I’m not really sure what’s up with me today.
It was a good day by all accounts. And yet, tonight I found myself eating. Hell, this afternoon I found myself eating. I checked in with myself. Nothing really felt off. But here I was, eating.
I snacked when I don’t normally snack. I ate more, even if not a lot, after I snacked. I noticed I was doing it and was, like, curiously detached?
I checked in with myself even!
And still, I don’t know what it was about.
If I’m being honest here, I want to say that I didn’t check in fully. But I checked in. It’s a start–in this strange land of practice.
It really wasn’t about quantity today. It was this odd, nuanced quality. I don’t know what the thing was that triggered the response, but today I just…I wanted to give in a little bit.
I wanted the comfort of the familiar.
Unfortunately, it’s a short-lived comfort and what little it worked a month ago, it works even less now.
I ate some after 7. I ate some after 8 even. I could have eaten all night. It would never have provided anything.
In hindsight that is sad, but at the time, the “sadness” or “mourning” of that loss were not feelings that registered for me. What I thought about was “what feelings triggered this?” I didn’t come up with anything. But I asked the question. Which means I’m learning. And eventually, even without an answer, I stepped away and went for a walk instead.
Then tonight I was going to go to sleep. And then I decided to pick up the kitchen a bit. And I committed to writing this post, but then I found myself getting ready to wash the dishes and I thought, “damn, girl, whatcha avoiding?”
And I don’t know. But I traded the sponge for the keyboard and showed up for myself.
I got it all down even if I still don’t really know what the “what” was.