If you told me three months ago that I would be struggling with the emotional issues behind eating, I would have said pppffffttttttt!!! Back in the day, when teaching nutrition classes was part of my job description, I used to think "Emotional eating...what a crock!" PS...This was minutes before I was set to deliver a program on emotional eating that I researched and designed. PSS...I was teaching a group of women how to conquer their out-of-control eating habits and was 80 pounds overweight myself. Oh...the irony.
The 60 x 6 project was meant to be a fun...and funny...look at the process of shedding 60 pounds while trying to find my sense of style (goodbye socks with sandals) and stay true to my Texas hair-itage. But whether a result of losing the weight, blogging about it, or talking about it with everyone who is reading said blog...I've discovered something about myself.
I'm bitter.
That's right. I'm bitter, damn it! I looked up the word bitter just to make sure. Dictionary.com offered a plethora of options, one being "Resulting from or expressive of severe grief, anguish, or disappointment," another being "Having a harsh, disagreeably acrid taste, like that of aspirin, quinine, wormwood, or aloes," and finally "Being or inducing the one of the four basic taste sensations that is peculiarly acrid, astringent, or disagreeable and suggestive of an infusion of hops."
Hmmm...hops makes me think of beer and the infamous bitter beer commercials. Not exactly what I mean. And I've never tasted wormwood, but it sounds disgusting. And certainly bitter. But an expression of severe grief, anguish or disappointment? That pretty much describes how I've been feeling lately.
I was walking through the aisles of the supermarket the other day looking frantically for a sugar-free fix after an especially stressful day. When I was struck by a moment of particular clarity. Right in the middle of Aisle 11. Nothing was going to satisfy me. At least nothing with a UPC code. And...(whispering)...not even chocolate.
A few hours later, I was contemplating life with the mamahla, wallowing in self-pity after I got a $500 red light ticket in the mail, my Prius died, I made a co-worker angry without knowing it, and my Thanksgiving travel plans looked like they were imploding...all in the span of one week. Then, something came out of my mouth that shocked the you-know-what out of me. In between tears and incoherent sentences only a mom can decifer, I blurted out that I didn't think of life as good anymore. It was more like a series of short breaks between BIG freakin' struggles.
This coming from a girl who has been called Pollyanna more then a few times. Who taught Mrs. Butterworth to be so syrupy sweet. Who was a member of the Optimist Club for 10 years and, at the close of every meeting, pledged to "look at the sunny side of everything and make her optimism come true." On the outside, NOBODY knows this is how I'm really feeling. But these days, I feel like I'm on an episode of Touched By an Angel. It's episode 401...Jones vs. God. The team arrives to help a woman, embittered by the world, in her growing crisis of faith. The woman, Elizabeth Jones, is despondent over the state of her life, the state of humanity, and the fact that it never rains in Southern California. She decides to sue God and posts her complaint in Variety and it's sister publication, the Lubbock Avalanche Journal. People flock to the courthouse, led by Roma Downey and Della Reese. One by one, the witnesses take the stand to share their Hallmark moments. Suddenly, Roma Downey, dressed in white and bathed in light, reveals herself to the litigant. There's lots of hugging. Lots of crying. Faith is restored. And it finally rains in So Cal.
But I digress. The point is...the conversation I had with my mom that night was an aha! moment for me. I think a light bulb actually appeared above my head. I've gotten lots of advice since starting El Bloggo. Things like "you've just got to love yourself more" or "life isn't going to be perfect just because you're thin." But nothing really resonated with me until this. I really do love myself and I really don't equate thin with perfect...you'd be the first to know if I did. But I have been living my life in a prison of my own making. Perceiving it to be something it's not...just a series of crises and struggles that I'm powerless to prevent. With short periods of rest in between. And food as the only thing to look forward to. Nothing empowered or extraordinary can come from thinking that way.
And now that I've found the kink in the garden hose...I've just got to smooth it out so the good stuff can flow.