The Food Thing

I was digging through boxes in the back of my closet last week and found a picture of me from one of my lowest points. I was still dating the boy from high school. I was depressed, and I was desperate for control. In the picture, I was wearing a bikini, and I was just rail thin. I looked so fragile. I was fragile.

And it got me thinking. I hadn't dealt with The Food Thing in therapy, or in my life generally. When things in my world started to spin out of control in my teens, I used food as a control mechanism. I couldn't control how the boy treated me, or how alone I felt, or how I felt as though my parents did not like me. But I could control what I ate. I meticulously counted calories, striving for 1000 a day. I worked out for an hour each day. Sometimes twice a day. I remember a neighbor stopping me on my second run for the day once and expressing some concern over my weight loss. I remember my aunt pulling me aside and asking me if there was something wrong. I remember friends giving looks to each other when I tried on size 0 jeans at the mall...and found that they were too loose. I remember repeated trips to the doctor for my sleepiness. It was like everyone knew...except my parents. And I wanted my parents to see. I wanted them to know that I was hurting inside, but I didn't know how to come out and say it. They never did say anything, but by the grace of God, I found an amazing support group in college who taught me about how damaging unhealthy body issues can be. But that's not the beginning of The Food Thing. Or the end.

When I was little, my mom used food to soothe any sadness or anger we kids felt. You are crying? Let's get a donut! You are mad? Let's go for pizza! Before I knew it, I was overweight. Kids made fun of me, and I think my mom was embarrassed. She had lots of "talks" with me about eating too much. And she criticized her own body every time she looked in the mirror. I now know that my mother was criticized and judged by her own mother for her appearance all of her life. And she fought so hard against it. She still fights hard to maintain a better body image. I don't think that she ever intended to pass on her body image issues to me.

Fast forward to post-college and post-boy from the past, and I continued to maintain a pretty good body image. I made it a point to never diet, criticize myself for my looks, or put myself down for my physical appearance. But I did try to eat healthy and exercise.

When D-Day happened, I couldn't stomach food. I don't think I really ate a meal for a month after D-Day. I lost about 15 pounds and was monitored by a doctor for the rapid weight loss. But slowly, the weight came back. And then I started eating a little bit extra sometimes because it felt good. After all the hurt I had been through, I deserved some chocolate, right? And some pizza, and maybe a milkshake. And before I knew it, I found myself turning to food to stuff my emotions instead of choosing other tools in my self-care kit. I am now about 10 pounds heaver than I would like to be. It's not life-ending, and I do not have an addiction, but I see myself traveling down that road. That road of using food to fix my emotions. That road of self-loathing following a food binge. Those dark thoughts that were part of my spiral downward in the past.

Therapist helped me to see this week that I am not who I was back then. I have tools now. I have so much knowledge about emotions and addictions and physical health. I can use those tools to make better food choices while also not beating myself up over a candy bar every once in a while. She has helped me to see that I can decide that the self-loathing Food Thing stops here.

So far this week, I have had about 2 good days and 2 bad. But that's progress and that's OK. I don't want to be that girl from the picture. Because I am so much more than that.