Cheers To The Happy Couple

The magic of a good toast, the clinking of the stemware, the energy of everyone celebrating the same thing at the same time. I love weddings! I truly do. It’s a reason to put on a nice dress, see my date looking very handsome in a tux, and reconnect with old friends that have been separated by thousands of miles. It’s also a great opportunity to make new friends. And what is the easiest way to make friends at a gathering like this? Over food and drinks, of course. Lots of food, and lots of drinks. Calories, shmalories when you’re celebrating the love of a great couple, right?

I recently flew down to New Orleans for a wedding. It was fantastic. I couldn’t be happier for the bride and groom, they were just aglow with love and excitement. There were around 200 guests, and very tasty champagne. Dutiful staff made sure a glass never emptied before more was served and the food was excellent. Delicious cheese plates (you all know how happy those three words make me), crawfish remoulade, beignets… all to die for. And who is keeping track? Can you see how this would spell disaster for a woman who struggles with binge eating tendencies?

All in all, I kept myself in check. I was actually quite proud of myself. While food was on my mind the whole time, it was not in my mouth the whole time. It did, however, highlight the culture of “joy equals food indulgences” with frightening clarity. Especially in social circumstances. A cocktail is an expected prop. It’s a culture of mingling by the bar, snatching a goodie from the passing trays of hors d'oeuvres and throwing caution to the wind.

I suppose, unless you’re a wedding planner, being careless in your celebrations of matrimonial bliss are few and far enough between to enjoy yourself freely. And when my boyfriend is as cute as he is, there’s no way I’m choosing a calorie counter over him as a date.

So at the end of the day, cheers to the happy couple! I wish you a life time of happiness and blessings. * clink *

The Unglamorous Truth

Glamour magazine conducted a survey of 33,000 women called ‘Feeling Fat in a Thin Society’. Here are some of the results:

• 75% of the respondents said they felt too fat.
• 95% said their weight affected their feelings about themselves
• Given the choice of losing weight, happiness in a relationship, success at work, or hearing from an old friend, nearly half the women said losing weight would make them happier than anything else.

This survey was taken in 1989. 20 years later, the results are the same.

20 years: No evolution, no progress, no advancement.

Americans spend $33 billion a year on losing weight. 20 million women have eating disorders. 25% of all men are constantly dieting, 50% of all women. 9 out of 10 people who lose weight on a diet gain it back. For those who fail on a diet this year, there will be 30,000 new diet plans next year to choose from.

I know there has certainly been more education between my generation and the generation of my mother. To counteract the benefits of that, there has also been more glamorization of underweight models and actresses. Yet the level of neuroses remains consistent. Of the responses, that which caught me most off guard was that half the women chose losing weight to be their number one ideal. Over happiness in a relationship? Really? Over success at work? Honestly?

What else would women choose being thin over… a paid off mortgage? Living five healthy years longer? Getting to have one last conversation with a deceased love one? While there is no way to prove it, I suspect the results wouldn’t change much if they were offered these options. It’s an obsession and one that seems to be encouraged. I guess the real question is: What is worse? A) Having a world where women are bigger than the standards represented in the media, or B) Having a world where women are so seduced by the unrealistic standards that we strive for them at the sacrifice of success, love and happiness?

Me: In 60 Seconds Or Less

Let’s give the short story of my life until this point: Youngest of three kids, had a single mom, a worthless father who hasn’t been a part of my life since I was three and was rightfully forced out of the picture and into prison after causing major devastation. Mom worked insanely hard, and my dear Grandma lived with us and helped raise us. Moved around quite a bit. Were very poor as a family and clawed our way in to the middle class. Learned from my Mom to be fiercely independent. Always a teacher’s pet and a hopeless romantic. First love was in high school, ended cause he cheated on me. Moved from a small town in CA to the Big Apple on my own when I was 18. Second love was in college, ended cause he cheated on me. Worked many day jobs while pursuing an acting career. True love is a real catch, and I’m holding on to him with both hands. He’s a man I’d say yes to. * blush *

So there it is. On paper it seems typical, a life full of challenges, a life full of love. Probably sounds like a lot of stories out there. I’ve rattled it off a million times to a million people and always get the same response. Something to the effect of ‘You’ve been through a lot, I’d never know it unless you told me because you are so happy!’

Then, yesterday, I got a different response. Someone I barely know said, ‘Wow, with constant change around you your whole life, you must feel a deep need to be in control.’ Stopped me in my tracks, the happiness I wear on my face slowly faded. I looked at the lady like she had three heads (and violating x-ray vision). Her ten second evaluation embarrassed me. Had I stumbled into a therapist without knowing it? It became clear why they have couches in their offices! I admit, the rest is a bit of a blur. I think I nervously rattled off some hackneyed cliché that surely didn’t impart anything meaningful and escaped the conversation as quickly as I could. I hurried towards my home feeling stripped. When I got there, and the rest of the world was locked outside my front door, I felt so angry at the woman. How dare she go off script! How could a relative stranger have the nerve to accuse me of being controlling! I had been perfectly pleasant! If she only knew! If I needed to be in control, I wouldn’t be so out of control so regularly!

Oh… wait…

I have heard that compulsion is despair on the emotional level.

My head was starting to connect the dots… control issues… image maintenance… hiding evidence… restriction… reward… binge… guilt… losing control… leading to despair… leading to compulsion…

This gave me a lot to think about. I can’t really remember a time that I felt completely hopeless, regardless of circumstances. More often than not, in dire situations, hope is the only thing that gets me through. I’ve been known to be the girl who takes the ‘I can find a way to fix it’ attitude. Described as a personal cheerleader for my friends, I’ve worked hard to always keep the hope alive. I can’t say despair is something that feels familiar to me- except when it comes to my body.

When a ‘deep need to be in control’ was suggested, I immediately assumed she meant control of others. Maybe she didn't. I’ve learned the hard, painful way that you can’t control others. You can’t make them stay, or leave, or be good, or hurt you. They do all of that on their own, regardless of you. It’s a terrifying truth, and a liberating one. The only thing I can control, is myself… well, most of the time.

People will draw whatever conclusions they choose from my one-minute bio. I can’t change the past, or what they think, and I don’t know that I would want to. Every second I see coming at me in my future is just as soon in my past. So, here is the future I hope to add on to the end of my story:

Happily married, mother of four children, and two dogs. Successful actress. Loving home. Remains close with friends and family. And if not, that’s okay too.

Can’t Talk, My Mouth Is Full

Networking… It’s one of those things you either don’t mind, or something that can induce a panic attack. I was dragged into a company party last week that was held in our office. Steadily I saw guests arriving one after another. I dutifully placed my name tag on my sweater, resolving to strike up some delightful conversation with the guests.

Let me stop here for a moment. I think it’s important to clarify that after working at my company for two years, I still don’t know how to answer a basic question such as ‘What do you do?’ It’s not that I haven’t been paying attention. In fact, I really don’t know why it is, but you’ll have to trust me when I say I’m not alone. I’ve seen many a colleague use a delay tactic- either coughing, laughing or repeating the question a la… ‘Oh, you want to know what it is that WE do…’ Each of these maneuvers is followed by a mumbling where ‘innovation’ is the only discernible word in a jumbled nest of mutterings. That might begin to explain why I dread these events.

That being said, I also don’t like waxing on about myself to complete strangers. That’s probably shocking, that I, the author of a public blog in which I spill my guts about a deeply personal issue, would have troubles gushing about herself. But it is true- and hey, my blog is anonymous for a reason. Still I’m capable of making an effort to stretch outside my comfort zone. So what do you think I did after I carefully placed my name tag on my chest, and the next guest slowly opened the door to our office? I instantly ducked into the room where the drinks were being chilled, of course! *Whew* That was a close one. I narrowly escaped chatting business with a stranger.

I knew I couldn’t keep that up all night and I was starting to panic. I tried everything in the book. I pushed a button to make my phone vibrate so that I could leave the room to take my ‘call’. I went to the bathroom with embarrassing frequency to have moments away from the high pressure situation. When people were approaching me I would turn my back to them and start gesturing emphatically to a coworker of mine that I was really comfortable with. I was moving around so much that I’m sure I looked like the most interesting person in the room, and that’s why these visitors seemed attracted to me like a moth to a flame.

Inevitably, I was cornered. I found myself up against a literal wall, with nowhere to turn, and smiling strangers approaching. Alarms were going off in my head, sweat beads were forming at the nape of my neck. Almost as if I heard a choir of sweet angels singing from above, I found my getaway...

THE CHEESE PLATE!

I mean, I had a deep love for cheese to begin with. In a split second that love grew exponentially. Someone introduced themselves and said they were having a fascinating conversation about blogs and wanted to know what my favorite one was. All that came to mind, in my horror, was my own blog- and there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to out myself. Instead I said something vague like ‘There are so many to pick from, what’s yours?’ and immediately popped a lovely cube of cheddar in my mouth. It was heaven. Not only was it tasty but it gave me a legitimate excuse to not talk. Wouldn't want to be rude to our visitors, after all.

The stranger in the nice Italian suit responded and asked another question of me. Thank heavens for the cheese, I was able to shrug, point to my chewing mouth and sputter an awkward laugh through my nose. I was safe. He kept on talking, and I kept on eating. Another cheddar cube, and a Ritz. A scoop of the Humboldt Fog and a water cracker. Mmmm, the Manchego was to die for. What? Stranger? Did I bore you? Is that why you’ve moseyed on? Darn!

I think I ate my weight in cheese that night. I know it can’t be healthy, and I did feel a little iffy on the subway ride home… but what is a girl to do? They call it comfort food for a reason.

I'm Four Years Old

At a party, where I spent most of my time hovering over the delicious snack table, the issue of body image came up. In conversation somebody mentioned that if you are anything over a size 8, it’s harder to get any kind of job, even reception work. I am over a size 8. I might soon need to be looking for work. You can imagine how this made me feel while I was inhaling a cupcake- with extra frosting.

The first time I was told I was fat was when I was four years old. It’s funny, I don’t even remember who it was that told me I was fat. I just remember the staggering aftermath. I started reading labels, not really sure what I was looking at but arbitrarily limiting what I would and would not eat based on numbers that I didn’t understand. I started working out alone in my bedroom every night. Most tragically, after a week or two of restricting myself I started finding time alone to eat ‘bad foods’ because I didn’t want to feel judged by those who saw me. Because I lived in a busy household, eating while I was alone meant scarfing down whatever junk I could get my hands on before anyone came around. I would take a fistful of cookies into the bathroom and shove them in my mouth. I would eat dinners slowly so that when I was finished everyone else was already focused on the television and I could sneak seconds which I would eat as fast as I could. I was FOUR! Honestly, I can objectively say I never had a single fat day during my fourth year on this planet. I’ve seen plenty of pictures and I was a tiny little thing, slimmer than average. It boggles my mind why anyone would tell me I was fat, and why I would take someone calling me fat to heart?

I assume it was because I heard the adults agonizing over food choices and whatever the diet fad was in the mid 80s. We had copies of Jane Fonda’s workouts, Richard Simmons, too. I remember being a fan of Sweatin’ to the Oldies, in particular. I saw my older siblings and cousins get teased by other family members because of their bodies, and knew it was inevitable that I would be too. I already understood the stereo types of fat kids- that they were dumb bullies who probably smelled bad. It’s regularly said that kids pick up everything. Less commonly heard is that kids apply what they pick up to how they view themselves.

So here I am, twenty years later, still doing the same things I did as a child. You’d think as a woman I have the logic and reason to know better and act differently. And maybe I would if I still didn’t feel that I’ll be judged and stereotyped. What’s worse is that it wouldn’t be judgment from family who loved me, though they sometimes had a terrible way of showing it. This time, it’s by the masses. When I compare me as an individual to the population of the world, I still feel like a tiny four year old, with too much alone time and the means to buy as many fistfuls of cookies as I can keep down. I don't feel like I'm back at square one, I feel like I never moved passed it.

The Old College Try

‘I’ll Try’ has become the biggest improvable lie that we all blurt out on a daily basis. Why? Because telling the truth can be harsh.

• I’m not coming to your party.
• I don’t want to watch your kids play soccer.
• I’d rather spend time on facebook than help you with your report.

Yeowch! Tough to look someone in the face and say that, right? It’s easier to say ‘I’ll try to come, I’ll try to be there, I’ll try to help out’. And if you say it with a hint of emotion it is entirely believable! Another benefit is that even if the person doesn’t get the ideal result, they’re not mad at you because you tried.

But really, how often do we give something the old college try? It’s so much easier to hide between the promise of effort than the promise of results. No one can prove that you could have done something and chose not to, so it’s easier to say you gave it all you got and have it just not work out.

The amazing thing is, we play the same mind game with ourselves. Will I start eating healthy tomorrow? I’ll try! Am I going to make it to the gym today? I’ll try!! Can I change my body into something I feel really good about? I’ll try…. And we almost believe that we will really give it our full effort!

But it’s just another lie.

I ‘tried’ to start eating healthy last week. It felt like my millionth attempt, and my subsequent millionth failure. So I’m vowing to never ‘try’ again. From this point forward, my goal is to ‘do’.

It's Okay, I'm Eating For Two

Now, take this post with a grain of salt, because I am not pregnant, nor have I ever been. However, I don’t subscribe to the belief that just because you haven’t experienced something doesn’t mean you can’t have an opinion about it. So… let’s chat: baby weight. I have a dear friend that is the mother of a four year old, and always complains that she hasn’t lost her baby weight. Can you still call it baby weight if your son is old enough to spell it? That’s actually an honest question, I’m not trying to be snarky.

I understand the crutches and excuses we all use to justify the things we don’t like about our own bodies. I get it. I’m open about how ridiculous I can be, I even post my lame excuses here for the world to see. That being said, it’s hard to get behind women that blame their baby for the fact that they gained 60 lbs during pregnancy, and that they haven’t been able to shed it ever since.

I totally understand, as someone with binge eating tendencies, that our society has married being pregnant to overeating. They go hand and hand. We’ve all heard it, “I’m eating for two”. It's the only time in a woman's life when she has the green light to gain weight. And so, many women enjoy that opportunity… until the day they give birth. Often to their shock, the baby doesn’t drag all the extra lbs that mommy packed on with it. Which leads me to profess that pregnancy is not the time to overeat... apparently there is no time to overeat. Of course we live in a world with no absolutes, after all there is always your last meal when on death row.

It's easier said than done, I’m sure. I've already heard it all… But what about cravings? If I’m craving Ben & Jerry’s, it must be because the baby needs dairy! And really, if the baby wants to get it’s protein from baby back ribs with extra sauce, who am I to deny this innocent child what it needs. Look, it’s your body, and it’s your baby. I don’t think anyone is going to change their behavior because of my little blog. But as someone who has learned to tune out the baby-blaming chatter of her friends, I’m telling you, the jig is up and we all know it- it's time you knew it, too.

Why is She with Him?

A dear friend of mine- by her own admission- is on the ‘thick side’. She’s a single mom who never got her pre-baby body back. She’s been struggling to get geared up to start dating again. She feels that because she is heavier than she has ever been, she doesn’t have a real chance at finding an attractive, successful man. She tortures herself with questions like, ‘Why would he be with me? When he has his choice of women, why would he settle for someone at the bottom of the barrel?’

It’s a heartbreaking mental prison that we surrender ourselves to.

But, is this thought process really a surprise to anyone? In high school storylines, the cute cheerleader is paired up with the heart-throb quarterback. In sitcoms featuring married couples, the cheerleader somehow ended up with the plain guy that’s held to no standard or expectation. Apparently, the quarterback opted for eternal bachelorhood.

We are all familiar with the cute wife/dopey overweight husband couples that we see as ‘normal’ on TV shows. King of Queens, and According to Jim are obvious sitcoms that come to mind, but it’s even been in our animated shows! Family Guy features a very hot Lois who is in love with a very rotund Peter. For the last 20 years we’ve seen Marge Simpson throwing on a dress, always accessorized and well groomed, while buffoonish Homer slacks off at work and then chugs down beers at Moe’s.

Now that I’m watching close friends take baby steps into the dating world, I see how this view has permeated their own confidence of where they fit in. Hot guys end up with hot girls, and… unattractive guys end up with hot girls, too. So where does that leave women who don’t feel they are a perfect 10? Should they resign themselves to settling? And what does settling look like nowadays?

If all of these families presented in primetime have perpetuated a society where women shouldn't dare expect parity or fulfillment in romance and relationships- then what should they expect?

Perhaps I’m going about it all wrong. Maybe I should be applauding the winners who will profit from this mindset. It certainly couldn’t have been easy to make their fantasy seem like a normal, acceptable way of life! Apparently being a gluttonous, immature, self-interested fool somehow makes you worthy of unconditional love from a gorgeous hard-bodied woman- as long as you have a sense of humor. Just don't be too heartbroken when you realize the rest of the world is thinking 'Why is she with him?'

Excuses, Excuses

This morning I woke up, got on the scale and was three lbs heavier than the last time I weighed myself. Adding salt to the wounded ego, I'm back at my highest ever weigh in. Awesome. You'd think this would be a wake up call. But, of course not. Instead it was a practice in creativity as the excuses started flying rapid-fire in my mind. Actually, it started yesterday when I felt like I was getting heavier. Here are some of the things I tried convincing myself of:

• My jeans must have shrunk in the wash.
• I drank water in the middle of the night cause I was thirsty, and my body didn't have time to process it.
• My body holds on to weight before it loses it, so I'm probably on the right track anyway.
• My scale must be on the fritz.
• I worked hard all week, I deserved that pint of ice cream and three beers last night.
• It's really humid today, that's probably affecting the scale.
• Maybe I'm pregnant!

And that last one was when I realized I had a serious problem. What excuses do you use to justify bad behavior, unplanned weight gain, or not making the best choices?

Are You Talking To Me?

For anyone who has ever been to New York City, you’ll understand that pedestrians flood the streets and sidewalks and can be expected to be seen everywhere- all of the time. So imagine my surprise when I’m crossing a busy intersection (26th St and 6th Ave), perfectly within my appropriate time to cross a street, and a car comes blindly whizzing around a left turn. For those of you who don’t actually know me, I’m not easily shaken by moron drivers. I’ve had cabbies try to intimidate me, busses honk at me… but when it’s my turn to walk, I know it and I take it. Nevertheless, the speed at which this guy was flying towards me, made even my pedestrian nerves of steel hesitate in my tracks. Without much thought I threw my hands in the air and cried out ‘Seriously?!’… And wouldn’t you know it, the driver (in his early twenties) rolled his eyes at his friend in the passenger seat and then called out ‘Move that Fat Ass, Sugar’.

While he is clearly a novice at slinging cowardly insults from his car window, I was still enraged by the standard I’ve observed for criticizing someone of a specific gender. When I see people criticizing men, they hurl insults that reflect that person’s intelligence. I’m sure we can all think of times we’ve seen an upset woman calling a man a fool, stupid, or useless. Men are attacked on their competence, their ability to contribute to society. I suppose this is how we establish and judge their worth.

However, women are attacked on their appearance. Perhaps that is still what we gauge a woman’s value to be determined by. Women are called fat and ugly when under siege. Whether they be politicians, pop artists or that annoying coworker two cubicles down, it’s the go-to smear. Today was a perfect example, I insinuated the driver was an idiot, he jumped straight to a derogatory comment about my butt. Tragically typical.

Sadly this isn’t my first experience with this type of response. Last year I was at a concert, and I was trying to get to the aisle. On my way out, the couple I passed groaned a bit. When I returned, and politely said ‘Excuse Me’ the man put his hands up and said ‘WHOA, YOU CAN’T FIT THROUGH HERE’ and proceeded to puff out his cheeks making it clear that he meant I couldn’t fit because I was simply- too fat. I pushed through as he made obnoxious sound effects and I tried desperately to hide the tears when I got back to my seat.

Now, let’s be clear about something. Yes, I do have personal battles with my weight which I find to be fairly typical among women. However, I still have an ‘average’ sized body. I don’t need to shop in stores of extended sizes, I fit very comfortably in airplanes and movie theatre seats. To my knowledge when someone describes me to their friends they never use words like ‘She was the fat one with brown hair’. Yet on multiple occasions, perfect strangers have slung hateful slams against my appearance and weight.

Why is it such an obvious condemnation against a woman? If someone were to call me stupid I would laugh in their face and wouldn’t think twice about it. The comment strikes no nerve with me, I would give it the same significance as someone saying ‘Hey, you’re purple!’ It is that ridiculous of a notion. But someone saying, ‘Damn, get your fat ass out of the way… Don’t try fitting through here, Tubb-o… What did you say? I don’t speak cow…’ That is enough to make a strong, confident woman like me crumble into a mass of teary self-loathing. Can someone please tell me how this has come to be? Because really, I'm stumped.

Inch by Inch

Today will be my first attempt at measuring myself. In an effort to not be attached to the number on the scale, I have bought a flexible tape measure to have black and white results. I relate the scale to food, but I relate measurements to body. I also have ideals about a ‘dream weight’ that aren’t based on any sort of facts, it’s just a number that sounds really good to me (ahem, 120 lbs). However, I have no real preconceived notion about what my body measurements should be. Of course there’s the thought of having a 28” inch waist… but I have jean sizes for me to know I’m nowhere close to that. However, when it comes to thighs, hips, biceps, etc… the number I find when I measure will just be what it is… and won’t be relative to some ideal that I may never be.

I read that you are not supposed to take measurements more often than monthly as it may take six to eight weeks to notice any change. Apparently people shouldn't expect to see progress more quickly than that and taking measurements more often can be discouraging. This will be hard for me. At first I thought I would take them weekly, but I don’t need any more discouragement than I already have. Why can’t it come off as quickly as it comes on?

My 'A-Ha!' Moment

About a year ago I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to count calories for the rest of my life. I determined I’m one of those people who must keep a log of what I’m eating in order to ever be successful at weight loss and eliminating binges. Honestly, when I am stringent in my food/calorie logging, I do see legitimate results. I also see myself getting resentful of the fact that I have to do such a practice. However, after a frustrating year of counting, and then getting so resentful of needing to count (which inevitably leads to a binge) and so on and so forth, the cycle made me think that maybe there is more to it than originally met the eye.

Then I had an “a-ha” moment. Epiphanies are rare for me, so when one comes along it entirely consumes my mind. I suppose that’s a part of my all or nothing thought process. Every day when I make myself count calories, and log food, and be aware of every single thing I put in my mouth, it leads to a day where I think about food constantly. It’s a never ending thought pattern of what I have had… and what I can still have… but if I have this then I can’t have that.

It leads me to situations where I have to bring my own food, so I’m thinking about food before I go to bed. What do I have time to prepare in the morning before work? How many cups of food fit in this Tupperware? It leads to inner monologues along the lines of: “If I have this for a snack, then I can’t have that for lunch… but if I want to go out for dinner I have to choose the restaurant so that I can look up the nutritional values for each option in advance and then plan out where I can go and what I can have before we get there. What if the person I’m meeting wants to share an appetizer? How do I say no without going into a diatribe about why I have to count calories. They’re naturally thin, they won’t understand. Oh, if they want to share a bottle of wine, I might get drunk which would lead to more eating, and when I’m tipsy my math skills aren’t so sharp and I might not add everything up correctly. And there's all those empty calories in alcohol that I'll never be able to burn off. I’ll say I’m on antibiotics. Crap, I said that last time. Will they remember? But even antibiotics won’t get me out of sharing a dessert… Will I remember everything I ate so that I can write it down? Did I weigh myself this morning? I can’t weigh myself when I get home because that will be inconsistent. Maybe I just won’t go out for dinner. Maybe I can say I have to work late, and then when I go home I’ll just eat something with a label on it so I know for sure. Ice cream has a label on it… I hate this.”

Losing weight has a very simple, specific and proven formula. Burn more calories than you consume. If I don’t log everything, and just make healthier choices, will that help? If I free myself from logging will I be able to not think about food every second and rediscover what it feels like when hunger makes me think of food as opposed to always having food in the back of my mind?

My first attempt at logging what I ate was when I was ten years old. It was a New Year resolution. I distinctly remember being pleased by how reasonable the calories were in minute white rice, and with barely any calories in soy sauce. That lasted about six weeks. Keep in mind, I started doing the Jane Fonda workout when I was four. I would lay a towel on the floor and use that as my exercise mat. My whole life when I would see family that I hadn’t seen in a while the first thing they would do was hug me, and then look at me up and down and tell me whether I had lost or gained weight. I wish that one day, I will live a life where this isn’t at the forefront of my self-image and worth.

Not Now, I'm Eating

I had the privilege of spending the weekend with someone who had lost- and kept off- 100 lbs. She spoke a lot about the compulsion to eat and how it's similar to all of the other compulsive, destructive behaviors that she sees in her family. She referenced substance abuse, band fanaticism, and workaholic behaviors. She was so inspiring and specifically mentioned how important it is to dig deep and discover WHY we eat.

I spent the weekend doing a lot of soul exploration when it comes to my relationship with food. I knew some things already, that I eat when I'm bored, or to celebrate, or when I'm feel defeated or guilty. The thing that surprised me most is that I eat to procrastinate. In my family, eating has been considered sacred time. After extremely long hours, my mom would decompress over a late dinner. It was always important in our family culture that you not upset or stress someone while they were eating. We regularly heard 'Let them eat in peace'. I realized when there are things I don't want to do I procrastinate by preparing, eating and digesting food. I use this tactic for everything from dishes, to the gym. I even had to fight the urge to go prepare myself a hot dog so that I didn't have to get right to blogging!

Seriously?

So now that I know this about myself, what am I going to do about it? My initial plan of attack is to do things the second I think about them. When the dryer buzzes, I will immediately fold the clean laundry. When the thought of going to the gym first occurs to me, I will get dressed and go rather than eating something and then rationalizing that it's dangerous to work out on a full stomach and that's why I 'should' wait. Just do it. A little dated, but appropriate. Wish me luck, I'll let you know how it goes.

What About Him?

I was listening to a conversation on my commute home. A man was talking to a female friend about his wife who has been struggling to lose weight. He was saying that he didn't know how to support her through her lows, which usually included depression. The woman clarified that the wife wanted to lose weight for herself, and not because of something he had said. She went on to explain how personal weight loss is for women. It's a struggle, frequently filled with wavering self worth. Having him ask his wife simple questions like 'Are you going to the gym today?' can feel like a personal attack to her. If he says he doesn't want to get involved that could lead to her feeling abandoned. If he talks to her the way he talks to his buddies on the golf course, she would completely shut down to that mocking, tough guy, coach approach.

As she was explaining all of this, I couldn't believe my ears. As an outsider it sounded so ridiculous that this husband seemed to be in a lose-lose situation. But at the same time I completely understood everything she was saying about the wife's perspective. I felt it rang true to my own life. When I get all amped up and start going to the gym every day for about three weeks straight, my boyfriend will say he's proud of me. And honestly, I get so frustrated by it! I feel like, I don't want him to be proud of me for working out because I know that I always eventually stop working out and then I feel like I'm disappointing him. What's worse is he will occasionally congratulate me on my progress by taking me to a lovely meal, which just reinforces my issues with food as a reward.

So what are guys to do? There are really good guys out there who love us no matter what, and yet somehow we put them in these impossible situations. I know it's not intentional. But that doesn't make it any easier on them. Considering how hard it is for us to deal with the daily battle, I don't know if we have the bandwith to consider his feelings about it as well.

Oops, I Did It Again

So... today didn't go so well. I don't know what my problem is. I love having alone time, but I use it so irresponsibly! It's like I cram down three bowls of food in a race to finish before my boyfriend gets home from work, then when he arrives I act like I am magically full after munching on two triscuits. And I know my thighs are getting thicker. No bueno.

Oh, and yesterday I drank a can of soda, just cause it was there and I wasn't really thinking about it. So my whole 'No liquid calories for a week' goal didn't exactly happen.

I'm trying not to be too hard on myself. But when you are your own judge and jury, how hard is appropriate? I don't want to entirely hinder any chance of success by dismissing it entirely- but at the same time I also don't want to be so hard on myself that the disappointment serves as another 'trigger'. Maybe I set the wrong goal. Maybe I need to set goals that require being more consciously present. Maybe I just need to tie a string around my finger. Maybe I have no idea why I do what I do or how to change it. Yeah, today definitely wasn't a good day.

Decisions, Decisions

Yesterday was okay, and today wasn’t bad. It’s constant decision making. I have to decide not to get that iced soy chai latte from Starbucks in order to stick with this week’s goal of no liquid calories. However, on the level beyond that, I have to constantly decide that I’m not going to binge. When I was alone in my room last night I thought I would be okay simply resolving to not do it for the rest of the day. But then I realized even that was a bit much for me. I had to decide not to do it by the hour, by the half hour, then by the minute. I would set goals like ‘I’m not going to go get a snack until commercial break’. Then, when commercials came ‘I’m not going to go get a snack until the end of the show’. And once the show ended ‘I’m not going to go eat something until I win a game of solitaire on my phone’.

Why is it so hard?

Why isn’t it enough to resolve to not going to get something to eat simply because I’m not hungry?

I did fairly well, after having a balanced, tasty and satisfying dinner, I only snacked on a tortilla and then a granola bar. But even then I wondered to myself why that was? Even though it's a small amount compared to what I've been know to inhale during a binge, there was no need for it. I wasn’t bored, I wasn’t emotional, and most importantly I wasn’t hungry.

I once heard a recovering alcoholic speak on the day he received his 12 year chip. He was saying that even after 12 years he has to resist the urge to pick up the Jack Daniels. I understand the difference between addiction and compulsions. I am not going to downplay the seriousness of addictions such as alcoholism and other substance abuses. I’ve seen the effects of that ravage families and do irreparable damage to relationships. But I also think compulsive disorders should not be dismissed. In some unique ways there are challenges to compulsive disorders specifically because they are things we cannot live without. I often think that if it weren't necessary to eat I would be able to get in the habit of not eating at all. Of course I wouldn’t do that because it is unhealthy to exchange one disorder for another that is equally deteriorating to your health. But at the same time I think I have an innate ‘all or nothing’ mentality that leads to binging. I refuse to blame my mother for teaching me to clean my plate. But surely, there has to be something out there that can recondition my brain to feeling like I accomplished the task of eating when I’m simply satisfied. The search continues.

One Day at a Time

I have a feeling I’m like a lot of people out there. Every new year… and birthday… and vacation booking… I swear up and down that this will be the time I eat healthy and make a true lifestyle change. I feel like I’ve tried it all. I’ve counted calories, points, and carbs. I’ve turned to yoga, marathon training, dance classes. It always seems to go great for a while. So great, as a matter of fact, that I start proselytizing the method of the moment to whoever will listen. I’ve been known to say things like ‘now THIS actually works! Everyone should do this. If it works for me it can work for anybody.’

Yet time and time again, I fall off of the proverbial wagon. This happens because one of two things inevitably occur:

1. I reach my goal! I’m so damned proud, I celebrate with something that I’ve been depriving myself of. Usually a double western bacon cheeseburger and a quart of peanut butter cookie dough ice cream.
2. I start gung ho with an incredibly restrictive cold turkey plan. Without fail it’s such a huge transition that by day three I realize there is no way I can possibly succeed. I prove that success is impossible by classically sabotaging the new healthy me with a double western bacon cheeseburger and a quart of peanut butter cookie dough ice cream.
   

I’ll casually mention this success-fail routine to my friends, and they say things like ‘Everybody does that, it doesn’t sound like a problem to me’.

And that’s why I came to this blog- it feels like a problem.

When I fall off the wagon, it’s in family size servings. I have been known to eat an entire pot of spaghetti, or three bowls of cereal and a half of a watermelon. I’ve eaten a tray of brownies, washed it down with a 2 liter of soda. When I’ve been home alone, I’ve eaten until it hurt. I’ve had food hangovers. Weekends are the hardest where I don’t have the distraction of work and being around my colleagues to keep me self-controlled.

I had such an episode this last weekend.

I want to give it another try, and hopefully this time will stick. I’m going to try and take it slow. I’m not going to follow a fad. I’m not going to torture myself as if I’m the only one that has ever felt this way or had this type of struggle.

Sometimes it’s hard to get any sort of support for what I feel is disordered eating. Because I’m not starving myself or forcing myself to vomit, it doesn’t seem to be classified as a ‘cry for help’. Also, because I’m not obese, I think my community underestimates the destructive consequences of my actions.

I’ve set my goal this week: Eliminating Liquid Calories. I drink soda if it’s around me even though I don’t like it very much, and I’m a self-described starbucks-aholic. If I can stick to iced tea with Splenda or straight water for a week, I think it will be a good step in the right direction.