onceafatgirl

Peace is better than chocolate

Archive for the tag “sugar addiction”

27 Dec 2015

I’ll Take Fundamentally Human

Ugh. So I did not get the job. As you can imagine, I was super psyched to write all about it. (Why yes. You do detect a note of sarcasm…)

Yes, I cried. Yes, I am embarrassed. But I am not unhappy. I am disappointed and I am sad, but I have zero regrets. And that is huge. How many people can say that? About anything?

The first thing I will say is that the whole experience was great. I know it didn’t end the way I hoped it would, but that didn’t make it bad. In fact, while it was happening, I kept thinking, “this is what life really is. Life is getting excited and getting an opportunity and working your ass off for it.” But life is not about always getting what you worked your ass off for. And I am not angry. I am not angry at life. I am not angry at my friend who asked me to apply for the job. And I am not angry at myself. I was amazing. I did great work that I am proud of. And I gave it everything that was in me.

That 100% effort is something special. It leaves zero room for doubt. There is not a single “what if” lingering in my head or heart. Which is the opposite of what I was always afraid of. I am historically a half-hearted attempter. I have spent most of my life doing the bare minimum. Because that way, I never had to find out if it was true that I wasn’t good enough. If I did my very best and it wasn’t good enough, I always thought that would be incontrovertible proof that I was broken. I didn’t want to know for sure because I was so sure. But it turns out to be the exact opposite. By giving myself completely, even though I did not get the job, I am positive that I am good enough. Living so as not to have regrets also lead to no fear.

When my friend who asked me to apply for the job told me I didn’t get it, she said that my work was excellent. I didn’t get the job because the company figured out a way to get the work done with people who were already on the payroll at the company. In other words, it was not that I didn’t get the job, so much as they eliminated the job. And then she said something to me as a friend. She said that I should follow this dream, and be paid to be a writer. That lots of people needed what I could do. That having the talent was the hard part. She asked why I wasn’t already writing for a living.

The answer to that is very old. And for the first time in about 4 or 5 years, I have brushed up against it. And it hurts.

When I started writing this blog, I wanted to change the way I related to love. I spent my early life thinking that there was something fundamentally wrong with me. Not physically, or mentally. Not that I could not do the work. Not that I could not be taught and learn. Not that there was anything I couldn’t do. It is so much more primal than that. So much more terrifying. I have had the belief that there was something so wrong with me that I would never be able to succeed. Like a spiritual curse. Like bad fate. Like I was born incomplete.

When I was reunited with my boyfriend and we fell in love, this “fundamentally broken-ness” became obsolete when it came to love. And that was a miracle. I had spent my whole life wishing to find and fall in love, so when it happened, I got a life beyond my wildest dreams. For real. It still is a life beyond my wildest dreams. And I think if I died today, all of the life and all of the love would be enough.

But then somebody offered me a dream job. And I started to ask myself if there was something else I wanted. And I do. I want to make my living as a writer. I want to live like a grownup with a grownup job. I want to make grownup money. I want to know that there is nothing “fundamentally” anything about me. Except maybe human. I’ll take fundamentally human.

So my guess is that this next phase of my life, where I try to shake loose all of the rubble that keeps me buried in “fundamentally broken,” is going to be emotional, and sometimes trying. But I have dug myself free of all sorts of graves before now. And I will dig myself out of this one.

 

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20 Dec 2015

Presence for Christmas (Yes, I know it’s a bad pun…)

This week has been an e exercise in keeping my focus in the presentmoment. And on top of that, keeping happy and peaceful.

I don’t know where I stand in the job process. And I have not allowed myself to dwell on it. I have especially not allowed myself to worry about it.There is a saying: Hell is in the hallway. It means that the time that one is waiting or transitioning is always the most trying and difficult. 

I don’t have the luxury of wallowing in worry. I’m an addict. Wallowing of any kind is a chocolate-cake-binge waiting to happen. 

Having huge emotions is something I have had to make friends with. I have learned that they have their place. I won’t pretend I’m good at controlling them, but I no longer let them control me.

I used to think that my emotions meant something. I thought they were “The Universe” telling me some irrefutable truth. It turns out that my emotions are the physical expressions of my thoughts. When I change my thoughts, I change my feelings.

It’s not hard to change the way you think, but it takes something. Mostly, you have to be willing. Willingness is key. Willingness and commitment.

Giving up sugar took willingness. I had to be willing to sit in what was uncomfortable and not numb it with cake. And sitting in discomfort made it possible for me to change my thinking. Commitment to not eating sugar meant that if I didn’t want to be uncomfortable forever, I had to come up with new ways to be comfortable. (By the way, being high on sugar was not really very comfortable. Certainly not as comfortable as self-respect.) They say necessity is the mother of invention. I had to invent new thoughts to go along with my experiences. I had been thinking like an addict for my whole life. I had been thinking like a fragile, dramatic child. And that kept me eating compulsively.

When I committed to putting boundaries around my food, I committed to changing anything that got in the way of that. And that included being responsible for having positive thoughts. It meant being grateful for all of the amazing things in my life. And having faith that life is always working toward the better. 

The other day, our furnace broke down. I had to be at work that afternoon. For the first 15 minutes, I was in a panic. And then I remembered that whatever happened, it would all turn out fine. I called the repair people. I set up an appointment. And I stopped worrying. 

It actually all played out perfectly. The furnace was fixed and I made it to work on time. But the best part was knowing that even if it hadn’t gone perfectly, it would have been perfectly fine. Because in any given moment, I can choose to think gratitude, and feel faith in the benevolence of life. 

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12 Dec 2015
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Failure, shame, love and trust

I wonder what it is about failure that makes me want to hide it. Not that I think I am the only one. Obviously, it is part of the human condition. But the overwhelming fear of humiliation is so intense that I want to show everyone (friends and strangers alike) that everything is super extra awesome! Nothing disappointing here! I live in a perpetual state of happiness, and life couldn’t be going any better!

That is a lie. 

I was doing some writing work for the dream job I am being looked at for, and my first attempts were a failure. What I thought was going to be a natural, and seamless process of just doing my best and getting the job (easy peasy), turned out to have snags and bumps. And there is the chance that I will not get the job. Not that it’s over, but that what seemed simple is, in fact, complicated. 

I am sharing this because I don’t want to be ashamed of being humiliated. (No, that is not an oxymoron. Shame is about being embarrassed of who you are. Humiliation is about being embarrassed of what you have done, or failed to do.) We already live in a white-washed world. So many of us use social media to display our victories and hide our defeats. We spin everything to show it in the most flattering light. We love filters. We, as a culture, even Photoshop super models, because the most symmetrical of humans are no longer viewed as “pretty enough.” 

So what kind of loser broadcasts their imperfections?

That loser would be me.

The truth is, I might fail. For real. I have gone out on a limb, and chased after my dreams, and done everything to the best of my ability. And I still might not get this job. After I told everyone how bad I want it! *cringe* How uncool can you get?

Getting my eating under control meant that I had to learn to sit in uncomfortable feelings. And what I am experiencing now are uncomfortable feelings. But there is a positive spin to this, and it’s not false. It’s not bullshit. It’s not me blowing sunshine up your ass. The positive is that I trust that whatever is happening is the right thing. 

That did not come naturally. I was not born that way. I am not a special golden child with the gift of self-knowledge. Yes, I trust that life will always give me better than I think I want. But I had to work at it. I had to change the way I think. I had to change the way I act. I had to be willing to tell the brutal truth about myself, and hope I wouldn’t die. By the way, I didn’t die.

 If this job does fall through, I will be disappointed. I will be embarrassed. I will not enjoy telling everyone that I failed at something I attempted. But I won’t be ashamed. I won’t hide it. If it’s my job, I’ll get it. If it’s not, I won’t. 

I will most certainly cry if I fail at this. But life hurts sometimes. Rejection hurts. But since I stopped eating sugar and carbohydrates and put boundaries around my food, I know that it’s not about whether or not I am “good enough” for what I want, but what is the right thing for me and my life. I like and trust myself enough that nothing can make or break me. For the rest of my life I am going to want things. I may or may not get what I want every day for the rest of my life. It would be exhausting to be too attached to every single desire I have.

So I am going to continue to go full out and do the best I can. And I may fail. And if I do, I will tell you about it. With the same love of my life as I will if I succeed. No, not the same joyful excitement, but absolutely the same love. 

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29 Nov 2015

All there ever is to do is what is in front of me 

I don’t think about sugar and carbohydrates very often. Or I should say, I don’t think about specific items of sugar and carbohydrates.(Obviously I think about it. I’m constantly looking for it on ingredient lists and explaining that I can’t eat X, Y, or Z because I have an allergy to sugars, grains and starches.)

I don’t think about what it would be like to eat bread or cake. I am not actively worried about sugar. I don’t expect it to jump into my mouth, and I am not afraid of putting it there myself. 
But I know that it is still a danger to me because I still have pretty much all of the things I used to eat over. 
I still have fear and anxiety. I still worry about being wrong and messing up. I still question if I am good enough.

I am being looked at for a writing job I really want. And the process is slow. It can go long stretches without my hearing any word about it. That’s really no big deal. Except that I have a mind that can create doom and gloom like nobody’s business if I leave it unchecked.

See, if I go through the list of what I am afraid of, it’s all false. It’s a mind game I play on myself. I am afraid I am not a good enough writer. I worry that I won’t be able to manage my time properly. I’m worried I am too lazy. I’m afraid I will mess up irreparably. I am afraid I will give up and let everyone down.

All of these fears are groundless. I am highly capable, a hard worker, punctual, honorable, honest, and responsible. When I look at these fears, they seem silly to me. I have flaws, but they are not these things I spend so much time worrying about, oddly enough.

My addict loves drama. She always has. And she is still using the same fears to drum it up as when I was an elementary school student. They are all about how I am not worthy.

When I add food to the equation, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. I become lazy, unable to manage my time, irresponsible, dishonest, and ultimately a quitter. My addiction made sure that I had an endless supply of drama.

But I took food out of that equation 9 years and 11 months ago. It’s funny how that kind of thought pattern will stick with you, even after it’s obsolete. 

So for now, my job is to be patient and peaceful. To trust that everything is going exactly as it should. To remember that I am sought because I am qualified and desirable. And to put my faith in knowing that whatever happens is for the best. 

One of the most important skills I have attained in the past 9+ years is the ability to give up attachment to an outcome. 

Of course I want this new job. I won’t feign indifference. But any time I have wanted something and failed to get it, what was in store for me was so much better than what I lost.

So I keep my mind from wandering into Doomsville. I focus on this day and this moment. And I take the next right action. Because that is all there ever is to do anyway.

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21 Nov 2015

To hang out in the uncomfortable unknown and trust

First, for those of you who were wondering if that internal growth spurt I mentioned last week meant I was pregnant, I am not.

I was referring to a spiritual/emotional/personal kind of growth spurt. I am talking about getting better and better. I mean becoming more and more my authentic self.

Perhaps it does have some similarities to being pregnant, though. Like in how I forget the pain and I get excited to do it again.

For some reason, every time I make a move and take action to grow and change, I expect it to be easy. I expect the experience to be that of getting consistently happier, and more confident, with a steady acquisition of new skills.

Yeah…not so much. The truth is, while I am in the middle of it, it sucks. It’s painful and humiliating. And before I am graceful and happy and better than I have ever been before, I have to stumble and fall, fail and persevere. I forget that, like having a baby, it takes the blood, sweat, and tears of labor.

And there’s something else I have noticed. Life will always, always, ALWAYS give me a chance to backtrack. Usually more than once. Life makes me choose change over and over again, depending on how committed I am. It makes me say out loud, ‘I want something better.’

When I made the decision that I wanted to be in a serious, committed relationship, I took actions and made different choices. And out of the blue, multiple men from my past started calling and texting me. Seriously. Guys I had not heard from in months or years decided that they were curious about me.

Maybe that doesn’t seem like such a hard test, but familiar relationships are comfortable. Even if they are bad, or mediocre, or unfulfilling, there is such a temptation to go backwards into a set of circumstances you already know. Especially if what you want hasn’t shown up yet.

I didn’t know that my current boyfriend would turn out to be the love of my life. It was an act of faith in the benevolence of Life to turn away from men from my past. But I did it. I told Life that I wanted something more. And that I was willing to hang out in the uncomfortable unknown and trust.

And here I am right now, once again in the middle of a huge transition. Learning how to drive. Writing samples and interviewing for a dream job. Staying at a job that I absolutely abhor while working my way into a bigger, richer, gooier life. And sometimes it hurts so bad that I cry. And sometimes I hate it so much that I behave badly, like a little brat. And sometimes I am terrified that I will get stuck in the middle of the transition and never reach the other side. But somehow, I always manage to make it. And I live to forget how terrible the pain was. And again, like childbirth, I have this person that I love more than I thought I could. Only, in my case, that person is me.

Having boundaries around my eating is not the reason I can change. But it puts the whole thing on a fast track. Not being able to numb my disappointments and dissatisfactions means that I either have to live with them or change them. So I usually choose change, because I am very bad at sitting in discomfort. And that is a very special gift, because it has given that incredibly unhappy little fat girl a life beyond her wildest dreams.

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14 Nov 2015
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Enough 

Today I am grateful that I do not eat compulsively in the most simple way. Just that I don’t spend all of my time eating or thinking about eating. I am going through a painful growth spurt (internal), and I don’t want to write about it yet. Because it sucks. And it’s hard to process right now. And I’m sad, and a little embarrassed. And that’s ok. 

It’s okay because I don’t eat. 

Did you get that? That is crazy. I don’t eat. I am unhappy and stressed out and yet, I do not shove sugar into my face. 

To this day, it blows my mind that I don’t stress eat. That I don’t drown my sorrows in chocolate cake. That I don’t obsess, hunt, and sneak. I am flabbergasted that I escaped that prison. 

I have plenty of things to be grateful for, and plenty of grief and gripes. But when I think about the fact that I have not had to eat over anything, that I have peace around my food, I am overcome with relief.

I could not stop eating. Now, I can. 

So simple. Today, if it’s the best thing I’ve got, it’s enough.

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07 Nov 2015
1 Comment

Because sometimes you just have to choke it down…

I have not been hungry for a while now. Dinner has been tough for a few months. I have been trying to make it as small as possible. Sometimes, if I am eating alone because of work or just because my boyfriend wants pizza or something I can’t eat, I make this teeny tiny dinner that I can eat in 10 minutes and be done.In some ways it is nice to not care about a meal. Since I have spent most of my life obsessing over food and eating, it makes me feel almost kind of normal to not be hungry. I mean, sure, once I put boundaries around my eating I got a little less obsessive, but then I got a lot more excited, because…guilt-free eating!

I don’t expect this to last forever. I expect I will go back to anxiously anticipating every single bite again sooner or later. Like everything else in life, this too shall pass. 

But I feel like I have said the obvious in explaining how it’s nice for a girl who was never satisfied to not be hungry, so I want to say this next part clearly. It is painfully uncomfortable for me to eat when I do not want to eat. And it is scary for me make the choice each day to sit down and (on particularly bad days) choke down food that I would rather do without.

If you don’t know about my food boundaries, I eat three meals a day. No more. But also, no less. The idea is that I don’t eat based on hunger, because I don’t have that thing that most people have that tells them when they have had enough. I have three specifically portioned meals a day. That is how I know I have had enough. And I must eat every last bite. I am not on a diet. I am a person who is sick with food and the boundaries are my medicine.

It has become clearer and clearer over the past couple of months that I am going through a major life change. And I wouldn’t be surprised if this is why my appetite had changed.

I would tell you I don’t deal well with change, but if you have read my blog, you might know that to be a lie. I am actually spectacular at dealing with change. I’m a pro. But it comes with feelings I don’t particularly like to deal with: fear, anxiety, and that generally itchy-in-the-skin-rawness. And if I am going to be honest, the idea of pursuing big experiences and having a big life, which seems the direction I’m headed, is less pleasant than my ambitious friends and acquaintances would have me believe. 

I am not saying no to a bigger life. But I will say that there is something really beautiful about a smaller life of peace and quiet, a life of little joys. I have had one for a while and it suits me just fine.

Maybe when this transition slows down and I find my footing again in a new set of circumstances, I will get my appetite back. But for now I will choke it down. The feelings and the food and the next right action.

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01 Nov 2015
1 Comment

A Really Scary Halloween Story

Goodbye Halloween. I love Halloween. But it has been a while since I did much to celebrate. This year I didn’t even dress up, since I had to work.

No matter how I look at it, it’s such a beautiful miracle that I don’t care about candy. Halloween exactly 10 years ago was filled with humiliated binging, and a general sense of shame, but in a normal sized body.

Halloween 10 years ago was one of those days when I knew I was hitting bottom, but before I knew what I could do about it. It was the time in my life that I was most terrified about what would become of me. It was the time of my life when I felt the most out of control. I was barely managing to keep myself sane. I was in a regular sized body, but I could not stop eating. And all of my energy went into eating, and then trying to not gain weight from eating. 

Halloween 10 years ago was my first successful bulimic episode, where I stuck a toothbrush down my throat and actually managed to throw up. I had tried before that, but bulimia is not easy. (It turns out it’s not all that effective either.) I remember looking in the mirror and seeing how bloodshot my eyes looked from it. I remember being bloated and taking some gas medicine because of it. Gas medicine because I could not get the water pill some old woman recommend. I remember asking a pharmacist where I could get a water pill, and the pharmacist looking at me funny and asking if I had a prescription. And when I said I did not, telling me that they were dangerous and were not sold over the counter.

I remember being embarrassed and ashamed. I remember wondering if she could tell that I wanted it because I was bulimic. Wondering if it was written across my forehead. This girl is doing shameful things with food. I remember feeling crazy.

I remember that I was terrified that I was going to look fat and ugly for the Halloween birthday party I was going to. And I arrived later than I wanted because I was doing whatever I could think of to look normal. To not look bloodshot and bloated. 

The truth is, maybe I didn’t look as ugly as I thought I looked. But I was so unhappy. And I thought it must be obvious by just looking at me that I was so out of control that I had resorted to making myself throw up.

I thank God for many things about that day. I am grateful that I hit that point of desperation. I don’t think I could have found my solution for my eating disorders if I hadn’t tried something so extreme.

And ultimately, it would make for a very happy ending. Just two months later, I would find the solution to my eating problem. I would never have to worry about how to get rid of the food I wished I hadn’t eaten. 

I would get a life that was more peaceful than I could ever have imagined in my wildest dreams. A life where I can walk by a bowl full of candy, and rest easy knowing it’s not mine.

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23 Oct 2015

Not special. Still happy.

I am posting early this week because I have lots to do this weekend.

I am on a plane to New York again. I am going to an annual gathering for people with the same food boundaries as myself.I am already thinking about the farmer’s market and the giant apples. Maybe even Norther Spies, which I have not been able to get since I left. 

It has been nine years and ten months since I quit sugar and stopped eating compulsively. 3581 days.

Life seems to go so slowly while I am living it. But in retrospect, things change in an instant. The new normal doesn’t take very long.

Three years ago, I was single and living in New York. I had just quit smoking. I had just gained 30 pounds because of it. I was a nanny and a receptionist. I had not yet started crocheting again. 

Today I am happily, madly in love. I live in the suburbs of Chicago. I am learning to drive, and I just accepted a freelance writing gig, along with my part time job at a grocery store. Plus I spend my spare time crocheting gifts.

And the intervening years were also diverse. Living and making friends, first in Texas, then in Mississippi. Working for a construction company. Learning to crochet clothes. Teaching myself to knit (although I’m still not great at it.)

Perhaps my memory is faulty, but I don’t remember my life being so filled with drastic improvement before I got my eating under control. I don’t recall it shifting so quickly. And, though it comes with dips and drags and false starts, I don’t remember my life getting always happier, calmer, more steady. More serene. 

But even if my memory is faulty, the truth is that my experience of myself before I got my eating under control was of stagnation, anxiety, and dread.

One of the things that happens every year at this gathering for people who don’t eat compulsively is that I meet people who are struggling with food and sugar addiction. I like being an example of what is possible. Because I was a hopeless case too. There is nothing special about me. I don’t have extraordinary willpower – or really much of any willpower. I’m not naturally thin. I am a sick and twisted compulsive eating sugar addict who weighed 300 pounds at 19 years old. And I still managed to find a solution to this problem. And that gave me the clarity to find solutions to my other problems. It allowed me to create a life that keeps getting better.

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18 Oct 2015

Killing me softly

I have been having a very emotional week.

I was talking to a friend of mine recently. The one with the button that says “Give A S***.” She said to me, “Every time I don’t eat a piece of chocolate cake, a little part of me dies inside.”

It has been a while since not eating cake made me cry. Many years, in fact. But there are things that are like giving up sugar, actions outside of my comfort zone, that are little deaths.

Giving up sugar was the biggest step I have taken on a journey I started long ago. I knew some time in my youth that I wanted to get better. I wanted to grow and change. I wouldn’t understand until many years later, but ultimately, what I was looking for was peace. Serenity. What I wanted was to rest easy, knowing that I was being the best person I could be.

But every time I get better, the girl I was dies. And while I certainly choose it, a life of little deaths can be decidedly uncomfortable.

So it turns out that driving is one of the more painful undertakings of my life.

My first lesson was just a few days ago. And since then, I have cried a lot over it. I am crying while I type this. This is the death of a very young and tender part of myself. This part of me I’m killing may be even younger than my sugar addict.

I was not terrible at driving, but I wasn’t good either. And that is kind of hard on me. I am used to being good at things quickly and without much effort. Even giving up sugar was relatively natural to me. Vigilance, perfectionism and being single-focused are things I am exceptional at. Being aware of four directions at once, remembering a whole new set of rules, and figuring out how the machine I’m controlling responds to my touch, is a lot of information to process. I find it overwhelming. It makes me anxious. It makes me cry. Either way, both giving up sugar and starting to learn to drive have made me feel raw and vulnerable. Itchy. Like I am walking around without skin.

These little deaths are not murder. It’s not bad that I am killing these aspects of myself. They were useful until they were not. Being sad or in pain does not mean that what I am becoming is worse than what I have been. But I have to be gentle with the girl in me that I happen to be killing off at the moment. It won’t do any good to kill her brutally. I am going to have to hold her hand and tell her it’s ok to go. I am going to have to let myself mourn her. I’ll still let her die, but ultimately, I’ll kill her softly.

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