Real Life

"Never underestimate the inclination to bolt." ~ Pema Chodron

I know that I have been bolting from my real life since I can remember, but I didn't have a term for how I lived until recently. I used compulsive exercising, busyness, external achievements, obsessive worry, and most of all, food, as ways of escaping my life. Sure, I was going through the motions, doing what I needed to do, pretending to live. 

But I'm now convinced that I wasn't really living. 

Because what I've experienced lately as I try to engage in my real life has been different. Better. I feel like I'm starting to move toward the pain, and toward my real existence. And wouldn't you know it, moving toward the pain instead of away from it feels better. It hurts, but it feels better. Somehow. My husband and I actually got in a fight and resolved it a few weeks ago. As odd as it might seem, fighting and resolving for us is a true sign of progress. It meant that I cared enough to fight. I cared enough to want to be heard. And I cared enough to stay in the conversation and not bolt, even when I started to cry.

So now seems like the time to gently let go of some of my bolting techniques, specifically food. It has served its purpose in the past. It brought me comfort when I was alone and it made me feel full when I was empty. But the more I seek to have a relationship with my Higher Power, the more I feel prompted to let go of bolting. 

This is not a diet. It is not for the purpose of looking better or even for my physical health. This is an exercise (not unlike the process the sex addict goes through in recovery, ironically enough) in letting go of the idea that food can make me happy. I have given food way too much power for way too many years. I confessed my true relationship to food to my therapy group this week, and it's almost as if the crazy obsessive thoughts I have, once out there in the open, lost some of their power. 

I'm new to this, not even a month into this journey of trying to stay present in my real life. And to be honest, I miss what I thought food could give me, if that makes any sense. I'm fearful that I will fail. I'm fearful that I won't succeed and that I'll be a disappointment. Even today, I ate a healthy lunch and had enough food. But I lingered in the kitchen, trying to rationalize why more food would be better. I deserved it, I earned it, I miss the sensation of being so full it hurts. But instead, I said a prayer and sat down to write. 

So here's to a new journey. Of living in my real honest life, one day at a time.