Food Addiction Support Group
An individual suffering from a food addiction disorder frequently experiences episodes of uncontrolled eating, or binging, during which they may feel frenzied or out of control. They will eat much more quickly than is normal, and continue to eat even past the point of being uncomfortably full. Binging in this way is generally followed by a period of intense guilt feelings...
That's the title of the memoir I'm writing about the next eighteen months. Seriously.
In 18 months, I'll be 60 years old. I think of myself as someone who's battled food addiction all her life, but the reality of it is that with a few short-lived exceptions, I'm actually someone who's mostly just given in to her food addictions her whole life. I've thought about battling it, I've belittled myself for not doing so, I've written grandiose plans for the approach that I'm going to start 'tomorrow'. I've journaled and made lists of what I've eaten and studied my triggers and read lots of books. But the honest and ugly truth is that I haven't done much about it until now. There really hasn't been that much battling. Until now. Now, I'm putting on the superhero cape and charging ahead.
Until relatively recently, I've gotten away with ignoring it. I've been fit and strong and healthy overall, and while I've always carried some extra weight, I've at least been blessed with proportions that are relatively flattering. Meanwhile, my eating habits have always, always been appalling. I lie about food, I eat in secret, I shove it in my mouth and barely taste it, I feed all my emotions, I use it as a disguise and a barrier........all the things. I've just kind of been able to still squeeze it into a costume the rest of the world sees as 'mildly overweight' instead of 'really messed up.' But, deep down, I know the truth. I'm a hot mess.
Things changes post-menopause (I got to that particular party kind of late, just about three years ago). Weight shifted - well, actually, it sunk. "Shifted" implies some kind of gentle rearranging, doesn't it? This is different; this is two boobs racing to see which one can hit the floor first, this is a brand new belly 'apron', this is thigh-chafing, and just a general feeling of leadenness.
My metabolism slowed down. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, which is a giant load of suck, let me tell you. Bottom line, my bottom line is widening beyond the point where I can ignore it.
I'm not motivated by vanity. I have no need to be any particular size. Sure, thinner would be just peachy. But what I want, what I am working for now, is health, and self-control. I recognize that many factors in life are outside my influence - the RA is a perfect example - but that's all the more reason to control the things I can. I want to be a better role model for my adult kids and for my grandchildren. I want to fix some wrongs in the world in my remaining years and I just feel like I need to get my own act together in order to be more effective.
My family doctor suggested a nutritional counseling class. I said, "Honey, I could write that book. Give me a pen and paper and I write out a 1600, 1700, 1800 calorie daily diet with proportionate carbs, proteins and fats." See, I know that stuff. I just don't do it.
Someone I chatted with online mentioned having more access to fresh fruits and vegetables. Know what I do for a living? I'm a musician, and I'm also, wait for it, an organic farmer running a fruit and vegetable CSA. I pack 50 boxes a week for my member families filled with just-picked berries, melons, leafy greens, etc. I grow them with love and care and pack them up every week. I write a funny newsletter with great recipes. Then I go to McDonald's while I'm on the delivery run. I sit in my farm van, stenciled with the farm name and a healthy-green-crunchy-sounding motto, stuffed with boxes of fantastic produce, and I shove a Big Mac into my face and cry because I don't want it but I can't stop eating it. Sometimes I wipe away the tears and go through the drive through a second time for an extra order of fries. This kind of s*** goes on all day, every day. I've had enough of it.
Well, I'll wrap this up because I needn't write the whole darn memoir here, you know? But I wanted to join the group, I wanted to make a sort of public statement about my intentions in the hope that it keeps me more accountable. I'm having my first hypnotherapy session tomorrow (I've had two preliminary sessions, just talking about issues, and based on the questions the theapist has asked, I'm excited about this journey) in the hopes that it will jump-start the process and help me unearth some hidden triggers. I'll report back every now and then.
But mostly, I wanted to thank all of you for your courage and honesty. I read a lot of posts when I came to this site last night, and I kept thinking "I could have written that one." Over and over again. It is heartening to know that I'm not the only one with this problem. I hope that i can somehow offer some support to all of you here. Cheers, and carry on, warriors.
13. Other people may have played a role in the development of your food addiction due to deliberate, thoughtless, or accidental actions. BUT, you are the only person who can choose to start the process of fixing it.
That's not fair. But life often isn't. Children get cancer. Hurricanes wipe out homes. Mean people win lotteries. Shit happens. Get over it. That may sound harsh, but the sooner you stop complaining about the unfairness and start dealing with it, the sooner your healing will begin.
14. It's easier to heal when you're in motion, as opposed to standing still. Like riding a bike, balancing while motionless is actually much, much harder than balancing while in motion. Just get started. Just make some changes. Just take the walk, clean out the pantry, do what you need to do. You can adjust as you go. You don't need a perfect plan to get started.
15. Knowledge is never a bad thing. The more you learn about who you are and the more honest you are with yourself, the better your chances of healing.
I just added up the amount of money I would have spent on fast food and diet Coke, had I not stopped indulging in those habits earlier this year.
To be totally transparent, I have eaten at fast food places three times, and I'm quite sure I will continue to do so occasionally. So, I deducted $30 from the total.
I had lunch on my own twice at nicer-than-fast-food places. I'm not counting the money spent there against my total. That's something I'll do when I reach 'normal'.
Likewise, I started drinking a fair amount of unsweetened sun tea, but I'm not deducting the cost of the teabags.........just not going to get into that much detail.
But my total? My total was still over $590.00 US dollars. People. Five hundred and ninety. Dollars. Saved.
Three fast food trips a week at $10. (Yes, my total was almost always less. But somehow that change ever quite got back into the general fund; it stayed in the car and was used for candybars. I didn't even think about figuring out what I've saved on candy bars. So, 30 a week times 13 weeks. That's $390 right there. (It's been 14 weeks, but I did have three fast food stops, so I counted only 13 weeks.)
I was drinking six diet cokes a day. The price fluctuates a lot, it's a loss leader in grocery stores. So I took an average of $4 for a 12 pack, which would last two days. Yesterday, when I did the math, was the 100th day of the year. Hence, $200 on diet soda.
This is obscene, in a world where people starve - but, until now, I could not have handled the guilt that comes from that. I just couldn't process it. I didn't have any idea what I was spending on those things, and I'm not a flake when it comes to money,. But I somehow just shut the door on this one, because that's what we addicts do, is it not? I ignored it completely.
I looked at my checkbook balance, and compared it to last year's and the year before. Now, I don't get any kind of regular paycheck, nor are my business expenses predictable. That's the life of a musician and farmer. So I can't truly say hey, look, there's nearly six hundred extra dollars there compared to previous years. Not that accurately.
On the other hand, this is MY life and MY recovery, and I can damn well interpret this as I wish. Which I am.
I have saved six hundred dollars so far this year. (I rounded up because it feels sweeter somehow. And I did this math yesterday, so technically that's another $2 of diet coke and.....well, you get it. We're calling this six hundred dollars.)
So I wrote a check to the local soup kitchen for $200, I'm keeping $200 as savings, and I just bought a really, really expensive bra that actually fits, and booked a massage with the rest.
I'm not going to do this every quarter of the year, although I reserve the option to reconsider that. It might help the next three months, if I think of the reward at the end. After all, I can't wear the same bra every day. And I'll need another massage.
But, I feel comfortable having done this. I worked hard to save that amount of money. There were a lot of times when it physically hurt. You understand.
If you haven't, yet, and you feel up to it, if you feel that it might be motivating, stop and figure out what you're spending a week on food that is not nourishing you. Don't go overboard. I didn't count wine or beer, or good chocolate. I didn't think about things like bags of potato chips. I just picked my two biggest items, the non-stop diet soda and the 3x week fast food. And now, I will have relaxed muscles and happier boobs, plus some extra money saved, and some sent forth in the community. I can remind myself next time I struggle that people are eating today because I did not stop at McDonald's or pop open a soda. That helps. Life is good on this side of the addiction.
I have always been able to justify my every decision in hopes to keep me from being plagued with guilt later. I am usually only blinded by denial long enough to perform ‘the acting out of the binge’ and then, defeated, I retreat back to my place of self loathing. Wow, what a groovy life- hide to eat away the pain and then sit in self pity over having failed AGAIN, so what the heck, may as well binge more to reignite ‘the pleasure center’ once again. That is the story of my life.
The truth is this has been my way since my earliest childhood memory. So too have I been a lifelong optimist, knowing I have, within me, the power to change. I have proven it more than once in my 54.8 years on this earth, overcoming obstacles that seemed insurmountable of juvenile delinquency that required I change everything about myself and geographically move away from the negative influences. Completing high school ( on a prayer) and onto junior college to the university level while always self supporting with full time waitressing jobs. I took another huge detour (physical breakdown caused by burning the proverbial candle) that left me in a severely depressed state at 22, only corrected by meds and strong family support. Slowly re-gaining my sense of self, I returned to waitresses but not school just yet, and gradually came back to life again. Re-emerging to find myself returning to life in the fast lane ( it was the 80’s). After a series of boyfriends, jobs, apartments, and cars, I realized getting clean and sober was necessary if I were to ever have a serious adulthood and started my lifetime journey through the 12 steps. That was 1987.
As my self search took place, I hit on the area of food. I was in no way ready to accept as my absolute core addiction. Buried under years of self medicating in other ways, ‘my dig’ ( the steps) uncovered this deeply
rooted dragon, food addiction. Basically, that is where I
ended...that time I was 130 pounds and took up exercise as a hobby. Fast forward 2018 not any better with food....far worse, Now I am overly educated (school is another addiction) and deeeeeepppply in-debt as a result of student loans ($90,000) in a field that I have no way earn the money necessary to pay them and other $80,000 of non secured and credit care loan debt. That is my excuse to eat; I am never going to get out of debt so why not get some pleasure ( that is my thinking) some way? In the past month while feeling insane pressure to be ‘skinny’ for my son’s wedding I have eaten more than I ever have in my life! Trying to hold myself accountable, I told people I was dieting. I managed one week on a very restrictive diet and went off to the races from there... 1/2 gallons of ice cream several several times these past three weeks with no one home to question my actions ( it does keep me in check when there is although I resent it at the same time).
I can say “oh, I am in menopause and calcium depleted and need the ice cream”....not going to work!
My, this has been so therapeutic !
I hear you about the peeing situation. Man, I sure don't appreciate this part of aging at all. I am the master, now, of the quick leg-cross before sneezing, just in case. I do so many Kegels I could crack a walnut down there, but I still have problems when my allergies flare up and I get the sneezes.
I don't know if everyone sees the forum posts in the same way or not. I've posted nearly daily for months, so if you're up to the avocado mind-explosion - i remember that day - then you've got a lot more posts to read if you so choose. On my screen, they're all lumped together. I didn't want to post separately every day because I realized I'd be hogging the entire board.
You write beautifully and you obviously are very self aware. I hope you'll post here frequently. So many people come to this board and ask for help and then they never post again. We need some strong sensible voices like yours.
Thank you for your kind words of encouragement. I have no doubt those that read your comments feel better having a kindred spirit ( I certainly do).
Having experienced such a catharsis from writing the ‘real deal’, this a.m., I now remember how great it feels to express oneself freely! Silly as it may sound, I have so many times pushed away that which brought me healing and centeredness for FEAR of what the next sentence or paragraph may uncover regarding things about myself, that...I don’t particularly care to know!
TODAY is a fresh new beginning from a life lived in ‘idle’ for the last few fearful years.
Metanoia - a word that translates from Greek, meaning a conversion of spirit... my new moniker!
I can't tell you how many times I have started to write and been completely floored by the directions the words take. Sometimes I write and can't actually post the writing for hours or a day or two because I literally stare at it and think I wrote that? Really? This is what I think? This is what's going on in my head? No wonder I'm a mess.
I think it's because once you write the words "well, I'm a mess, aren't I, and I've got to do something about this, seeing as no one else will do it for me, and I'm not entirely certain what to do, although I have a few general ideas so I guess hey I'll just forge ahead here and reclaim my freaking life, thank, you" - well, once you write that, and you hit the send button, and it pops up for reals, you look at it and think hoo boy, I guess I just got on the rollercoaster, didn't I, and here it goes.
At least that's what the last eight or so months have felt like for me. i could not see patterns at first, it was all a jumbled mess, but sometimes I re-read the entire thing, and I see that it's actually been a fairly clear path in retrospect.
And there is such joy in the philosophy of today, in the idea that you're putting forth in the post above this one. Sure, there are things to be learned from our past. They're often very important things, but.........not important in the sense that we need to hold on to them, keep getting angry about them, keep kicking ourselves for them, keep wiping the dust off of them. It's today's choices that matter.
In these last eight months I've divested myself of a lot of material possessions. There's several reasons. It seems to dovetail with losing the weight and the addiction and the toxic people and the negative thoughts and all the other things that have dragged me down for so long. Second, it fits my spiritual/ecological/political mindset. Third, my sons frequently drop subtle hints like "Omigod Mom, we're going to have to clean all this crap up when you croak someday, you think you could maybe at least keep a path open in this barn?"
I've no intention of cleaning it all up; that's too much at odds with my sense of frugality and a constant need to jury-rig farm solutions from the various piles of Interesting Things around here. Beside, both kids had large heads at birth and I'm still holding a grudge. They can deal with it.
Kidding aside, though - oh, wait, I wasn't - I'm kind of over Things. And that has expanded to Regrets. Regrets are like Things, only you don't have to dust them. You keep looking at the physical Things over and over because there they are, right on the mantel over the fireplace, and you think what the hell did I bring that into the house for? It brings me no joy. And our Regrets are just like that. We worry them like a sore tooth. But once we've learned the lesson they have to teach us, there's no point in keeping them.
Yes, I'm saddened and frustrated and sometimes angry about the decades of bad choices I made. But, the person I was then made the best choices she understood how to make at the time. I know better now, and I can make different ones. There is just no point in constantly berating yourself for the bad ones from the past.
Every morning - actually, every moment - is potentially the beginning of the best chapter ever.
Now, there can be some embarrassing exceptions. I'm living one right now.
Remember that wild brave moment last fall when I underscored my intent by burning my size Fat Ass shorts? It was such a sweeping, heady declaration; it was a symbol of my resolve, and in the movie version of Katie's Fucked Up Life it would be one hell of a scene. I'd be looking determined, with my hair blowing in a light breeze as sparks soared toward the stars.
Yeah, well. that was then. Now, it's suddenly 70 degrees and I am shortless.
It's not a big deal. I no longer buy new clothing except underwear. We have great local consignment stores. Next Wednesday, which is Senior Discount Day (sigh), I will go to my favorite one and buy five pairs of Fat Ass Shorts for $10, and that will get me through the summer. They will undoubtedly be nicer than the ones I burned last fall. I'm hard on clothes.
BUT, the real point of bringing that up is this: needing to replenish the Fat Ass Shorts could be seen as a huge sign of failure. After all, I was supposed to be buying Svelte and Sexy Shorts by this point in my recovery, wasn't I?
Well, here's the thing, friends. This recovery process, not unlike that rollercoaster Suzy and I are strapped into, has its ups and downs. I suspect this is entirely different for every single person, but in my case, I had to get rid of a lot of blubber that was between my ears first. I have lost some weight, but not loads and loads. The butt will come along in time. I truly feel that I have made enormous progress, but I do still have an enormous potbelly and assorted other squishy parts. I believe that the weight is starting to come off now, because now my head is in the right place. The physical weight I'm carrying took awhile to pile on, and it's going to take work to chisel away at it, but I could not do it with a hundred pounds of Regret nesting in my heart.
So spring has sprung, somewhat, and I'm still a chunker, but what the hell, I'll go buy those five pairs of Fat Ass Shorts at the Communuity Aid store next week and I will walk and jog miles and miles in them and next fall, I'll burn THEM. And maybe the wind and the lighting will be right that day, and I can get someone to snap a picture of it, and it will be the cover of the book. Who knows? Stranger things happen every day.
I used to assume that from the moment a craving entered my tiny brain, it was a foregone conclusion that I would give in. This, of course, would be a ridiculous premise if it were fictional, except that it isn't: it's really the way addicts' brains seem to work. We passively hand over all of our power. We convince ourselves that we - strong, powerful, educated, compassionate, vibrant people - are weaker than a peanut butter cup or a piece of cake. Or, we let that person who hurt our feelings three decades ago control our eating today, because we can't let go of the hurt and regain our own power. And we give power to the media that presents us with airbrushed, unattainable images of perfection.
I'm starting to rant, so lemme rein this baby back in here, because I want to talk about a bagel. One bagel.
I do not and I will not ever endorse any particular diet or eating program, because I only know what works for me, and even so, I'm still tweaking it, you know? So, please understand that I do not believe bagels are evil. Sometimes I will eat one. But I've learned that FOR ME, loading up on simple carbs is a really, really bad choice. So I've figured out a limit, and I knew I was at it for the week.
This morning, I toddled downstairs, started the coffee, took the dog out for his tinkle, fed the sheep and chickens and turkeys, came back in, poured coffee, and had one of those Katie Moments.
Because yesterday I'd bought the parmesan bagels the husband likes, and they were sitting on the counter, right next to the percolator. (Side note: this is why I should put things where they belong, so I don't get tempted.)
I thought well, there's six in that bag and odds are I'm going to cave and eat one, so why not eat it today, when it's the freshest? Right, right? Addict logic at its finest, yes? No, my better angel said, no, you shouldn't have that.
And here's where the mental conversation went from there:
But I want it.
But you don't need it.
(I slice the bagel)
Well, I've gone and sliced it, I have to eat it now.
You idiot. Slicing a bagel does not automatically mean that you -
I want it.
Tough shit.
I have so much work to do. This is more convenient than prepping an egg.
Suck it up.
I want the bagel.
(Bagels moves toward toaster)
See, I'm toasting it now. I might as well eat it.
Ass. Toasting a bagel does not automatically mean -
It smells good.
This will undo a lot of work you've done this week.
I'll use half as much butter as usual.
This is a mistake.
Wait. Wait.
Yes?
You're right.
Yes?
I don't have to eat this bagel.
Keep going........
I can make an egg and some veg like I usually do.
(husband enters kitchen, straightening his tie, briefcase in hand.)
"Good morning, there's a bagel just about to pop for you!" I say brightly.
Now, I want to make three points: One, this is one of the first times that I've stopped the train once it starts rolling. I'm getting way better at not getting on the train in the first place, but this is actually a big step.
Two, the timely arrival of the husband meant i did not need to have the "I'm wasting food while people are starving" mental drama that would have happened if I had thrown the bagel away or fed it to the chickens. This would have been harder if there hadn't been another person in the time - that was just good luck.
Three, I realize that when these mental debates occur, the Bad Angel uses the pronoun "I" and the good angels uses "you". I think that means that I'm still identifying more with the bad habits, or perceiving myself that way.........or hey, maybe I'm just over-analyzing everything as usual.
Either way, I didn't eat the bagel.
Busy day at work-
but maaaged to read Katie’s post after mine- All I can say in brief is what we all will eventually come to know: Overeating is but a mere symptom of my true underlying disease of feelings.
For some people, recovery is a big AHA!!! moment. For me, it's a bunch of piddly little steps. But I'm getting there, and that's what matters.
Here's today's piddle puddle. I've been making a strategic error in trying to drown out my cravings when they start to appear. If - as is so often the case - I'm driving across the bridge on the highway on my way home, near the Exit Where Delicious Bad Things Live, and the Beast Voice starts whispering "french fries! Wendy's! McDonald's!". my approach until recently has been trying to drown it out. You know, the classic meme of the person with hands over ears saying "I can't hear you I can't hear you!!!"
The thing is, you can't keep your figurative hands over your ears 24/7, and the Beast Voice will be waiting for you. I can distract myself all I want - shiny thing! Loud music! Reciting the times tables! - but inevitably I will drop my guard, and the Beast is right there............softly, sensually whispering .................'french fries'. Because this is what an addiction does, you see, it waits until we let our guard down. It festers in its dark place until it sees just a tiny glimmer of light, and then it pounces. And then, I'm eating bad things, in copious quantities.
BUT. This new approach is entirely different.
I'm operating here on the theory that infection breeds in the dark, and that sunlight is a good sanitizer. Trying to bury those bad feelings never worked. I know this. This is why I've been so rigorously examining my whole life, trying to let as much light into dark places as possible.
So I thought I'd try it with cravings. It's been a few weeks, and I believe this is effective. For me. Might work for you. Might not.
Old way: craving starts to tiptoe around in my brain, and I do everything I can to cover it up. I mean, I'm piling pillows on it trying to suffocate, turning up the volume on everything else, anything I can possibly do to drown it out. Finally, I'm exhausted from all this effort, and I give in.
New way: I say hello to it. I embrace it. Hey, Craving, how ya doing? You think I should eat some french fries, do you? You think I should pull over at the next fast food place? You're reminding me how much I love them. You're right. They're delicious. I do enjoy them, especially when they're crispy and salty. Mmmm hmmmm. Yes, they're quite tasty. Agreed. But, you know what, old friend? Eating fries right now isn't a good idea. See, I've been working really, really hard to lose weight, and that would work against me. Also, I, um, just ate breakfast, you know? Like, two hours ago? So, I might WANT the fries, sure, but I def don't NEED them. And when I get home, I have stuff to make a nice salad, with a piece of chicken. So, Craving, I hear you, I really do. But, you and me? You know it's over, right? It's not you, Craving, it's me. I've moved on. Yes, those fries would taste great, and you know what, I might have some, maybe next week. But not today. You take care. 'Bye now.
So, okay. If you're thinking wow, that sounds batshit crazy, I really can't argue with you. I not only had this conversation with an imaginary craving, but I did it out loud, and more than once.
But it's the most amazing thing: the Beast withers up in sunlight. I have tried this about seven times over the last three weeks, and without fail, the more I just plain embrace the craving, acknowledge it, and shine light on it, the more power I have over it.
And what's crazier: attacking a craving head on and banishing it, or letting it control your life?
I'm attacking the cravings head on from this point forward. I won't even try to pretend I'm not tempted. I genuinely feel, now, that it might just be okay to say yes, I DO sort of want that, I DO think it would taste good. I think it might be okay to think about just how good it would taste, even. But, then, it's appropriate to keep that conversation going a little longer, and address the other questions: am I actually hungry? Is this just a caloric substitute for a boring marriage or a sugar balm for stress? What are my alternatives? Might I indulge in that (ice cream, pizza, whatever) sometime in the near future, when it's more appropriate? Is this temptation, this idea that swerving into a drive-through for a McCalorieBurger will bring my happiness not a pretty ridiculous concept when you really look at it?
if you're a Harry Potter fan - cravings are Boggarts. We've got to open up the cupboard, let them out, and learn to laugh at them. Pull out your want and say it with me: Riddikulus!
We're on to something here. If you're not a Harry Potter fan, it's a simple concept: to overcome a fear, you have to face it find something ridiculous about it, and laugh at it. The children who are taught this, in the books, are facing various childhood fears, and they practice imagining those fears mutating into something silly: the dreaded spider is suddenly on rollerskates, the intimidating teacher is wearing silly clothes. They are taught that they have power over them, through the spell of saying the word "Riddikulus".
The book's main character has more complex fears and must work much harder to defeat them. It's a great plot line to move that forward.
Our addiction is no laughing matter, in the sense that it can cause us incredible harm. We all know that.
But, when we cower before it, we give it more power than it deserves. And I think it feeds on that power.
I have long considered my addiction to be a thing, separate from myself. Months ago, I named the bad angel on my shoulder "Gruoch", which I can't entirely pronounce - it's Lady MacBeth's first name, and we all know she was a terrible manipulator.
For a long time, my conversations with Gruoch came from a place of anger. You know. Why are you ruining my life, why can't you leave me alone, and so on. Do you see how that gives her (the addiction) power?
Over time, I noticed that I shifted my conversations with my addiction somewhat. I started mocking it, belittling it, telling it fairly matter-of-factly that I know, now, that I'm winning. I point out my small but firm steps toward healing, and remind it that it's losing power every day. And when my approach changed, its grip on me lessened.
I'd like you to think about it as if we were discussing an ex-lover. When you love someone, they hold power over you. When you hate someone, they hold power over you. But when you see them as ridiculous, you begin to get past it. When you reach a point where you just don't care anymore, that's when you can truly move on. That's when they have no hold over you anymore. You can't successfully enter a new relationship when the old one still has any power over you, right? We've all been on both sides of this.
I have had a 'relationship' with my addiction for decades, I could not 'break up' with it as long as I conceded power. How was I doing that? By thinking it was impossible to be free of it. By caving in to cravings without putting up a fight. By not stopping to examine WHY I'd gotten to this point.
A food-healthy person would read this and find it every bit as unbelievable as you and I might feel when we read the story of someone who stays in an abusive relationship - you know what I mean - where you just want to shout oh for God's sake honey, get out of there! Just stop already, move on, you can do this, you do not need (that person)! The messages (s)he tells you are false! Look for the strength within yourself!
I can't imagine there's anyone who hasn't thought that, in regard to a friend or fictional character's abusive relationship.
And yet, we're IN one ourselves, with this addiction. And we're doing all those dangerous things: assuming it has total power, assuming it will win so we might as well give in, believing all the terrible messages it gives us about our self worth. We're afraid to tell our story. We're afraid to reach out for help - and if we do, we scurry back into our little holes as soon as possible, frightened of the step we've just taken.
Say it with me, friends: "Enough of this shit".
Today, I'm getting a real haircut. My addiction, like many abusive partners, prefers my hair to be long. You think that's silly? It's true. My addiction wants me to look like a frump. My addiction has told me, repeatedly, that I'm unattractive and should just try not to be noticed. Well, today is going to be a nice big fuck-you to that, thanks very much. (Note: I'm not equating long hair with frumpiness. But for me, it's not working).
I'm going to put on a tiny bit of makeup. I hate makeup, really, but I have learned that a very small amount can make a big difference in how I'm perceived. (As in, no one asks me gently if I'm terribly ill when I have a bit of mascara on.) So, fine, I'll do that. And I'm going to get an actual hair style as opposed to just whacking off the sticky-out bits with scissors.
There's one more step, but I'm not yet to the goal for it: I will lose my 60 pounds. I'm already on the way. When I lose each twenty, I'm going to get one ear piercing. I will, when I am at my goal, have three tiny stud earrings in my right ear, in addition to the regular pierced ears. I can't explain this exactly, but I feel very strongly that this is the right thing to do. I need a permanent mark on my body to commemorate this journey. I need to look in the mirror and see one (soon) and then two and then three bits of gold. Also, I need to be a little bit cooler, you know? :) And this seems like it fits.
Enough of this shit.
Well, isn't THIS interesting. A couple of weeks ago, I took my big goofy hairy dog for his first ever grooming session. I mean, we brush him sometimes, but he'd never gone to a groomer for the whole works, you know? He's got really long hair, but it's kind of like Teflon; things really never stick to it.
As soon as he was done, he started preening. There's no better word for it. He started posing, he'd see someone new and just sort of stop and tilt his head and wait for that person to say omigod adorable, Which he is. And he knew it.
I think I understand that a little better now. I'm quite spiffed up with this new haircut. My person understood what I was saying, and did everything I asked except one small part, which she explained was not in my best interest due to the texture of my hair; I listened to her expertise on that.
I look different enough without it being a radial change. I look considerably younger. I don't mind being the age I am in the least, and I think it's silly to employ pretense to pretend otherwise. But the extra inches of hair - I think she cut off about 4" - pulled my hair down too much, and made me look tired and drained. I'm already dealing with an autoimmune thing that truly makes me tired and drained at times. I don't need it to look worse than it does.
Now, understand, I ran two errands after, and no one dropped to their knees in adoration. In that regard, the dog really got far more compliments than I did. The husband may not notice. The women who sit near me in orchestra rehearsal tonight probably will. That's okay.
No, here's the part that matters:
Despite advising others not to do this sort of thing, I had been putting off this haircut. I had been 'waiting to get better' before starting to fuss a bit with my appearance in general. Why bother with a pricey (to me) haircut when I was so fat? What's it matter? Just tie it back and forget about it. This was my thinking.
Do you see how that devalued my self-worth? Now, I don't care if someone has the sleekest, hippest haircut possible, or just has hair tied back in a ponytail. Shave your head, perm your hair, whatever. That's not the point.
The point is that we are worth that little extra bit of care even before we're 'healed'. In fact, it might help the healing along.
We are more than our addiction. We are loving, funny, interesting, intelligent people who happen to also be slightly screwed up with this addiction thing, sure, be we do not need to wait to start living until it's 'fixed'. Go. Take the step, the one you've been thinking about, the one that's your equivalent of the haircut.
In the meantime, i'm going to take a selfie with my dog........
In one of those lovely moments where life whaps you upside the head with some realism..............absolutely no one has noticed my haircut, this cementing my belief that no one on earth is more invisible than an overweight middle aged white woman. Maybe I should begin a life of crime; clearly I'm inconspicuous and could get away with anything. Witnesses would never remember what I looked like.
Seriously, though, it was a great, and need, reminder that my healthy commitment to not looking like a bag lady needs to be for my own benefit, and not for any feedback it may or may not get.
When I was a band director at a high school, my kids would compete for marching band. You could not control who your competitors would be at any given event. You could show up at one and do a fantastic job, and three other schools would be there that would be better. Similarly, you could go to a competition and not perform well at all, and win first place simply because the other schools were worse. So which performance should be celebrated? This was always a struggle for my students (and their parents) and I worked hard to get them to understand that while feedback and competition can be helpful, the ultimate decision about whether you'd done well has to come from your own honest assessment.
Left to my own devices, I'd probably happily wear the same clothes every day and tie my hair back and wear no makeup. Actually, I have proof of that, i.e. January. While I'm comfortable with that, i do understand that some of it comes from an unhealthy place, i.e. a lack of confidence, a feeling that I'm unattractive and should be inconspicuous, etc. So in that sense, yes, I need to work on this a little bit. After my haircut yesterday I slid just a smidge too far in the other direction: I was genuinely looking for a compliment. That's not necessarily a good thing either. So, like so many other parts of this journey, it's about finding balance.
I think I'll go plan a bank heist now.
There is an overwhelming power in the word 'yet'. I have come to think of the word as a talisman, like a good-luck charm I keep in my pocket.
Listen to the differece:
"I can't stop overeating"
vs
"I can't stop overeating - yet."
or
"Nothing works for me!"
vs
"Nothing works for me - yet."
My friends, as long as you wake up the morning, you have a 'yet' ahead of you.
So much of this kind of recovery is hard to measure. You can work and work and think you've made no progress at all. It's like having to walk a hundred miles to a destination, but it's totally dark and you can't see any signposts, so you're not really sure how you're doing.
But, imagine that you have walked 99.9 miles. You can't see the finish line, so you might, in fact, think "I'm not there" and you might give up and quit, thinking it's hopeless. Wouldn't that be a tragedy, when you're that close?
But what if, instead, you thought "I'm not there - yet." and kept at it? You're so close! You've done all that hard, hard work. Maybe some wrong turns, maybe you went backwards a time or two. There would have been falls that left you scraped and bruised, and there would have been tears. But you are so, so close.
If i weren't so lazy, I'd go out and find a nice smooth stone in the driveway and paint the word "yet" on it and keep it in my pocket. I won't do that, because I'd end up spending two hours searching for a little paint brush, then I'd order a lot of art supplies from Amazon, and clog up the whole dining room table because I'd think well I might as well paint forty of them and carry them with me in case I get into a conversation with someone who needs one, but then all my pockets will be baggy and I'll wreck the washing machine because I'll forget to take them out, and........see, this is how the ADD brain works.
So I have an imaginary rock in my pocket. You can too. We're not there.......yet. But we can be. We will be.