Control Freak

I thought a lot about yesterday's post and the comment I made that breakfast and lunch were not a problem because those were the most controlled parts of my day. There is obviously a direct correlation between chaos in my life and the chaos in my eating, and it's something I really need to explore.

Just today someone said to me that I am very easy going and down-to-earth. I know I come off that way, but like my mother very astutely commented about me recently, "They just don't know all the turmoil that goes on below the surface." That's been my problem all my life -- suppressing my emotions, feelings and opinions. And here's the irony of it: I've done it to protect myself from the possible rejection, ridicule, and anger of others; but in doing that, I've caused so much damage by holding those emotions inside and not asserting myself.

The older I get, the more I realize how much of a control-freak and perfectionist I can be. I don't like chaos and drama; I don't like it when someone else holds the cards and causes problems in my life; and I often have to fight off that irrational thought "if it isn't done right, why bother doing it at all?" That comes into play a lot both in my work life and at home. Whether it's a task at the office or a housecleaning chore, it's very difficult for me to hand it off to someone else, dreading that it won't be done correctly and that I'll have to do it over or correct it later.

I think about all of this, because after ruminating over the first paragraph, my initial response was to figure out how to gain some control over the parts of my day that have become chaotic. I started thinking about how to do it "right" and how I could pre-plan and fix the situation. But then I realized, the REAL problem, the REAL solution I need to find, is how to learn to live with the chaos without falling apart! Because let's face it, no one can completely control every aspect of their lives, and chaos will always exist. How can I become more tolerant, more accepting of my lack of control over the universe? And how do I change my current coping mechanism, which is "treating" myself with food?

I made a step in the right direction today, at least as far as asserting myself. Rather than continuing to stew and steam over something that was making me crazy, I addressed the issue head-on with the person involved. I had a lot of anxiety doing this, but I knew I had to get it off my chest, even if the person got mad at me. And once again, I was pleasantly surprised that the person was very receptive and even complimented me and thanked me for all I do.

Now if I can tackle this control issue without being a control freak about it!

Hunger

This morning I read the newspaper and saw the Cathy comic strip (March 5, 2009, in case you're reading this later). In case you can't find it or see it, Cathy is on yet another diet -- this time the Cookie Diet -- and she's marking off the minutes since her breakfast cookies at 7:15 a.m., exclaiming happily that she's not hungry. Finally, at 9:22 a.m., she announces "I miss being hungry." In the next frame her friend/co-worker says, "Incredible how your mind is completely off of food..." while Cathy replies, "I hunger for hunger!"

Back in January when I was hitting bottom, I went to my therapist and explained to her about hitting this bottom when it comes to food and not sure what I could do about it. In one of those odd coincidences, she had just done some extra research on eating issues, and she asked me a question that really made me think. "Most people overeat as a substitute for something they're not getting in their lives. What are you really hungry for?"

My answer? Well, it wasn't a clear-cut answer, but what it boils down to is that food equals comfort to me. Food doesn't judge me, look down on me, or look for something in return. And this isn't an uncommon notion in our society -- just look at the Lord's Prayer: "Give us this day our daily bread." This isn't just about filling our stomachs; it's about spiritual sustenance, too. From our first days of life our parents answered our cries with the bottle, beginning that connection between food and comfort.

But, unfortunately, people like me take it one or two or a million steps further. Due to life circumstances and our reactions to them, food becomes our only comfort. Or the only one we trust not to let us down. And once those habits are in place, it's so hard to break those connections and look elsewhere for our support. That's why it's so much more than counting calories -- it's learning to change our behaviors, to find other methods and trust other people to comfort us.

Since trying to pull myself out of the abyss in January, I've had some bumps along the way, but I've been very conscious of them and they haven't lasted long. I don't do well with stress, and I've had some pretty stressful moments lately. The funny thing is, I'm getting better about sitting with my emotions and not eating during the stress. But once the worst is over and I'm coming down from it, that's when the urge to overeat becomes the most overwhelming.

I had another one of those moments last night. I was so stressed, so emotional, and I did my best to work through it. I realized the main feelings I was experiencing were fear and helplessness, and being able to pinpoint that seemed to reduce the severity of it, because I didn't let it build out of control into an anxiety attack. My fear is that today I will now want to turn to food to "make it all better." I suppose it's a good thing that I'm very conscious of it, but I can't help feeling a little like Cathy. Without the emotional hunger on auto-pilot, I'm feeling kind of lost and not sure what to do with myself.

I know, I need to now implement those alternative methods of comfort that I've read about in various books and magazines and have written down in lists as I go through this IE process. I listened to a relaxation CD last night, and today I will do my daily exercise. I'm also writing this, which was something I couldn't bring myself to do for the last six months. I also have a good book I'm reading right now, which gives me the escape I crave without filling my belly with candy or cookies. I just hope that after all of this I'm not sitting there like Cathy hungering for my hunger.

The Sticky Roll Incident

About two weeks ago I was having one of those days: the ones where nothing seems to be going right and you want to turn around and go back to bed, hoping you can start all over again and try to get it right the second time. It was also a very hectic day with longer hours at work, then chauffeuring my daughter to her orthodontist, grabbing a quick supper, then going to gymnastics (Mabel's hand is healed now and she's back to hand-springing and round-offing all over the place).



While I was waiting for the three hour (!!!) practice to end, occupying myself with book reading in my car, my cell phone rang and it was my hubby. He announced to me that since I had such a rough day he would have a surprise for me when I got home. By that point the day was almost over, and to be honest, the book reading had done wonders for my mood. Other than being tired from the long day, I actually didn't feel so bad anymore.



So I got home, and there on the kitchen island was an entire half sheet pan (11.5x16.5 inches) brimming with sticky nut rolls. Hubby was so proud of himself, and I must tell you, they looked and smelled fantastic. But to be honest, the very first thought in my head was, "Oh, no..." I did eat one; I had been planning to get some kind of snack on the way home from gymnastics (Mabel's always starving after her workout, and since on those days we eat supper around 4 p.m., by 8 I'm usually a little peckish, too), so I drove straight home, since I knew any surprise from hubby would more than likely be food-related. I guess I was hoping it would be some little individual treat made just for me, not a bevy big enough for a party.

Later I tried to explain to him that I'm learning and actually accepting the fact that food, especially treats like those rolls, cannot really comfort and give me "happiness." I appreciated the thought and effort he put into it, but the food itself is irrelevant, and I can no longer give it that power anymore. Hubby listened and nodded and said, "You're right, you're right..."

I also tried to tell him that making enough for a small army isn't a great idea; I didn't say it to him, but I equated it in my mind to giving a recovering alcoholic a case or keg of beer. He also listened to this and said he would make an effort to give most of the pan of rolls away. Within the next couple days we did just that: I gave some to my pastor and my mom, and he gave some to his parents, too. We even wound up throwing a couple away when they got too old. Out of that enormous pan, I wound up eating two of the rolls, which I considered a major accomplishment.

In fact, in recent weeks I've discovered that I'm doing much, much better with foods that in the past I would consider major binge trigger foods. There is a Mennonite-run bakery and store in our county that makes the best orange iced rolls, and normally when I buy the round pan of them I scarf them all down within 48 hours, and usually feeling sick to my stomach from the fat and sugar overload. About six weeks ago I bought a pan, and they tasted great as usual, but I didn't feel the drive or compulsion to eat them all. In fact, I wound up throwing two of the rolls away when they got stale! That was a completely new experience for me.

This healthier relationship with food has been pretty far-reaching: I can take two pieces of candy out of a full box full and walk away satisfied, whereas in the past I would not be able to pull myself away and the box would be emptied in an evening. This past Saturday my mom went to the local farmer's market and showed up at my house with some Amish-made snickerdoodle cookies. Last summer she got these for me, too, and I remember going wild over them and eating a whole pack of them in a day. This time she gave me four cookies, and I still have two in the plastic container where I'm storing them. We have an ice cream place near our house that's only open from May-October. Last summer we seemed to be there every other day and I always got something, usually a big sundae loaded with tons of goodies. While my daughter still goes fairly regularly, I couldn't tell you the last time I actually got any. The ice cream's still as good, but for some reason I never seem to be in the mood for it at the times she wants to go.

A couple nights ago during Mabel's gymnastics I went to the mega-mart to stock up on essentials: contact saline, deodorant, etc. These trips used to be the big hunt for binge foods, which I would then chow down on in the car until the end of practice, and the rest would be hidden away for secret binge eating later. Two nights ago I walked through the bakery and not a single thing appealed to me. I bought my daughter some cinnamon bagels (she hates raisins and it's really hard finding cinnamon bagels without them!), and the only food-related item I got for myself was seltzer water! I did have a passing thought of, "Hmmm, what treats can I find for myself?" but it was quickly answered with a shrug of indifference and the reply that I don't really need to or want to.

Here's the thing: I'm still eating cookies and ice cream and candy; I'm not telling myself I shouldn't eat them or that I should reduce the portions. Instead I find myself enjoying the amount I do eat, when I'm in the mood for it, and then I'm quite content. I'm not feeling deprived just eating one cookie or skipping a treat entirely, and I'm not obsessing over the remaining candy, cookies, etc., that are still in the house. Sometimes I actually even forget about them! And you know what? It's such a RELIEF not to feel that way. I feel like I've had some kind of demon exorcised from my body and mind. And I'm suspecting that just maybe, this is what "normal" eating is all about.

I'm not saying I have been the "perfect" normal eater. I have had a couple days here and there where I have the munchies and the drive to overeat. But I've noticed that these incidents were times when I felt tired and run-down by too much running around or not enough sleep. So I've been trying to get more sleep and more down time to help combat this. It's great to me to be able to start putting these things together -- for years it always seemed to be such a mystery why I was so preoccupied and needed eating. To be able to pinpoint these things is wonderful to me. And hopefully, I can avoid any more binge eating episodes of weeks and months that lead to more and more weight gain and its accompanying depression.

Learning to Be Happy

One of my favorite things to do on my vacation was to take pictures of things that struck my fancy. I love art in all its forms: sculpture, painting, stained glass, metal work, architecture, etc., not to mention the written word or music.

We passed the sculpture of the horses above many times when we orbited the Picadilly Circus area. The detail and movement captured in this piece was awesome to me. Plus, my mom's a horse fanatic, so I wanted to show these pictures to her, too.

We didn't go to this restaurant (also in the Picadilly area), but I just loved the stained glass in the entrance. In fact, the whole building was interesting, with interesting sculptures all over it. You just don't see buildings like this where I live, so I'm always spellbound by the history and grandness of them when I'm given the opportunity. Not only because the U.S. is so much younger than the U.K., but in my rural, sparsely populated area, my ancestors just didn't have the money and resources to construct a lot of works of art like this.

Even the taxis were works of art in London! We got to ride in one of these famous black cabs during our stay, and I must say it was one of the most comfortable and stress-free rides I've ever paid for. Unlike other cities and countries I've been in, the driver didn't scare the bejesus out of me with his erratic, nerve-rattling driving. The vehicle was clean and roomy and the seats weren't lumpy and nasty. On a side note, I must say the National Rail train ride was also a wonderful experience, and Amtrak could really take some hints from them.

A few days before I left for this trip I visited my therapist Dr. K., and we came to a real eye-opening realization for me. She asked me how excited I was about my upcoming vacation, and I had to admit that for a number of reasons I wasn't really feeling it. Some of it was not feeling well, but a goodly portion of it was guilt: guilty that I was leaving my husband and daughter to fend for themselves; guilty that I was able to take the time and spend the money to do this frivolous, indulgent thing when so many people can't. And the flak I took months ago definitely put a damper on my anticipation, too.

I then realized that throughout my life I've often had trouble enjoying, anticipating or being happy about the good things in my life. Whether it was good grades in school, graduating college with honors, buying a house, adopting my child or falling in love, there was always something inside of me that kept me from feeling unbridled joy, or that I even deserved it. Some of it goes back to my childhood. Every Christmas I can remember being sat down by my grandmother and instructed not to "brag" about what presents I received that year. I was told other kids might not have been as fortunate as me and that I shouldn't make them feel bad. So I always downplayed or didn't say a word about what I got for Christmas, which bled over to birthdays or other times I might have received something special. Even now -- this very day -- when someone asks me how my England trip was, I get gripped with that rule in my head to not brag and rub people's noses in my good fortune, and I find myself fighting the urge to downplay my enjoyment.

But some of it definitely comes from my self esteem and weight issues. Every day in this society we are bombarded by the demonization, minimalization and ridicule of fat people. Fat people get inadequate medical care, get paid less in their jobs, and have often been the victim of bullies throughout their lives. We're stereotyped as lazy, slovenly, low-class and stupid. For years we didn't deserve decent clothing, and heaven forbid someone fall in love with a fat person, lest they be called a Chubby Chaser and suspected to have some ulterior motive.

This has all evolved into the dysfunctional, messed up way of thinking that I have. The biggest "aha" moment during my therapy session was that because I wouldn't let myself enjoy these material or emotional things in my life, I wound up turning to food to find those feelings of enjoyment and satisfaction. But of course, the sad truth was that the more I turned to food, the lower my self-esteem became and harder it became to enjoy the rest of my life.

The important thing my therapist told me was that even though I have been surrounded by these fattist attitudes and taught by my family to feel guilty about the good things in my life, I'm a free-thinking adult now. I don't have to follow the old rules and agree with the negative ideas anymore. I do deserve to be happy. And I deserve to feel good about myself.

An instance of this skewed thinking came up on our London trip. We stopped at a coffee shop with Internet access, and while my one travel companion got online to track down a British friend's phone number, the rest of us ordered coffee. I was the last one to order, and when I asked for a Mocha, the guy behind the counter seemed to smirk at me. When he walked away I looked over at my fellow female companion and she smiled and said, "He thinks you're cute."

"No," I scoffed. "He must have thought I sounded ridiculous with my hillbilly American accent."

A minute later he came back with our coffees, and when he handed me my mocha, he said, "Here's your coffee, darling."

We walked out of the shop and my friend immediately jumped on me. "He was into you! He didn't call me darling!"

We then got into a discussion how we both tend to dismiss flirtations and deny someone could actually be attracted to us. Funnily enough, when our Internet surfer returned and joined in our conversation, he said he was the exact opposite; he tends to think people are hitting on him when they actually aren't! I guess that just goes to show how differently our self-image can affect our perceptions of the world around us.

More pictures and England recollections are on their way. And in between some more morsels of wisdom -- if I can muster them up!