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.
I just ordered the Whole 30 book, after talking to the young woman who cuts my hair this morning. I'd been thinking about trying low carb again, but this sounds a lot less restrictive, and it does eliminate the sugar and most of the starches that I feel are trigger foods for me.
And hey, it's just a few weeks before Christmas, so by doing this I am essentially screwing up the entire holiday season. In which, typically, I will gain ten pounds, mostly by overeating the very things I'm going to avoid totally during this thirty day period. And then I spend the next few months working frantically to lose six of those ten, but the other four stay on for keeps.
The family gatherings will be after the 25th, so I could start this thing right now and really only be a few days short of thirty on the 'feast days'............so I could probably actually pull this off.
It sort of makes more sense to wait until after Christmas, but you see, I've been putting off good decisions - there's always some reason to wait a few days and start later. Well, maybe right now IS later. Isn't that the point of this whole journey I'm on? To get this shit done?
So, okay. I'm starting now. I guess i'm making a few tweaks - it won't be a full thirty days. but the overall guidelines are good ones. I know from my past experience with low carb that zero tolerance is actually easier on me than moderation. I had hoped that I could embrace moderation now, and eat anything, just in very small amounts, But that's not working. And the meds I'm on are contributing to an overall puffiness and water retention and soon.......no, I'm on the right track here, holidays or not.
okay. No alcohol. No sugar. No dairy. No grains. No legumes. I'll commit to this for 24 days, but I'm gonna need wine when the mother in law is here, so there's going to be a planned deviation on Dec 28th.
This is much along the lines of my recent posts, but I'm beginning to understand that it's truly critical to success. And by success I do not mean a specific weight or size, although those things can be part of the goal. I don't mean iron self control and total avoidance of sugar / carbs / (insert your trigger here), although of course that would be helpful. Especially around the holidays!
No, I'm talking about a much bigger issue, the 'why are we even here?' picture. I won't argue for any specific answer. Some of us find it in faith, some in other ways. Some of our answers would be simple, some would be layered and complex. My purpose in this post is not to posit one answer - because my answer might not be yours anyway. And this is something we each have to find for ourselves anyway.
I have begun to assemble a private collection of heroes (and 's'heroes!). At first, I thought this had nothing to do with my stated goal of getting my shit together and getting in decent physical shape to meet the last third of my life. At first, I thought it was unrelated. I was just starting to pay more attention to women and men, living or deceased, who I admire and wish to emulate. Without whining, let me just say that my parents, who did their best, sort of missed the mark in the role model department, if you get my drift. So I've spent a lot of my adult life observing and learning, and I think I've fashioned my adult self from bits and pieces of many, many people.
The list is always growing, and it's extremely diverse. I won't list any specific names, but it ranges from people who are internationally known to a homeless woman I met whose name, sadly, few people will ever know. It includes people who have achieved material success, but mostly it's people who have not. Some of them are fictional. Some of them are outspoken and some are quiet.
When I began to look for the common thread in my list, the first thing I came up with was "none of them are pricks." There was no other obvious connection right away. They weren't all rich, or musicians, or scientists, or attractive, or witty, although all of those things are represented in the collective. No, the non-prickness was truly the first commonality.
But there was a second one and it was equally important: they were all broken. Every single one of them, every single person on that list of people I'd like to have coffee with someday (yes, some of them are dead, but it's MY list so let's not quibble) has a burden, a scar, a wound. Every damn one. And perhaps every bit as importantly, they acknowledged it. This does not mean shouted from the rooftops, although some were / are very open about it. But all of them in some way owned the brokenness.
We don't all speak the same language, worship in the same manner, have the same amount of material wealth or education, or look the same. What do we actually have in common, then? Pain, loss, and hope. Are you a mother? Do you remember that first grocery store trip with your newborn, when you caught the eye of a much much older woman - someone you would have previously not even noticed - and she smiled at you and you realized, all of a sudden, that now you were part of the 'sisterhood'? That you now shared someone with women dating back to the beginning of the race? Have you lost a parent and opened a sympathy card from someone you don't really know well, and they've written a note that says "I understand; I've been there" and it suddenly hits you that yes, you really aren't alone? And your loss is still searing, but you find a small measure of comfort in knowing that you aren't the only one who has felt its sting?
Have you ever been in physical therapy? Have you parked your clunker beside someone's Mercedes in the parking lot (or vice versa) and then been side by side with that person doing excruciating exercises to rehabilitate your body? And even though your world and their world is completely different, at that moment, to the therapist, you're both 'ankle injuries'?
I performed last night at a tree lighting for the local Hospice, and the families that have used that service for their loved ones attended and lit candles. It occurred to me as I watched their faces that they probably had nothing in common with each other except for their grief. And that bond was, at least in that moment, stronger than politics or religion or anything else.
So, what's this have to do with food addiction? Well, I'm working really hard on this. When I'm not writing about it, I'm researching. And here's something that's starting to pop up more and more: those of us who struggle with food addiction are often (often. not always) people who repress things - specifically, the brokenness. We're the moms who take care of everyone except ourselves, and then eat a whole jar of peanut butter. We're the young women who think that our worth is tied to our physical attractiveness, so we fast and deny ourselves food and then binge and hate ourselves. We're the men who think we have to be strong and hold everything together and not let anyone know we're afraid or unwell. We're the ones who think no one will love us anyway, so why not hide under a nice protective layer of fat and blame that instead? We're the ones who have to have everything look great on the outside for everyone else to see, but that effort just costs us so damn much that something falls apart on the inside, and we binge in secret. We're the strong shoulders everyone else leans on, but we're destroying ourselves in the meantime.
We think if we don't admit it, then it's not there. We think no one knows. We think we've fooled everyone.
Our motives in being this way are not good or bad - I'm not sure it is even necessary to decide which. But I think we need to see that we're doing it and look at a much bigger picture.
It's not about the cheese puffs, friends. It probably never was.
I am definitely no expert on this. And I still believe that there is a chemical component to our food addiction, that there's some kind of faulty wiring in our brains. BUT, I also believe that food addiction does not exist in a vacuum. I think my problem, I think OUR problem, is a combination of that chemistry / wiring problem and something else in our story, some neglect or abuse or painful incident that sort of tripped the switch for the faulty wiring in the first place. Just like everyone who is predisposed to alcoholism doesn't end up an alcoholic, because some of them never take that first drink and find out. It's an imperfect analogy because we need food to survive, and we don't need alcohol. But, still: there's a starting point, somewhere.
I am several months into this 18 month journey, and I can say now that I have turned the corner. It is still a struggle. But I now see that the work I am doing is, well, working. I am going to reach my 60th birthday in 430 days in a better place physically and mentally. It is clear to me for the first time since I started that this is going to work. These last few months have been incredibly hard. I have stripped my soul down to the marrow and examined my fucked up head under a microscope (and mixed up analogies terribly in the process.) I do not have all the answers, but I am absolutely convinced that this kind of honesty is vital to the process of healing.
Find yours. Find it, embrace it, own it, and fix it. Brokenness is not weakness. Brokenness is not shameful. There is not one person on this earth past childhood who isn't broken in some way. And don't you see, that's our common thread, that's what holds us together really.
Once we can acknowledge our brokenness and face it squarely, it can heal - especially with the help of other people. And once it does, you know what happens? the cheese puffs no longer have the ability to infiltrate your brain and pull you towards them in the pantry with their demonic powers. They become, simply, a bag of cheese puffs. It's kind of awesome.
.........yes, even before you're 'fixed'. Please. Take a minute and think about this. You are more than this addiction. You are so many wonderful things - you're a loving mom sister neighbor friend aunt. You're the worker on the team who always, always comes through. You make the best lasagna. You are the reason your trivia team always wins. You are kind. You have a killer smile. You have a beautiful voice. You know how to fix things. You listen.
Whatever - you are an awesome person, okay? I guarantee you, your epitaph will not be "She ate all the brownies." Honestly. That will NOT be engraved on your tombstone. At your funeral, your loved ones will definitely not be talking about the time you ate a pound of cashews. I know this.
I mean, I really know this. I'm screwed up, yes. But, i have been to the funerals of several people whose general fucked-uppedness makes me look like an amateur. And you know what? People cried. People mourned. People talked about the time he stopped in a crazy snowstorm to jump a car with a dead battery on the highway and ended up marrying the driver. They laughed about how they could never, ever tell if she had a good poker hand or not. They remembered how he'd go to the Humane Society and take dogs out for walks and then come home and cry because he couldn't adopt them all. They said she was a role model because she got that GED when she was 40 and pulled her family out of poverty.
It wasn't just politeness that kept them from mentioning the other things, the addictions or the bad choices. The honest truth is that those things just weren't the defining elements of the person when you got right down to it.
I went to a workshop a few years ago and was part of an exercise in which we were each asked to write our obituary. Some people totally freaked out at first. But it was an incredible experience, taking a few moments to think about how other people might perceive you.......and, of course, to take even more minutes to think about changes going forward.
We didn't share much with each other during or after that exercise; it was intended to be private. but over lunch afterward, several women remarked that the one thing they realized was that their weight - which is of course an obsession for so many of us - wasn't going to factor in at all. It made them, and me, realize that while of course it's important to be healthy and so on, it just is not, it is absolutely freaking NOT, the central aspect of who we are.
So, yes, both parts: embrace your brokenness, admit the problem........and celebrate your wholeness. Yes, you're a mess. So am I. We are also beautiful. Okay?
Holy SHIT. I just realized I had the order wrong:
I thought I made stupid / reckless / irrational food choices and then felt terrible, blamed myself, hated myself.
You guys.
It was the OTHER WAY AROUND.
Do you realize what this means? Do you realize how life changing this is?
I had it backwards. I've been self-medicating with food BECAUSE of the blame, self-loathing, etc. Not the other way around.
This changes everything.
This is the rest of the puzzle, friends. The first part was being able to admit that I had a problem. For me, that was really easy, because I've sort of based my whole adult personality on being transparent.
But the SECOND part, the one that kept me from making progress, was forgiving myself for all of the past bad choices. Taking the guilt out of the equation. Being able to say "yes, I made a bad choice. Now let's move forward."
See, there had been a horrible spiral. You know about this, or you wouldn't be here reading these posts. I'd feel bad about myself in some way, or I'd feel stressed (generally the same thing in my case.). I'd have missed an opportunity or a deadline. I'd be looking at my disorganized wreck of a house, or things on the farm that desperately needed work, or the potbelly I've had since giving birth last......which was 35 years ago. Oh, actually, 36. 36 years.
And the only thoughts I was able to formulate were "Katie, you really SUCK".
I mean this seriously. I start days on the farm in 'management' mode, walking around with a clipboard and a cup of coffee. In theory, I'm checking on everything and making notes that will guide decisions about the work load for the day. In reality, I'm looking at the exact same piles and messes and unfinished projects every day and beating myself up for not having taken care of it. And my clipboard would be a record of my failures. The same ones every day.
And we do the same thing when we look in the mirror, don't we? My horrible post-baby belly pouch has literally been there for more than three decades, but EVERY SINGLE DAY I have to hate myself for it all over again.
Now, that self-loathing does not translate into helpful action when you're dealing with an addiction. It translates into a feeling of hopelessness. Why bother exercising when I'm so fat it won't make a difference? I feel like shit because of (fatness, unfinished projects, messes, etc) so why not just eat these sticky buns?
We are told that the solution is to stop buying trigger foods, or to drink our coffee black, or to eat celery sticks. As if the problem is that we don't understand nutrition, or calories. We already know all these things. There isn't a person in this group who doesn't know that the kind of overeating we do is bad.
But that's not where we need to start. This is not about the food. Unless we break that spiral of guilt / eating / guilt / eating that has dominated our lives, we are stuck. If I could not change my inner dialogue about my belly fat or my laundry pile or whatever, I was going to keep the cycle going by reaching for the potato chips over and over again. And then hating myself for eating them, and then eating more, because I hate myself.
So, just stop. (Not 'stop eating'; that's not exactly practical). Stop with the self-hating already. I really believe that this is what healthy people do: they say "Oh, hey, I've got a potbelly. Oops. Okay, let's tweak a thing or two in the diet / exercise and get that thing settled down." They look at the piled up papers in the home office and think "Okay, let's schedule an afternoon on the weekend, make a big pot off coffee, and sort this crap into stacks by category and get it filed." Or......whatever. They do NOT get up every single morning, look in the mirror, and say "Omigod, look at that awful belly! I'm a failure. Lemme go feed my unhappiness, and tomorrow I'll do this ALL OVER AGAIN!"
They do NOT walk into the home office and think "It's overwhelming. I don't even know where to start. I'll never get my taxes done. I'll never find that lost (receipt, prescription, whatever) that I absolutely must find. i can't cope with this, so I'll go eat muffins, because that will feel like love.."
I'll go out on a limb here and speculate that ever single one of us with a food addiction thinks that in some way, we're not good enough.
We might think we're not good enough for our parents / friends / spouse. We might think we fall short in terms of our appearance, our intelligence, our parenting, or our ability to make money. Or any number of things.
We treat ourselves more harshly than we would ever treat a friend.
And then, when we're at the lowest, we eat. Not because we're selfish. Not because we're giving ourselves a treat. (exactly the opposite, actually.) It's because we think we're hopeless and worthless, and that behavior just reinforces the idea that those feelings are true.
See, when you believe something about yourself, you actually act in ways that reinforce that idea. I know this from my years of teaching school. The kid who thinks they're 'bad' is going to continue to act in 'bad' ways, because that's what they believe they are. And often, they see no point in changing their bad behavior, because they're 'bad' and what's the point?
We're doing the same things to ourselves that those kids are doing.
Helping the 'bad' kid in your elementary or high school class doesn't mean imposing punishments or restrictions - those might produce a temporary outward change in behavior, sure. But what really makes the long term difference is convincing that kid that he or she is of value, and has promise, and potential, and is loved and worthy of love. The kid who can be helped to understand those things will not be a disruptive behavior problem anymore.
Those of us who are addicted to food are like a combination of the bad kid and the bad teacher all in one body: we're doing the destructive behavior, but then we're handling ourselves all wrong. We're making it worse by yelling and telling ourselves we're losers, when what we really need to be saying to ourselves is "You are loved. You are okay the way you are. You are worthy of love. Your past choices / sins are forgiven. Let's start fresh."
And maybe - as is the case in teaching - you have to go over those things a few times, because there will be slip-ups.
But let's stop with this self-loathing, okay? And let's help each out with this. Let's look for that next post from a new member, where they introduce themselves and say "I'm horrible / hopeless / selfish / etc" and maybe let's jump in and say "wait, wait. Breathe. Reset. You are enough. It will be all right."
And then don't forget to go look in the mirror and say the same thing.
Look, I'm staking a lot on this. I have some serious goals to reach and a lot of work to do. I know in my heart that this kind of forgiveness is key. I know that I will look back in six months, or in six years, and I will say "that was the turning point. The day I was able to look in the mirror, figuratively and literally, and say "Katie - it's okay. You can start over now. You're enough."
Potbelly and all.
There are 436 days until my arbitrary deadline for reaching my slightly vague goal of 'getting my shit together' by my 60th birthday (including the very measurable goal of getting down to 160 pounds by that date.
In the process of purging some extraneous stuff from the house, I piled up all of the half-used notebooks that I've been saving for............um, something. There were 64. I so wish I was making that up. I am not. I love notebooks.
Anyway, I picked out some of the relatively nicer ones and marked off one page for each of the next 436 days. Since most of the notebooks only have a couple dozen pages left, I'll go through a few of them this way.
My plan is to be able, at bedtime, to jot down a few positive things I've done that day to reach my goal. No negativity allowed. (It's going to keep popping up other places, as my negativity is somewhat resilient. But the notebook is a place for the positive.)
Now I have to go do something positive, so I have something to write. And I have to load the other 56 notebooks into the car to drop off at the recyclers.
Now that I'm looking for answers and focusing on recovery, i'm finding clues everywhere.
Thinking back over the last few months, I realize I've found help from support groups, from friends, total strangers, fictional characters, poems, nature, self-help books, hypnosis, very small children, an alcoholic, my dog, music, traditional and alternative medicine, exercise, meditation, prayer, writing, and a host of other things.
None of these things were new in my life (except perhaps actually going to to the hypnotherapist, but it's not like I couldn't have done that before.) They've been there the whole time, but I didn't really pay attention to them
What changed is that I started looking and listening. I became receptive to the answers.
As a farmer, I know that a seed won't grow unless the soil is well prepared and receptive. There's a bible verse along those lines, too. And any teacher knows that kids will learn things easily when it's the right time to learn them.
When the time is right and you are ready, the answers will be there.
But let's go back to that soil for a moment (a timely subject since I'm doing some prep in the field today for next year.)
To be receptive to the seed, it first has to be ripped up and laid open. (let's not get picky and mention no-till, please. It's a good analogy here and I want to use it.)
Opened up and bare soil.
For us the parallel is total honesty. You've got to go there first. And then things start to happen.
This isn't the right title. If I understand it correctly, people with body dysmorphia are generally thin but think they look fat.
I'm the opposite.
I'm often taken aback by the fact that I'm so overweight. Like, completely surprised by it. I don't see myself that way really. I acknowledge that I'm overweight, yes, I'm completely upfront about it. But in my own head, my mental picture of myself is not that of a fat person.
This manifests itself in weird ways. Yesterday, I stopped in a chain store to look for tights to wear under my jeans when I walk in the mornings. This morning it was 19 degrees F with a wind chill that made it feel like 8 F. I thought another layer under the blue jeans would be helpful.
And I realized that even the size "Q" tights, "Q" being a euphemism for fat, in the odd form of 'queenlike", would still not fit me. I apparently require some extra extra extra large product, which was nowhere to be found, despite the fact that the vast majority of women shopping at Target yesterday had bigger butts than mine, but let's not get off track here.
No, the point is that I was surprised by this. Oh yeah, I reminded myself, I'm between 218-222 pounds right now. That's pretty bad at 5'7".
I wonder in what way this misperception contributes to my challenges now. I do feel that I've turned a corner, but I'm not naive - this is a windy path and it's still easy to stray. There are more corners to turn, there's more potential for disaster ahead.
Too much pessimism and I'll just want to hide under the covers with a box of chocolate. Too much optimism and I'll be in denial, unable to face my reality.
how to find that middle zone?
7:30 am. 19 degrees Fahrenheit and windy. (Wind chill was 8F).
I'm at a nature sanctuary close to my house, which has a lovely 3.5 mile loop. Some of it's paved, some is gravel, and some is a boardwalk winding through wetlands. It's beautiful, and safe, and there's maybe three or four other people there at that time, at most.
I've picked up my Sunday morning walking companion, who is blind. He can't walk there by himself, but he sets a faster pace than I can easily do, so we make a good team: I let him know when there's an obstacle on the path, like a tree root, but he pretty much just orients himself based on my voice (or more accurately, the strangled huffing and puffing noises I'm making. He does most of the talking.)
Anyway, I'm there yesterday, and we set out at our usual breakneck pace, and things are going well until we get about a mile in, when my nose starts running. Not the end of the world, I have a pocket full of - oh, wait, I don't. I'd switched to a warmer jacket and forgot tissues. Well, what the heck, he's blind and won't notice, I'll just wipe my nose on my sleeve and throw the jacket in the wash when I get home.
Another quarter mile, and I realize my underwear is riding down. I don't mean by an inch or so. I mean, the right side and the left side are racing to see which can hit my ankles first. Since it's not like anyone's going to see me, I reach in the back of my jeans and attempt a rescue. I find a bit of elastic and yank, but it's the UnderArmor shorts I'm wearing under my jeans to prevent chafing. The actual underwear has now burrowed down around my thighs and is a lost cause.
And then, THEN! then my jeans start falling down. I have been losing some weight. I haven't been on the scale, I'm waiting a few more weeks before I do that. But this walking program is helping me, and I knew my jeans were a little loose.
So now I've got one thumb in a belt loop trying to hitch my pants up, I'm wiping snot on my sleeve, and I'm sort of waddling because the roaming underwear has now lodged itself in such a way that a normal gait is impossible. When my companion needs assistance on a turn, or because of an obstacle, I have to let go of the jeans, which have suddenly apparently grown two sizes because they are now not simply loose, they are the very embodiment of Newton's Law of Gravity. If I was not holding them, they'd be completely down past my butt in a few steps.
Every time I reach out to help my friend, the pants drop and I get a blast of icy air on exposed skin. When I can retrieve the pants, I make an extra attempt to find the AWOL underwear, and wipe my nose again before putting my gloves back on, and then waddle on.
Finally, finally we get back to the car. I get my friend loaded into the front seat, and as I'm waddling around to the driver's side I notice a park employee on a ladder, by a tree near the parking lot.
Cold day to be out working, I say.
Yes, he answered. But we needed to reposition this camera.
Camera? I ask.
Yeah, he said. We got a grant to install cameras along the trail. This way we can monitor wildlife and it's good for security too.
Um, I said, when will the cameras be operational?
Turned them on an hour ago, he replied. The staff's back at the office watching. that's how they knew this one needed to be turned a few degrees.
Oh, I said..........the cameras are running now?
Yep, he answered, and the staff told me they've already seen some really interesting things.
Sigh. I just bet they have.
It's just a few days before Christmas, I've done none of the Things, but I just spent most of the weekend obsessively finishing a jigsaw puzzle. It was like a magnet. It called to me when I was not in the room. I told myself I'd just sit and rest a second and put in one piece, and I found myself still there thirty minutes later. I was frustrated with myself for spending so much time on it.
Things like this make me realize the problem isn't food, it's me. Do you see the similarities? The obsession, the total focus, the inability to walk away from it......and the self-loathing?
I'm not sure anyone ever truly kicks an obsession - I think some degree of diligence will always be required. But as I get better with the food thing, I'm aware that if I'm not careful it will be easy to transfer to another obsession.
I just hope it's a healthy one. Because, if you take away the self-loathing part, the other things that characterize our obsession could certainly be turned to good purposes.
My life history is one of total focus on projects to the exclusion of day to day details. I've always struggled to find that balance. but on the other hand,,,,,,,I've created some extraordinary things due to that ability to obsess.
So it's a matter of harnessing it.
but in the meantime, i really need to clean this place up and decorate for Christmas. And wrap the presents, and, and, and. You know how it goes.
I walk the wildlife sanctuary trail three times a week, and to hold myself accountable, I post a picture on Facebook each time. Sometimes it's the sun shining on the water, or an interesting ice formation, or the deer that sometimes cross the path. My friends might be privately rolling their eyes, bt they've been very supportive.
Today I assumed my picture would somehow involve light, since it's the Solstice. I even figured out where I'd be on the trail at the moment the sun broke on the horizon, and envisioned the artsy angle I could get it if I knelt in a slump of trees and got the silhouette of the branches against the sun. What a great way to celebrate the return of the light!
Instead, I posted a picture of fenceposts. Wooden posts that are sunk into the ground along a part of the trail that abuts a parking lot, spaced every three feet apart. They go one for a little over a quarter mile.
See, there's this elderly man who I have noticed there every morning, walking along those fenceposts in the opposite direction from me. Today I learned his story.
After serious open heart surgery, he could barely walk. He would drive tot he sanctuary, where he'd hiked regularly for decades, and he's park in that lot, and get himself to the row of posts. Then, every single day at 8 am, he'd walk as far as he could.
The first day he could only walk 14 posts. (Remember, they're just three feet apart.) He was so disappointed and discouraged. But he vowed to walk one more post every day.
He told me that adding six feet a day (since he'd have to walk back to his car, doubling the three foot distance between each post) seemed like such a miniscule improvement. It would take forever to see any significant change. He often thought about giving up. But he persevered. And now he walks considerably further than the row of posts every day, and no longer needs to lean on them. "But it's good to know they're still there in case I have to," he said.
So, my Facebook picture today is a row of wooden posts. Because the Solstice isn't just about light, it's about BELIEVING in the light. It's about persevering and believing that the light is returning even when the increments are so small you cannot see the change from one day to the next.
Life is hard. Life sometimes seems hardest right now, at the winter solstice, when it's literally as dark as it will be all year, and cold, and it just seems like light and warmth are so far away. But we add a minute or so of light every day, and it adds up over time.
We have a hard road ahead of us, getting over our addiction. But a lot of people face hard things. We can do this. Just one fencepost more every day.
When I was growing up I used to read Ann Lander's advice column in the daily paper. I think, knowing that i was basically being raised by wolves emotionally, I was looking for some guidelines as I navigated my teen years.
One comment she made stuck with me. i wish i could replicate it exactly; I suspect this isn't a perfect recollection and thus will lack some of the impact.
Let me set it up for you.
The person who wrote to her was contemplating returning to school. Specifically, as I recall, she had been railroaded into a 'womanly' major by her conservative parents, I think it was elementary education, but deep in her heart she wanted to become a doctor. (Side note: yes, this was how it went back in the day, when women went to college to 'find husbands', and were told to major in education or nursing. We have in fact come a long way, baby.)
The letter writer outlined the years of schooling and residency she would require if she were to take this step. "If I do this," she wrote, "it will take seven years, and I'll be 35 when I'm finished!"
Ms. Lander's reply was "And how old will you be in nine years if you don't?"
I offer this thought today because I'm hearing you (and myself) say things like "maybe it's too late, maybe I'll always be this way, change will take so long, it will be years before I'm a size x, or healthy enough to x, or i've controlled this addiction."
Yes, it will take a long time. But you see, that time will pass, either way.
Along the same lines, I've lived on this farm for 35 years. When we moved here and started laying things out, I considered planting sugar maple trees so I could one day tap them for maple syrup. i didn't plant the trees. You know why? Because they would take at least 20 years to mature enough to harvest sap, and at the age of 23 it was simply inconceivable to me to consider something that long to bear.
I am 58, and I believe I can learn to control my addiction, get my body back into shape, and live the remainder of my life as a healthier person physically and mentally. i also think I might order a dozen sugar maple saplings this spring.