Tag: eating disorder

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If you jump, you best jump far.

tec

It’s funny.

I just had this moment.

I finished eating. I helped L with something. Then, as I walked to the kitchen, I thought, “Well, I’ll just have, like, a bite of something else.”

No rhyme. No reason.

The thought arose. And the brain, by habit, entertained.

And then I chimed in–my voice.

Stop.

Enough.

<Cue the quiet>

~~~~~~~

It can come out of nowhere–that initial thought. It can sideswipe you or blindside you. It can be for a reason or not. It can be a great day or a terrible day or a neutral day. It can manifest from nothing or be the icing on the cake. It doesn’t discriminate.

It will come.

And whenever it does–every time it does–I have to remember my who. I have to remember my why. I have to remember my how. And if I forget, I have to get the hell back up the moment I’m reminded.

Today I didn’t forget. Today I didn’t have to be reminded. Today I knew.

That makes today an easy day.

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I’m right there.

tec

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.

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Can’t you see the sunshine?

tec

It’s fascinating to me what a difference time makes.

Here we are, always chugging along. Some days feel like molasses while others feel like that bowling lane oil. Yet we all just keep going.

Then sometimes, along with the going, we slowly change. We grow and evolve and become. With action, we are always becoming.

Nine years ago I was in therapy saying “I love myself, I do, but if only I was thinner, I would feel like the work I’ve been doing actually did something. I feel so fat. I just want to not be 160 pounds.”

My therapist, in all of her incredulous glory, looked at me dumbstruck and said, “You’re not fat. 160 pounds is average.”

I tried to argue that because of my lacking height, 160 pounds was much more on my body. That my body was not made to be 160 pounds. That I knew I was so much smaller than my body had currently allowed.

She wouldn’t budge.

She asked what it would mean to me if my body was just meant to be 160 pounds.

I stomped about it. Metaphorically. As I often did about things. I didn’t want my body to be meant for that.

And then life moved along.

Fast forward all those years. The last year, I have indeed come to think of my body as average. I look in the mirror and I feel neither fat nor thin. Just regular. I don’t feel my body makes me an outlier on any spectrum. I’m average. I’m comfortable.

My goals center toward health and strength. And while I still have a picture in mind of a number on a scale and having less hips in the mirror (not no hips, mind you! I love my curves), those things are fuzzy background images. The foreground picture is health and centeredness and a love of my body no matter what.

I’ve done intermittent fasting since last November. It was a boundary point as I learned to navigate food and feelings and life and safety. I remained 157 pounds no matter what I did. Sometimes it would fluctuate a pound or two, but then back up it went. In the past, I would have said I was stuck there. But I never feel stuck anymore. I’m too busy navigating more important to me things.

But my point. My point is that I’ve looked in the mirror for the last couple months and I feel good about my body. All the while staying 157 pounds. And it was okay. It didn’t trip me up.

The last couple weeks I’ve been really proud with my relationship with food. Consistency has loaned me momentum and that switch in my brain has allowed consistency to not feel so grueling.

Earlier this week I weighed myself and I am 150 pounds.

It’s not about the number. It’s about the fact that I’m paying attention to the right things this time and life followed suit. That is very cool.

Most days growth is like molasses, and time is just chugging along. Other days–those rare beautiful days–the molasses thins and I can suddenly see all the progress my growth has afforded me. Today is one of those days.

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For all the roads you followed.

tec

There’s a thing I do with food. To not make things about food.

I decide.

It’s not always easy. But it’s simple.

And the more times I do it, the more often it is just easy.

In November I decided to intermittent fast and have my window be 9am til 7pm. Soon I decided to changed it to noon til 7. That felt okay until no behavior changed beyond the decision.

Enter more decisions.

The last couple weeks I’ve really driven into not only who I want to be, but who I am. Not only entertaining what my future ideal self would say, but also what I want to say right here, right now.

I don’t want it to be so grueling. I don’t want it to have to be so hard.

So I decide.

And then I execute the decision.

An eating window always benefitted me because once I had food, a switch turned on in my head and I couldn’t “off” food. I didn’t off food. But the eating window just shortens the issue. It doesn’t address it.

After weeks of thinking “what would the future, ideal Jill do?” and sometimes answering honestly, and sometimes fooling myself, I finally realized it was all just a stopgap.

It’s all important and I’ve needed it all as part of my journey. But I need something that feels more sturdy. I need something that makes all the chatter dissipate. I need the quiet.

Deciding helps bring me more quiet.

So I eat my meal and then I make the conscious decision “Don’t eat anything else for an hour.” And then I execute it.

I focus my energy and action elsewhere. I write or clean or play or move my body. I do the thing that quiets my mind.

And eventually I eat again. And then I decide. And then I execute it.

There’s no stomping or loss or grief. It feels like healing.

It’s not easy. But it’s easier than it was last week. And it’ll be easier still. I’m not ignoring myself or my feelings. I’m not distracting myself or skipping out. I’m just choosing to thrive in growth instead of drown in food.

It’s a perfectly imperfect system. I’m no robot. This is about being human here. I get tripped up and I go again. Getting back up is just as vital as decide and execute. Getting back up is decide and execute.

I know that in time, as consistency lends to routine, and routine turns to habit, it will be the foundation that changes the behavior, which is the whole point. It will be the answer to the question “what would future, ideal Jill say?” that I’ll no longer have to stop and ask myself. Because I’ll just know. Because I’ll just be.

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My own two feet.

tec

It’s been an interesting few days of viewing food and myself more objectively.

It’s been an interesting few days finding peace and delight from non food things.

No sense making the whole thing about food. It’s also about the feelings. And the safety. It’s about the sadness and grief and heartache. As well as the joy, pleasure, and contentedness.

I could psychoanalyze myself all day. And often do. But I think what I’m learning most is I want to just stop. Sometimes.

I am looking for peace.

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Step down from this.

tec

I’m stomping. Oh my lord, I’m stomping. But I’m doing the damn thing too.

Damnit.

I’ve teetered all week on what I want my last 30 day food exemption to be for the next 90 challenge.  Last month I teetered too. Eventually I just decided to continue no ice cream.  But it kinda felt like not deciding.

I know snacking has been my downfall as of late. I know my body has been feeling kinda blah as a result. I know my food consumption has increased. I know I haven’t been ready to do anything about any of that. I know I’ve been afraid to lose the crutch.

Every morning I wake up and think maybe today will be the day I commit to no snacking and/or tostitos/pretzels/cheese puffs/chips. And every day I haven’t.

Today I thought maybe. And then when it came time, I thought maybe some more. And more again. And then instead, I chose a new question, and a new answer presented itself. I made carrots sticks with peanut butter and raisins.

I broke the cycle.

I don’t feel strong enough right in this moment to speak to what I might choose next time. Maybe it doesn’t matter. I dunno.

What I do know is that that very first moment means something. I’ll remember it. It’ll reinforce the thing that needs tending to. And then perhaps it’ll provide my answer for me when the time comes.

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It took some time to survive you.

tec

I’ve been disconnecting my why and my who from my present the past few days.

I’m sure there’s a reason. I’m sure that reason is important. But I haven’t tread there yet. I haven’t come here to pick it apart.

I know part (most?) of it is stress. I know it’s some of the little behind-the-scenes stuff happening that is out of my control. Or was once in my control (sorta) and I didn’t fight then to turn overwhelm into action. And so now there are multiple overwhelm categories all sneaking to the forefront at once.

I could name them, but that is scary. I’m not there yet. Even tho I know it’s helpful.

So I’m checking them off slowly without naming them.

But even still, I find myself here, now, facing the fact that my why and my who have not been congruent with my relationship with food. And that’s okay. There’s no shame in that. It’s observation. And still, it’s my present truth.

And that’s not to say that has to be my truth the next time I eat or tonight or tomorrow. It’s just the truth of what the last couple days have looked like. And part of my personal development is that I’m self aware enough to notice and acknowledge these things, and then decide where I place my foot during my next step.

I’ve noticed and acknowledged the last few days. Of course I have! I no longer have the luxury of not seeing it. And still I’ve made the decisions that the ideal, future, healthy version of me would. not. make. And to make it worse, when I make the anti-me decisions, I tack on preposterous words like, “future me would give herself a break right now and eat this” and “future me would allow for self care to be this one cookie”.

FUTURE ME WOULD. NOT. SAY. THAT.

Future me would say, “find a different way, sister!” (Because future me will sometimes talk like Rachel Hollis and randomly call people sister.)

Future me would also take the time to write because it’s my therapy. Because it brings me back to me. Because it brings me closer to living and breathing my idealized me.

So I sit here writing. Because it’s important. It’s vital. I need it. And I take breaks for self care.

Today I took L to the doctor and re-set myself on a stress path. I need to solidify some research there and put pen to paper. That will help. Today I will also call the tax guy and re-set myself on that stress path. Actively being on those paths is a lot less stressful than knowing I need to get on them. My higher functioning brain knows this, but the whole rest of my being fights it.

And I should also talk to my husband and speak some stress paths because that may be helpful even tho I keep adamantly dragging my feet about it and it’s the very very last thing I want to actually do.

So. Time to jump.

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Sentiments, like shadows, grow.

tec

I have a compulsion this morning to weigh myself. I know it’s just that–a compulsion.

I know the rational. It doesn’t negate the irrational.

Logically I know that, whatever the number on the scale, it isn’t indicative of my health or my progress or even really my weight. Logically.

I considered scratching the itch. I considered getting out the scale and just seeing and then I’d know and I could go about my day and I wouldn’t entertain it again.

But that’s not how compulsion works.  Because I weighed myself over the weekend. And that doesn’t matter at all to the voice in my head. In fact, it gives the voice fodder. You lost .6 pounds. The number went down! Let’s see if it went down more. I hope it didn’t go up. Do you think it went up? We should check. Maybe it went down to the next whole number. Let’s look.

I can hear these thoughts and not listen to them. I can choose that. It’s not easy. But it’s possible.

This morning, like every morning before I get out of bed, I felt my stomach. I noticed the thinner skin and the flatter mounds. I noticed how my ribs protrude a little more. I noticed how my pelvis juts beneath the skin and the area below my belly button each day feels a bit flatter and a bit more hollow. And I thanked my body for being strong and supporting me. For keeping me alive and safe. And I told it that I’m learning how to care for it properly and kindly and I hope it can see my progress. I thanked my body for showing me progress.

I do this every morning.

This morning that routine precipitated a desire to weigh myself. To see if the number validated the bones and muscles and curves of my body. Today that routine opened a door to allow the compulsive voice in. That’s okay. It doesn’t make it a bad plan. Honoring my body is a good thing. Navigating unexpected moments is good too. My constructive routine may have played a part in opening the door, but it presented me an opportunity, and I am able to choose to gently close the door with little to no damage.

I have a compulsion, but in this moment it doesn’t have me. So I’m not weighing myself. I’m not enabling the compulsion. I’ve put in years of work for this. To stay the course for this moment. To see all the things and let all the things just be. One foot in front of the other.

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Thinking of ways to get back home.

tec

Fuck. My eating disorder is fucking loud today.

I had started my day excited that it felt like a new start of healthiness and healing.

I made Brussels sprouts even!

20191030_075319

Oh, but did my body (mind?) have other plans!

This fucking sucks.

Like, truly. And I want to turn it off. But it’s not a switch. It’s a weight. And I really just don’t have the means to push it off or shrug.

All I can do is write.

And of course it didn’t occur to me before the ice cream bar at 9am to write. Or the cake at 9:45. It was only at 10:30 when the sugar high made my head swim and I realized I should make some protein that I remembered writing is the shrug. I need the accountability. But now I still have to eat this despite not being hungry because fuck, the swimming.

But then I will sit down. And I won’t eat more. And I won’t self-medicate–I’ll only self-care. And maybe cry some because it hurts a lot, and then I will sleep. I need to oxygen mask myself today, even if just for a little while.