Stop

Stop.

That's all the text message said.

It came from my daughter, 12 years old.  And I didn't quite understand what she meant.  She was upset that I wouldn't let her bake cookies at 10 o'clock in the evening.  I figured that's why she stormed off to the basement as I made myself a snack.  I could hear her whimpering. 

Stop snacking. Stop going off your diet.

Did not see that one coming.

What followed is much too private to share here verbatim.  I will say that she and I had a back and forth, via text, in which she shared her fears about me, about my health and well being.  And in those 160 characters, those fears were visceral.  The fact that she needed to  physically remove herself from me in order to confront me also spoke volumes.

I was humbled.

Twelve years old.

That was Wednesday.  And the texts are still haunting me.  I've saved them on my phone and have already gone back to them a few times to reflect when I needed guidance; when I needed strength.



I shared the texts with my wife.  She says that all three of the kids feel the same way; that they talk to her about their fears for me.  That they struggle to see me make clearly bad choices.  And that they are profoundly sad when they talk to her.

I tried to respond with reason.  The snack I had that night was 2 string cheese sticks and a slice of bread--all within my protein and carb count for the day.  I tried to respond with a plea for understanding.  I've been this way a long time--I can't turn on a dime.  It's going to take time.  I tried to respond by illuminating my humanness--sometimes I am simply just weak willed.

It doesn't matter.  Each time they see their dad eat off program, they see their dad slowly killing himself.  And their love and care for me goes so deep that they need to go to the basement, cry and send a text message that says Stop.

And I am heartbroken.

Giving Up Hope (in order to gain even more)

I've come across a quote quite a lot over the last year.  It varies in its composition and who it's attributed to, but the essence is always the same:

Forgiveness means giving up all hope for a different past.

I like it.

It's simple to imagine but so difficult to live by.  But really, I don't think it goes far enough. There is a lot that means giving up all hope for a different past.

Living in the present means giving up all hope for a different past.

Moving forward means giving up all hope for a different past.

Accepting the past means giving up all hope for a different past.

Loving myself means giving up all hope for a different past.

Letting go means finally giving up all hope for a different past.

It is so difficult to let go of ancient hurts and aging anger.  Somehow if one does, one gets the feeling that one is letting the other off the hook.  Even if the one and the other are the same person.   Especially if the one and the other are the same person.

I'm finding it easier, though, as I continue this journey, to find ways to practice this.  While my last post may not be the best example, the truth is that once I wrote it out, I let it go.  Christmas 2011 is in the past and I cannot possibly hope that I will do anything different.I know the past/present/future tenses can get rather convoluted. But as I sit here contemplating not just last weekend but the whole of 2011, I can't think of anything so infused with such simple truth. 

I don't think much of New Years Resolutions, so here is my resolve to accept my past:

With all my faults, 
with all my health problems, with my weight and fat, 

with my weakness, with my failures, 
with all that works to hold me back...
to finally accept all of this as part of myself
and to forgive
and to let go
and to live in the now
and to move forward
and to love myself

means giving up all hope for a different past.

In this way, I do indeed give up.

And giving up hope for the past allows me to hope for the present

and the future.

Happy New Year everyone. 

Let's all let go of the old year, m'kay?

Post Christmas Blues

So Christmas has come and gone.  And I'm feeling guilty.  And it's pissing me off.

My plan for eating over the holidays was simple.  No limits.  Simple as that.  I knew that the three family meals I was going to be at would have my most favorite foods.  I knew that the snacking table would be loaded with my favorite salty snacks.  I knew better than to say to myself Deny Deny Deny and then circle the drain of a shame cycle.

So I went with my eyes wide open, ready to enjoy three days of celebration with my families.  I made the decision to not deny myself.  I gave myself permission to ... well, there's no other way to put it except to say PIG OUT.

And, as it was, I didn't.

I snacked all day, but I wasn't stuffing snacks in by the fistful.  No, I grazed and not at a constant rate,  just every now and again.

I ate what I wanted at the meals, and damn the carbs.  But I was satiated after the first serving. So I stopped and did not stuff myself to the point of pain.  There was no feelings of scarcity or thoughts of "get it now while you can cause you don't know when you can do this again." I simply had enough.

I did not take leftovers home with me, despite my mother saying it would just spoil at her house (it won't; she'll freeze it). I knew that this freedom I'd allowed myself was limited.  Taking it home would have meant extending that freedom.

All in all, it was a good weekend.  I should be proud that I gave myself permission rather than scold myself for failing in the face of such temptation.  I should be proud that I stopped when I was satisfied and didn't keep eating for eating's sake.

But I'm not.  I am unhappy.  I'm in a shame cycle anyway.

And it pisses me off.

I gained 10 pounds according to the home scales.  Now, intellectually I know it is impossible to put 10 pound of fat on in a weekend.  I know it is water binding with all the carbs I ate to form the glycogen molecule.  I know it is the food as it's being, um, processed.  I know that it is the effect of my three days of permission...of going off program...of the very thing I made a clear and conscious decision to do.

But, damn.  10 pounds?

I hear the left hand side of the conversations in my head.  And he's laughing.  He makes me feel like I'm not taking it seriously.  Like I'm just doing it for show.  After all, I'm only three weeks out from recommitting to the program.

But that's his job, even when he's wrong.

So, enough.

The weekend is over and it cannot be changed.  I enjoyed myself as I wanted and allowed.  I know that these bad feelings will pass as time goes on.  I accept this pain and will not suffer.

I move forward.  I look back not by turning my head, but by looking through the rear view mirror. 

Option 3

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I got out and ran today. I wish I hadn't. I really am too heavy and my ankles are screaming.

I came to a decision recently. I can wait for something to happen the rest of my life.  I can wait for something in my life to change and suddenly all this blubber will magically melt off and food will no longer have its powerful emotional connection.  But waiting isn't doing me a damn bit of good.

I could also do the hard work, count my calories, watch every morsel that passes through my gullet.  I can live my life thinking about food and making conscious decisions to limit myself.  And I can shame myself when I inevitably fail setting up another cycle of emotional sabotage.

Or, I can live my life as if I were already thin and healthy.  I can tell my body that we are where we are and I'm going to live as if we are already over there.  I have a feeling my body will come along for the ride.

I'm choosing option 3. And that's partly why I went out for a run today.  That's the sort of thing I've been waiting to be lighter to do and I have missed it.  Reality is settling in as I ice my ankles, but damn I feel good.  I will have to take it easy until reality catches up with this attitude change.  But I'm not going to stop altogether.

Having made this decision, the Itty Bitty Shitty Committee in my head is trying to veto it,  telling me that I'll treat this as carte blanche to eat what I want, when I want and eventually end up even heavier.  Not true. I will eat as if I'm already healthy and want to stay that way.  I've learned quite a bit about intuitive eating.  I have a lot to learn about emotional eating.I know this isn't a panacea.  This path will have its ups and downs, failures and successes. But I trust that this is a journey worth taking.

Falling shoes

Well, the other shoe finally fell yesterday. After 9 months of hanging in there on one paycheck, making the bills and the mortgage and buying enough food and clothes to keep the family from being hungry and naked, the good times have come to an end.

The hospital decided to call in all their chips. "Give us 9 grand by Thursday," they said "and we'll write off the rest. Or, alternatively, go to collections and pay an additional 33% on it all."

So, after making monthly payments for 2 years and not hearing a single peep of dissatisfaction from the health care facility, I gotta come up with a bunch of money I don't have in two days. I put it on a credit card and now I have to figure out how to pay two credit card bills. On top of everything else. And my wife needs to continue treatment at said hospital so it's not as if I'm done with them either.

I know there are a lot of families out there that are hurting, that are struggling to make it from week to week or even day to day. But, you know what? That doesn't bring me a lot of comfort.

I have no idea what I'm going to do. So long as I have my small savings, I can make the mortgage and the bills until August, but after groceries and gas there is nothing left. And once the savings is gone, I'm done. I have no plan B nor do I even know who I could talk to about plan B.

Just how much more does the universe think it can squeeze out of me?

And this situation does nothing for my wife's current state of health. Well, nothing positive anyway, making it even less likely she'll be able to work any time soon, thus keeping us in this evil cycle.

Yeah, I'm feeling rather Woe Is Me.