woman. I was a nanny for newborns and children. I am a good care taker and nurturer. I have always been able to do this. But could I *handle* it? For me? Aw hell no.

I am a slow learner. I used to think I was a fast learner. And then,  when I realized I was not fast, I was ashamed of being slow. But honoring that I am a slow learner means that I can be 28 years old and quit sugar, 38 years old and learn how to drive, 48 years old and have my first pet. And they can be done with more joy than fear. With more love than punishment. 

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21 Sep 2025

From out of my mind to into my own

As a sugar addict in recovery I have a person I call every day and tell her what I am going to eat for the day. I “commit my food” to her. And there are people who call me every day. And they commit their food to me. 

Well my friend is on a road trip and it’s hard to coordinate times so I’m committing to another friend in the program. And this friend and I had a miscommunication. 

As with all communities, there are little cliques and divisions within the group. Like orthodox vs reform. Because *for the most part* we all do all the same things. But some people do some things just a little bit differently. And within these little groups there is often a line between *how different* people can be comfortable with. 

Well I committed my food and she heard something different than what I meant. And it was a little too different for her to be comfortable taking my food commitment. 

But this is the point. She came to me so generously. She pointed out her issues. She even spoke to her friend in the community before she responded to me. And she asked that I either commit to her within her comfort zone, or find another person to temporarily commit to. And then, when I understood that there was as miscommunication, I apologized for my confusing language and asked if the communication was the issue. Or if she still needed me to make any changes or find another friend to commit to. And she was so happy to say that it was just a matter of phrasing that had confused her and that all was well. 

It was so loving. It was without drama. It was two people who genuinely like each other coming together authentically to solve a relationship issue. 

I got even the ability to do that from getting my eating under control. I have friends like that because we are all growing and shifting, some also specifically by not drugging ourselves with sugar. Building up our self respect so we can go into our relationships liking ourselves enough to be peaceful. Peaceful enough to be generous. 

I spent the first 28 years of my life terrified of being caught on the wrong side. Of anything. To be wrong felt shameful. And when I was ashamed I lashed out. I got angry first. I doubled down! I would go out of my mind doing mental gymnastics to spin a situation so that I was right. I was filled with more misplaced pride than properly placed honor. 

But in having put the sugar and simple carbs down and come into my own, truly my own peace and joy and contentment, I don’t have to cling to the things that don’t work for me. I don’t have to be right. I don’t have to be ashamed of being wrong. I don’t have to be anything. And that makes me want to keep my eating under control. 

Also, for those only here for the kitten updates, Harlow continues to be the sweetest baby in the whole entire world. She is full of piss and vinegar and when we play she loves to do all the weird stereotypical things black cats do. The arched back, the sideways walk, the twinkle toes. She’s perfect and hilarious. 

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06 Apr 2025

I (over)stepped in it.

I violated a friend’s boundary this week. With no malice or ill intent. And I didn’t even think I was in the moment. But I did. And shit, did that suck!

My immediate internal reaction when she called me on it, even though she was so sweet about it, was defensiveness. All of these rebuttals flashed through my mind! *But you said! But I thought! But I didn’t mean it and you can’t blame me.* 

But years ago when I wanted to find my husband and fall in love, the best advice I got was stop looking for a husband and start *being* the kind of partner I wanted to find. And that is just great life advice. Be the kind of person I want in my own life.

How would I want someone to react to a generously set boundary? 

So I did what I have heard called “fall forward fast.” I immediately apologized, assured her of my good intentions, but also acknowledged the harm I did. I asked for forgiveness and immediately set to make it right based on her desires. 

And how she came back to me later was with so much additional generosity. Coming up with ways that she could accommodate me and keep her own boundaries. And that was amazing. And I feel even closer to her! Which is a joy! 

But I also want to say, I had a hard time forgiving myself. I slept uneasy that night. And I woke up still a little ashamed. 

Part of me thinks that this stuff is supposed to feel good. A weight off my shoulders from knowing I have honored another person. And usually it does. But right now it just makes all of the relationships in my life feel more important. And maybe more fragile. And like the stakes of being a person who can be trusted and counted on, are higher than ever.

I learned to set boundaries at all when I learned to set them around my eating. But they have turned out to be one of the best tools for living I have. Because boundaries aren’t to shut people out. They are to keep people in our lives. 

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29 Dec 2024

The sanity, but also really, the vanity.

This week a young person mistook me for a fellow young person. (Cue that Steve Buscemi gif.) And when she asked for my skin care routine, I told her. (Cosrx hyaluronic acid serum and moisturizer. Sunscreen every day.) But I also really felt the need to say that it *really* is the no sugar no alcohol. 

When people come to do what I do with food, almost all of them come to get skinny. They come for intentional weight loss. It’s why I came in January of 2006.

But it’s kind of a trap. A nice, gentle trap. Because I have not been skinny the whole time I have had my eating under control. But I have always been peaceful. A kind of peace I have never had before quitting sugar and putting boundaries around my eating. 

We call it “coming for the vanity and staying for the sanity.”

But here is the other thing. We are GORGEOUS! We are stunners all the way into our 60s, 70s and 80s!!!! I’m talking about women I know personally. Women who lived fast and wild in their youth! Women who ate themselves into wheelchairs before quitting sugar and becoming beautiful. Giving up sugar and alcohol is a kind of fountain of youth. 

I don’t miss sugar. I don’t miss alcohol. I don’t miss worrying about becoming diabetic because I can’t stop eating. And I don’t miss worrying about and hating my looks!

I spent the first 28 years of my life constantly simultaneously hating myself and worrying about what other people were thinking about my body. And now I don’t think about my looks except to assume that everyone thinks I am beautiful. It’s never on my mind. That’s so much extra room to do things that make me happy!

It’s a miracle. It’s the vanity and the sanity. 

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10 Nov 2024

My body. My choice. In all things.

When I got my eating under control, I acquired a new level of responsibility for my body. I was purposefully aware of everything that went into it. And as time went on, I took on various commitments to take practical actions toward caring for my vessel. And by practical I mean specific, quantifiable, measurable steps. What a workout looks like and how many days a week I will do that. How much water I will drink a day. How much sleep I will get and what that means about getting to bed. How many journal pages I will write every day. How many minutes I will meditate. Whatever I need to put in place to consistently take care of myself.

Before that, I didn’t know what went into my body because I did not want to know. I didn’t know how my time was spent because I didn’t want to know how much time I wasted. I didn’t want to look. And I didn’t want to see the results. 

But not knowing makes everything worse. The stories in my head vacillated wildly from a total lack of consequences, to a fate worse than anything imaginable. My head is a dangerous neighborhood.

Not looking never did me any good. 

And looking always let me see that my list of problems is truly finite. There is an end. And (so far anyway) my issues are all surmountable through attention and action. 

After all, I never thought I would be able to stop eating compulsively, and here we are, 18+ years later, and sugar doesn’t control me anymore. 

I am reminded this week that it’s more important than ever that I be aware of and responsible for my body. Fully. And unapologetically. My body. My choice. In all things. 

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