[image cred]

Thank you all SO much for the love on yesterday’s post. I’m happy to have been able to finally let you guys know. It’s been like torture having to stay away from the blog because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut!

I’ve had so many things that I wanted to blog about lately, but they all seem to relate in one way or another to pregnancy. I’m going to try not to completely BORE you with all things pregnancy-related, but the reality is that the next 7.5 months of my life are going to be kind of consumed with babies, pregnancy, and nesting. That’s just how it goes. My apologies in advance.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about food. This is no big surprise, since I generally love food anyway, but the difference between the non-pregnant food-loving-me and the pregnant food-loving-me is that pregnancy has taken my diet back to a place it hasn’t been in years.

I don’t talk a TON about my daily diet, but just know that I generally keep a fairly balanced diet of protein, whole-grain carbs, fruit and vegetables–with some extras sprinkled in there for good measure. For the past few years, I hadn’t considered anything to be “off limits” in my diet. Or at least that’s what I thought pre-pregnancy.

Here’s a little chronicle of my pregnancy, in food:

Weeks 4-5–Meatballs, Meatloaf & Steak, Please: I knew I was pregnant initially because I was craving meatballs and steak. This is standard for me very early on, and I’ve actually had this symptom for all 4 of my pregnancies.

Weeks 5-6–Food?! I have to actually EAT…FOOD?! OK…but only if it’s saltines and Easy Mac. Don’t even put meat NEAR me. And you’re telling me the only way I won’t feel pukey is to eat every TWO hours?! This is ridiculous.

Weeks 6-7–Easy Mac Obsession in Full Effect: I was also trying to bring a few vegetables into the mix, but the only thing that really sounded appetizing vegetable-wise was raw baby carrots. On most days, I was still having to eat every 2 hours in order to feel human. Hamburger Helper was stocked in my pantry for the first time in at least 10 years.

Weeks 7-8–Bring on the Olive Garden Five-Cheese Baked Ziti! I made the mistake of going to The Olive Garden during my lunch hour one day, and the only thing that sounded remotely appetizing was this cheesy pasta dish. Now, I’ve been craving it, and have eaten it a handful of times in the past 3 weeks. It’s difficult when everything else sounds pukey besides Five-Cheese Baked Ziti. *sigh*

Weeks 8-9–Your Pukey-ness is GONE! …psych!!! I seriously thought I was home-free in the all-day sickness realm during this week. I was able to eat vegetables, and I even had salad twice during the week for dinner. I still couldn’t really eat any meat, but I was eating plenty of nuts and beans to make up the difference. I thought I was in the clear.

Weeks 9-10–You Were WRONG! Last week brought with it my all-day sickness. Again, I resorted to my trusty Hamburger Helper (minus the hamburger), Five-Cheese Baked Ziti (damn you!), and buttered noodles. It seems that anything having to do with pasta was OK, but if I tried to add anything produced with anything other than white flour into the mix, it was a nausea party all day. I do have to admit though, I ate more peaches last week than I ever thought humanly possible. In fact…I’d still give my left ear for a peach right now. p.s…I don’t even like peaches. They’re hairy.

Weeks 10-11 (now)–Get Used To It, Sista! So, here we are. Almost 11 weeks. My bambino is just larger than a shriveled up prune, but somehow it’s managing to cause me great intestinal strife. I had Five-Cheese Baked Ziti yesterday for approximately the 4th time in a week. On Sunday, I had Hamburger Helper (minus the hamburger) for dinner. Plain bagels with Earth Balance are the norm (p.s…I haven’t had a plain bagel prior to this week in about 5 years). I’ve been having a problem drinking water this week because it makes me want to puke. This morning, apple juice is my water. Interestingly enough, I’ve eaten Gummi Savers and Sour Patch Kids…two of my most HATED candies ever. I don’t even LIKE candy, actually.

What is the point in all of this play-by-play of my food aversions? Well, considering that this blog is mostly for my own ‘get-this-straight-in-your-head-lady’ purposes, I just want to mention that this has been difficult for me mentally. I’ve realized over the past 11 weeks that I still have some programmed “rules” in my mind about what I ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ eat.

• I shouldn’t eat white bagels.
• I shouldn’t eat pasta every day.
• I should eat vegetables often.
• I shouldn’t request sour cream on my burrito bol at chipotle.
• I shouldn’t drink juice.
• I shouldn’t eat candy.

The problem with all of these rules is that I’ve had to ignore them because of the simple fact that if I DIDN’T eat white bagels and pasta, I wouldn’t have eaten anything. I can’t avoid these things that I “shouldn’t” be eating. The candy can certainly be avoided, and definitely won’t be a habit, but the core of my calories right now are coming from processed food and peanut butter.

I can’t avoid it.

I’m just rolling with it. It’s been an interesting shift of consciousness to have to believe that the things that I want to eat are actually OK to eat. I know that they’re nutritionally void for the most part (besides the few bouts of carrot and peach eating thrown in the mix), but I’m just holding onto the fact that this is a temporary solution, and I’ll get back to my normal eating habits soon enough.

I can promise you that if I hadn’t already done the work with my eating disorder, I would probably be a basket case right now. Recovering from an eating disorder is a lifelong process. I’m not actively engaging in disordered eating of course, but it’s just amazing to me that I can still be triggered at any moment by the most innocuous events. Eating a bagel seems harmless enough, right?

In the meantime, I might try to concoct a more homemade version of boxed Hamburger Helper goodness…

The good news is that I’m not feeling triggered by any of this. I’m actually kind of impressed by my ability to roll with the punches. As I said, I’m just looking at my horribly imbalanced diet as a temporary solution to my pukeyness problem.

A girl has to eat what a girl has to eat…Easy Mac included.

I have pressed ‘play’ on this song countless times over the past 4 days. I have also played the lyrics over and over and over in my head more times that I’m comfortable admitting over the past 4 days.

Not just because I’ve had a girl crush on Alanis ever since she talked about “doing down on you in a theatre” (p.s. that’s not any indication that I’ve done anything of the sort, Mom). It’s also not just because she did a bang up job playing Nancy Botwin’s slightly jaded baby doctor on Weeds.

It’s mostly because of these lyrics:

“How bout stopping eating when I’m full up”

Not to say that I necessarily agree with Ms. Morissette’s choice of sentence structure at all, but I get it. I, too, want to concede to ‘stopping eating when I’m full up’. It’s been a long time since I’ve really listened to my ‘stopping eating when I’m full up’ cues. Like right now for instance–I know that I’m full, but I’m still finishing my latte.

Because it’s good.

I can make all types of excuses for not ‘stopping eating when I’m full up’, but when it comes down to it, I’m just not obeying myself. I’m hearing, but I’m not listening.

Last night, 2 servings of ice cream. Two leftover icing-less cupcakes (I’ve officially mastered my Sugared Bakery basic cupcake recipes. It’s obviously both a good and bad development). Homemade caramel sauce. Times two. I’m not freaking out, I’m just aware.

I don’t have any clever conclusion today. I’m just quoting some lyrics, stating the facts, and moving on.

Moving on…

Blogging For A Change Update

I am so shocked at the generosity that all of you showed for our Rally For Japan Giveaway. Together, we raised OVER $1,800 for disaster relief in Japan!!

The giveaway winners have been announced, so head on over to the Rally Page to see if you’re one of them!

We have big plans for the Blogging For A Change charity in the future, so make sure to join our newsletter list so that you’ll hear about all of the great stuff we’re working on!

Today, friends, marks 4 years of this girl being purge-free.

And, it kind of makes me feel like this…

You know. With slightly less 9-year-old-appearing arms.

The funny part about this [besides that picture of course] is that I realized this fact at the exact moment when I needed to be reminded of the fact that I haven’t purged in 4 years.

Strange how life works that way.

I returned from lunch yesterday and bolted to the bathroom, passing 3 of my coworkers along the way. I had just eaten 1/2 of a veggie roll from the Italian joint across the street, and I thought to myself,

“Self, 5 years ago, you would’ve barfed up this lunch.”

This thought inevitably lead me to start trailing off into thoughts of remedying myself of the conflict I felt after having eaten a cheesy veggie roll from the Italian restaurant. Not that I necessarily wanted to purge, but sometimes I crave the emotional release that I used to feel after purging. It’s likely akin to the way that a recovered addict daydreams about the feeling that their drug of choice gave them during binges of past.

I always follow up that initial fleeting thought with reminders of how miserable life was before I sought treatment.

“Self, you’ve worked too damn hard to barf up this lunch.”

And in the midst of this coax back to reality, I remembered what April 7th means in my world. And I re-lived the previous 3 minutes, in which I bolted past 3 of my coworkers to get to the bathroom after lunch.

Not because I wanted to barf, but because I had to pee.

Even though I have been free of binging and purging for 4 years, I still worry that other people in my life might think that I’m binging and purging. Sometimes, I take too long in the bathroom. I’m inevitably just checking myself out in mirror for too long or fixing my hair, but the fear is always there.

If I have a coughing fit while I’m in the bathroom (thank you, asthma), I worry that My Gazelle will see my post-hack-fest reddened face and eyes, then jump to incorrect conclusions.

If I come back from lunch out with my coworker and immediately high tail it to the bathroom (not because I’m purging, but because I refuse to use strange toilets unless I absolutely have to–that’s another post for another day), I always worry that someone is suspecting me for a bulimic.

But I’m not.

It seems like this is another of my hurdles to jump over–getting over the idea that other people might think I’m still being self-abusive. This presents itself as a strange sort of guilt that I feel for ever having had an eating disorder. I’m not sure why I feel guilty since I’m not engaging in the behavior anymore.

This lingering guilt over giving anyone the impression that I’m still purging (or purging again), however, does not overshadow the fact that I am indeed purge free for 4 years.

FOUR YEARS. Wow! If someone had told me 5 years ago that I was going to be free of bulimia, I wouldn’t have believed them. It was such an all-encompassing, time-sucking part of my life.

Now, I blog, launch charities, and start bakeries instead. I think it’s a pretty good trade off.

It’s not always easy to keep my life eating-disorder-free, but I’ll never quit trying.

In conclusion, and since I am out of words, I’ll leave you with with the following text-versation between myself and My Gazelle. It pretty much sums up the way I feel about this momentous occasion.

And with that, I must go find a cupcake.

It’s been a long time since I’ve confessed anything to you guys, so it’s only right that I make today’s post a confession.  Also, since I didn’t have time to make any cupcakes this week, I needed something to distract you with.

Did I mention that we’re leaving tomorrow at the crack of dawn to drive to Myrtle Beach for the Bi-Lo 1/2 Marathon?  That’s 8 fine hours of driving, with two men in the car who will likely decide when we get to stop and pee. Needless to say, I’m bringing a fully-charged iPad, and I’m not drinking any fluids tonight after 7PM.

Moving along.

I joined Weight Watchers 3 weeks ago.

I did it because I basically want to be Jennifer Hudson.

I admit it.  I’m impressionable, and I’m always a sucker for a good marketing ploy.  I ate kombucha.  I begged my Mom for Cabbage Patch Kids.  Heck…everything I do is probably the result of something else that I saw someone else do.  I’m human. That’s kind of how we humans operate, even if we don’t want to admit it.

But I didn’t even put up a fight on this one. Jennifer Hudson is an amazing spokesperson for Weight Watchers.  She looks vibrant.  Happy.  Rejuvenated.  Sexy.  Comfortable in her skin.  I want that.

I’m no stranger to Weight Watchers.  I jumped on board back in my days of ‘binge, purge, binge, starve, diet, repeat’, when the program was slightly different.  I also did Richard Simmons’ Deal-A-Meal (yes, that’s a confession within a confession), The Zone Diet, The South Beach Diet, Atkins, The Grapefruit Diet, the Mayo Clinic Diet…shall I go on?

I’ve tried them all.

So what, right?  Everyone is on a diet, right?  What makes this such a confession for me is because I am the self-proclaimed diet hater.  Diet Schmiet.  I swore off diets entirely after I “graduated” from treatment for my eating disorder.  I was a staunch intuitive-eater with a negative perspective on how and why people go on “diets”.

Here’s the thing though…over the past 2 years, I’ve likely put on and taken off the same 10-15 pounds at least 6 times.  It’s kind of like my “normal”.  Gain it, lose it, gain it again. One of my friends mentioned a few months ago that she couldn’t believe how “easy” it is for me to fluctuate so much with my weight.  It was kind of a rude awakening, but she was right.

The ever-increasing discomfort I experienced while wearing my favorite pair of jeans was the proof.

Admittedly, I put on some weight while we were dealing with our loss at the end of last year.  I had a much more difficult time coping with that scenario than I originally thought I would.  I guess we never know how we’ll handle a situation until we’re thrown in it.  It was just easier to resort back to my old coping methods than to figure out how to get through the pain.

Up until recently, I wasn’t really even working out regularly.  I was just ‘getting by’ with the training runs that I needed in order to be prepared for my race this weekend.  I knew that I needed to make a change, I just couldn’t find the will to do it.  I knew that losing weight wouldn’t make all of my “problems” go away, but I did know that it would help me get into the right frame of mind to get my mojo back.

And then Jennifer Hudson spoke to me.

“Lighter and liberated”?!

Yes, please.

I toyed around with the idea of going on a “diet” for the past few months. I knew that all I needed to really do is revisit my intuitive eating skills, but honestly…it’s difficult. It’s difficult to listen, and it’s difficult to honor yourself when eating intuitively. It’s difficult to stop eating when you know you should, since your brain is screaming at you to keep on chugging.

I needed something a little more structured. After doing some research about Weight Watchers new PointsPlus plan, I felt like it was something that I could get on board with. I’d still be eating the foods that I want to eat, but I’d be eating them a little more mindfully, keeping the appropriate portions in mind.

Structure. The very thing that I ran away from a few years ago was the thing I ran towards in this case (much faster than I could ever run in real life, of course).

So, for right now, at this moment, Weight Watchers feels right. I’m not restricting. I’m not binging or purging. I’m eating the foods I want, in reasonable portions, and I’m enjoying it. It’s working for me. My initial fear about going on a “diet” (and the reason I put this decision off) was because I didn’t want to become obsessed with dieting again. I just don’t have the time or energy for that.

I clearly have other things to obsess about right now.

So, what do you think? Am I a sell-out because I’m on a “diet” now?

Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of Mish’s original Exposed post.  Please go read the story about Exposed in Mish’s words, because she does a much better job of explaining it than I ever could.

Last year, I followed along with all of the “Exposed” posts as they turned up on various websites.  They were so inspiring!  All of these wonderful people were posting pictures of themselves.  Believing in themselves.  Finding peace in the fact that their bodies were exactly as they were supposed to be, and that their value and self-worth was not based on an extra crevice, dent, or roll.  People were publicly acknowledging that the value of their lives were worth so much more than the aesthetics of their body.

I watched, I read, and I constantly envied everyone for their courage, but there was NO WAY IN HAIL that I was posting a picture of myself on the blog with my stomach exposed in any fashion, much less posting pictures of myself completely naked, as some were brave enough to do.  I was jealous that even after I had  been through 2 years of treatment for my eating disorder, and done countless exercises to build my self-worth and esteem, that I still couldn’t comfortably wear a bikini.

As I read all of those initial Exposed posts, I owned the fact that my body was not perfect, and that I’ve lived my entire life striving to “lose those extra 10 pounds” (like the womens magazines constantly tell us that we need to do).

Then, one day in February, I stopped.  I thought.  I tried on some bikinis.  I took some pictures.  I posted them on the blog…

And proceeded to tell you that “I’m pretty fu@k!ng awesome.  Back fat and all.”

Even though the Exposed movement is a year old, it hasn’t quite been a year for me since I posted those pictures.  However, I am insightful enough to realize that I have a different perspective on things than I did 8 months ago.  Have a I “lost those extra 10 pounds”?  Nope.  Do I care?  Nope.

In fact, at my last doctor’s appointment, I had gained 8 pounds.

I was also six weeks pregnant.

Bloated.

Confused.

Scared.

Waiting to have a sonogram completed so that I could see my empty womb.

Tortured.

I didn’t care about what that scale said on that day.  I was only concerned about my health, praying that I had a viable baby inside of that belly that I have spent my life hating, and wishing that life wasn’t so difficult sometimes.  The number on the scale didn’t phase me at all on that day.

Eight months ago, I was worried about my back fat.  Today (although my back fat and I are still not besties), I know that everything else in my life is so much more important.  My body is just the thing that holds all of the wonderful stuff that I’m made of.  I’m made of love and compassion and kindness.  It just doesn’t matter if my belly hangs a little more than I’d like it to, or if my bra leaves lines on my back.

There are more important things in my life.

Eight months later and eight pounds heavier, my life is eight million times richer.  My love is stronger, my friendships are more beautiful, and my life is more complete.

So, that makes me like eighty billion times more fu@k!ng awesome.  Back fat and all.

I was so happy to see that everyone loved my post last week about CSA’s. I’m also happy that I was able to encourage some of you to start researching CSA’s in your own area!

Today, I’m feeling kind of introspective. I’m in that “hungry” place again. I’ve been trying to figure out where this “hunger” is coming from…what I’m trying to feed. What am I feeding–my belly, my soul, my mind…what?

Hungry.

I’m hungry.

Of course sometimes I’m feeding my belly. I know how I feel when I’m hungry. I get HANGRY. I become faint, lightheaded, uncaring, unmotivated. Hangry.

However, I haven’t been genuinely hungry too often lately. Truthfully, I’ve had more feelings of uncomfortable fullness lately than I have had of hunger. You know that feeling when you eat too much, too late, too heavy, and you roll out of bed the next morning feeling like you’ve already eaten breakfast?

That’s been me. Full. FANGRY.

What am I feeding?

In light of counting calories lately, I tend to lean on this factor as a reason for why I’m overfeeding myself. Am I rebelling against calorie counting? Have I put myself into a ‘diet mentality’, simply by keeping track of what I’m eating? I’m definitely not restricting (see aforementioned “FANGRY” reference), and I’m logging everything I eat. However, I do notice that logging everything I eat is causing me to feel a twinge of guilt about the “bad” things that I put in my mouth.

I thought that “Bad” was a word that I learned to disassociate from food.

I haven’t been shamelessly partaking in my beloved cinnamon bears on occasion like I did before. I still eat them, but it’s not as fun anymore.

But, who am I kidding…it’s been a long time since I’ve subscribed to the words “on occasion” and “in moderation” when it comes to food. At some point along this 4-year-old intuitive eating journey of mine, I’ve regained (part of) my “all or nothing” mentality.

Well…I already have this (insert “bad” food here) in the house, I might as well just finish it now so that I can save myself from it tomorrow!

What?

Who am I?

At what point did this evil-twin-disordered-eater of mine move back in? I was reformed! I was healed! I had it all figured out!

Guess what?

I don’t.

(cue shoulder shrug from this girl)

I don’t know what the answer is, but I do know that there is no magic cure for disordered eating. In reminiscing back to the point in my existence when I felt the most “whole” or “healed”, I am transported to some time around the third month of my treatment.

I was aglow with the newness of health. That stabbing pain in my rib was gone. I was healthy. I had good hair. I had come to terms with the fact that my marriage was a sham, and I was moving on. I was in control of my life.

I had lost 8 pounds.

I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t happy about losing those 8 pounds. I would be lying if I told you that it didn’t make me feel prettier, more likable, and like more of a ‘complete package’.

I would also be lying if I said that I had TRIED to lose those 8 pounds. I didn’t. I was eating well. I was working out a reasonable amount. It is no surprise that in terms of my size at that time, a loss of 8 pounds was not excessive, and I would venture to say that it was probably my ideal place. I felt and looked good, and I was not constantly hungry (mentally or physically).

The aforementioned judgment regarding my “ideal place” has nothing to do with the number on the scale. I was treating myself well. I was feeding myself the amount of food that my body needed.

It was at that point in my treatment that I realized that all of my years spent cyclically starving myself, then binging and purging until my heart fluttered and my fingers went numb were a complete waste of time. I would lose weight when (and if) I felt that I deserved it.

After all, I had just lost 8 pounds on accident, right?

Today?

I can’t remember what that feels like.

I know that when I’m being mindful and intuitive, my body will lead me to where it should be. Maybe that doesn’t equate to an 8 pound weight loss at this point in my life (or any weight loss at all), but it will certainly lead to less “hunger”.

I need to get back to that place, for the sake of (and in spite of) myself.

So, if you’ve been reading along with JL for a while, you’ve probably noticed that things have become a little funny lately. I’m talking about a lot of non-sweaty stuff, and I’ve been boring you with a lot of kitchen and home remodeling garbage.

I’d like to say that I’m sorry for all of this nonsense, but I am really just telling you about the things that are important to me right now. As in…Jogger’s LIFE. The LIFE portion is what has been consuming me lately. Consuming me a lot. Less JOGGER, more LIFE.

In times of stress, I am very much on autopilot. I roll along with my life, I don’t make the best choices for my body, and I just live in a state of “let’s do what we have to do to get to where we need to be.” I’m an expert at this. I am a woman of action, and I want things done…done now. And, if I want things done, I do them myself.

Then, I just become a bitter (and exhausted) shell of my former self.

I’ve had many thoughts brewing lately in terms of eating and life, and how my anxiety and stress level correlates directly to how much I’m listening to my body and giving it what it needs. I’ve had a few conversations over the past week with My Gazelle about how I just haven’t been “listening”. My words:

I just can’t HEAR when it’s so loud in there!

[Wherein 'hear' is listening to my body, and 'in there' is my anxiety-ridden head.]

There is so much chatter in there that I just can’t hear myself think. It feels like the days when I’m alone in the house on a Sunday afternoon cleaning and such, and before I know it, I’ve turned on every noise inducing electronic within earshot. My iPod, 3 TV’s, the clock radio, and a 12 year old African Grey parrot are all chattering loudly. The icing on the cake is that by the time that I notice the chaos, one of the TV’s is now rebroadcasting a football game from 1988.

Ooh, football. My faaavorite.

Too much noise!

I have to physically slow down, think, eat, breathe. Breathe…listen…relax. It’s not as difficult as I think it is, but I have to make myself do it. I’m high strung. I always have a plan. I always have a goal.

Must keep going!

As much as I have always been a proponent of intuitive eating and NOT calorie counting weighing and measuring, I must confess that I started logging my food on Livestrong (Daily Plate) again. Each time I resort back to this method of sanity, I feel like a little bit of a sham. I feel like all of the people who I have encouraged to eat intuitively and who are learning about and following this path will feel like IE just does not work.

I’ve resorted back to calorie counting, but I don’t see myself as an intuitive eating failure.

I have been keeping track of my calories for about a week and a half, and something miraculous has happened. I’ve started listening again. I’ve started to remember what “hungry” and “full” are, and I’m starting to obey those feelings rather than ignoring them. Whereas some people stop calorie counting and then realize for the first time that they can “hear” the things that their body is telling them, I’ve already been through that amazing process. At this point, I am just reminding myself through calorie counting that intuitive eating is possible.

Is this a long term plan? Nope. I just need to know that I am paying attention. Slowing down. Breathing.

This brings me to my next point. I’m officially changing my stance on calorie counting. I’ve started to realize that in this instance, in my case, counting calories right now is a great help to me. It’s reminding me that just because I CAN eat a piece of cake if I want it, doesn’t mean that it has to be the biggest piece of cake available.

I’m reminded about how much portions matter. Having “just a taste” of something does satisfy sometimes.

I’ve also been reminded that if I have a huge lunch, it probably means that balancing the day with a light dinner is the best choice. When I was active in treatment for my eating disorder, it wasn’t uncommon for me to turn something that I would normally consider a snack into a full-fledged (balanced) dinner. Or vice versa. These are things that I ‘forgot’ for a while because it got too noisy.

When my clothes start to get tight, and I’m surprised by photos of myself, I’m just not listening.

It appears as though I just needed a reminder. I had to get back to my Intuitive Eating roots, but it’s too noisy in ‘here’ to listen right now. Rather than using the act of counting my calories as an end-all-be-all and becoming obsessed, I’m using it as more of a tool. I’m not depriving myself of any foods, I’m just adjusting my portions accordingly. Quality, not quantity.

Long term plan? Nope…probably not.

Short term solution? Yep…for now.

Although I don’t like to admit it, I’m a bit of a baby. I vividly recall that my dad would calm me as a child by rocking me in the wooden rocking chair in the corner of my parents bedroom. I have no idea where that chair came from, or where it went (since I haven’t seen it in decades), but being rocked by my father in that chair was exactly what I needed when I was feeling scared, alone and overwhelmed.

As an adult, I can’t really ask my dad to rock me until all of the worries go away, so I’m left to my own devices. The anxiety of the world takes me over sometimes. My head swirls with every possible crisis scenario. I can’t sleep. Albeit unconsciously, I convince myself that the only way to get rid of the head swirl is to fill my body with unhealthy food.

More unhealthy food.

More unhealthy food.

Stuff it down.

Weigh down all of those scary thoughts so that they suffocate and die.

So that I can sleep.

So that I can feel like myself again.

…I take on too much!

There, I said it!

I sign up and register and obligate and respond and enroll and say “YES!” to more things than I can humanly complete to my best ability. I can half-ass many things at a time, but I can only do a few things at a time really well. This is a lesson that I will hopefully learn soon.

Last week, Jen did a post that really hit home for me. In that post, she said,

And so the realization hits me hard: I fill my life with goals to distract myself from being present. Because if I’m working toward a “goal,” I can be swept up in that task. And not deal.

Gulp.

This is me. Career goals. Fitness goals. Weight goals. Life goals. Goals. Goals. Goals. I have so many goals that sometimes I can’t even organize all of the goals in my brain. My life has always been about goals. I was searching for colleges at the age of 16…with the goal of escaping small-town-America. After college, my goal was to find a job to pay off the credit card debt that I racked up while I was in college.

Find a husband. Earn my bachelor’s degree and become a career woman. Start a family. Treatment for my eating disorder…leaving my husband…being happy…running a 15K…learning how to love…running a half marathon…running a marathon…being a better sister, daughter, and aunt…doing a triathlon…planning a wedding…starting a family…earning my master’s degree…starting my own business…moving closer to my family (ironic, since my original goal was to move away from my family)…and on, and on, and on…

I honestly believe that life is all about setting goals. We have to set clear and specific goals in order to continuously strive to become a better version of ourselves. The problem is that when I take on too many goals at one time, I shut down.

I withdraw.

I yell at My Gazelle for “not listening”, when he clearly does listen.

I have panic attacks when I’m supposed to be sleeping.

I cry at midnight.

I quietly declare,

“It’s just too much. Too much.”

And then,

“Squeeze me.”

He does, but it’s not hard enough. Sometimes the only way for me to feel real again is to be squeezed harder than even feels comfortable. It’s not like being rocked by my dad, but it’s just as calming. I need to be squeezed hard enough for all of the head swirling to go away. A strong hug brings me back into myself. Back to reality. Back from that ‘outside looking in’ feeling. Away from the anxiety and fear.

So that I can sleep.

I’m scared about my triathlon. I’m overwhelmed with the preparation. I don’t know if I can swim that far in only an hour. I’m afraid that my wetsuit won’t fit. Last night, I was obsessing about what I would wear under the wetsuit (I’ve since solved this mental dilemma). What if my bike breaks? What if I fall off my bike? I’m afraid that I will have to walk the entire run. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to finish in the 4.5 hours that are allowed.

I have 2 projects and 2 tests due for one of my classes, and I haven’t even BEGUN the other class. There are only 3 weeks left in my semester.

I have a 15K on July 10th, and my longest run in the past 3 months has been 5 miles (2 months ago). I will have 2 weeks to prepare for this race after my tri is over on Sunday.

Strangely, I’m not worried at all about the IronGirl in August. My sister will be there to help. My sister calms me.

I don’t know how the triathlon is going to go on Sunday. I’m hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. If nothing else, this triathlon will be my crash course in doing a triathlon (or what NOT to do in a triathlon). Maybe it will go well, maybe it won’t. However, I will definitely learn a lot through the process.

I’m honestly looking forward to a point in my life where I’m not firing on all cylinders at once. I want to slow things down, enjoy my life, and just focus on the things that are really important: family, fun, love. When my mind is overwhelmed with too many goals, everything suffers. I eat too much, I cry too much, I am too grumpy, and I am not on top of things at my big girl job. I am just not myself.

That’s not fair to myself or to the people who love me.

After my races are over, there will be changes. Changes for the better.

And I’m buying a rocking chair.

I told you yesterday about how I fell off my bike again, but what I didn’t tell you is that since that day when I fell off my bike, I hadn’t done anything even remotely athletic.  In approximately a week.  Unless walking around my neighborhood street festival for an hour last Saturday counts.  But it doesn’t.

Why, you ask?

Because I didn’t feel like it.

The short and long of it is that the past 2 weeks in my life have been kind of emotionally crappy.  One of my recent blog posts on HBH resulted in an excessive amount of ‘blog life spilling into real life’.  Despite the fact that my intended audience for that post was healthy living bloggers, the post elicited many opinions and concerns from my real-life loved ones, and each of them was angry/pissed/concerned for a completely different reason…and none of their concerns had anything at all to do with healthy living.  Or blogging.

Anonymous comments from people online and personal attacks from former-friends-turned-haters is one thing.  I honestly am not affected by that.  However, when my real friends and family are upset with me, it affects me to the core.  I don’t cope well, and I have to fix it.  Despite my uncanny (and usually unintentional) ability to create controversy and conflict in my real life, I hate it.  I am a peacekeeper at heart, and as soon as I realize that I’ve screwed up, I can usually man up.

But I might hang up on you a few times first…so be patient.

My plans last weekend were ruined because of words that I used in that post on HBH, and it really bothered me.  Really, really bothered me.  I didn’t mean to hurt my loved ones’ feelings through the content of that post, and for that I was very apologetic.  I can’t say that I regret anything that I wrote, because I stand behind the theme and content of the post.  However, it wasn’t the theme that concerned them.  It was the details that were hurtful.  I can definitely say that I will be more sensitive to this fact before hitting “publish” from now on.  This sensitivity won’t stop me from stating my opinions, but it will definitely stop me from being offensive to my family and loved ones (albeit unintentional).

In the aftermath of all of this unintentional conflict, I felt emotionally drained.  In the 3 weeks prior, I had also been working 12-14 hour days and some weekends.  Coupled with the blog spillage, it was more than my psyche could handle.  The only thing I wanted to do for most of last week and the entire weekend was sit on the futon in front of the TV.

In the past, I would’ve enjoyed my time in front of the TV with multiple snacks, and many trips to the kitchen.  This time, I didn’t.  I ate my normal meals. Snacks. When I was hungry. Without reckless abandon. I was confused. WHY wasn’t I binging?!

I finally dragged myself out of the house on Sunday to study for a few hours, and then Restaurant Boy met me at Starbucks to chat it out.  He’s the best girlfriend that I’ve never had.

I told him that I noticed I wasn’t having the urge to binge.

Geo, I am not sure how to cope.  I used to binge when things like this happened.  Now, I don’t even have THAT!

The fact is that life after recovering from disordered eating causes me to constantly step outside of the box.  Don’t get me wrong…I have definitely used food in the past 4 years since entering treatment for reasons other than nourishment.  I’ve used it to calm myself, relieve stress, fight loneliness, to avoid responsibilities and make me less bored.  Although it has been less frequent, I’ve done it.  However, I can only recall being this upset over something once in the past 4 years, and that was my Grandpa’s death in 2008.

I still keep him close...

But despite the fact that I felt really emotionally damaged, I didn’t binge. I even wanted to binge…but only because it felt like that’s what I “should’ve” done, since that’s what I always did before.  Even before I began binging and purging at 15, I binged.  I would sit in front of the TV as a child and eat an entire bag of potato chips.  I recall loving the feeling of the chewed chips in my mouth.

I almost didn’t type that because it felt creepy, but hey…this is a confessional, right?

I don’t know why I didn’t binge.  I guess I just didn’t feel like it.  I felt like wallowing.  So I wallowed.

For a week.

Yesterday, I made myself snap out of it.  I made myself go to the gym.  Not honoring my body was not going to help me feel better about anything I wrote or said or did, and treating myself badly certainly wasn’t going to take anything back. I finally made it to the gym last night.

And I did an impromptu mini-triathlon (30 minute swim, 30 minute bike, 1 mile run).  By myself.  Because I couldn’t wallow any more.

The most difficult part about the entire process?

Putting a sports bra on when I was fresh out of the pool.  Can someone please explain to me how this is possible?  I nearly injured myself getting the damn thing on.  I was about one dislocated shoulder away from asking a complete stranger for help.

Now THAT would’ve been a good story…

I wasn’t really ready to tell you this, but I was inspired last night by Heather’s bravery in talking about her secrets.

Last week, I started counting calories again.

Not obsessive, all encompassing, life-sucking calorie counting. More like “let’s see what’s really going on up in hizzle” calorie counting. I needed to take a hard and fast look at what I was putting in my mouth, because the reality of the situation is that even this self-professed intuitive eater loses sight of intuition from time to time.

In all truthfulness, I’m a stress eater. I’ve been working a lot of unreasonable hours at my big girl job, and it’s starting to weigh on me (no pun originally intended, but I’ll take it). We’re not talking a 20 pound weight gain here, but I know when my clothes start to get tight; and I know when I’m eating too much.

I didn’t shame myself into counting calories as a result of my visit to the doctor’s office last week, but the truth is that in the aftermath of that appointment, I thought about a lot of things. Although my weight was not incredibly intimidating to me, it did make me take a look at the big picture and realize that I haven’t been putting much thought or planning into my food lately.

Working long hours means that I don’t have the time or energy to cook. I can’t say that I’ve been eating fast food or anything crazy like that, but lack of sleep makes me crave sugar like a mofo. I’ve definitely had my fair share of coconut milk ice cream and chocolate covered cherries, and I’ve probably gone out to lunch more times in the past month than was beneficial for my health.

But I really don’t feel bad about it. I’m not guilty or ashamed of myself. That’s not why I decided to start tracking my food on LiveStrong (formerly Daily Plate). I did it because I think that it’s easy to lose sight of the ultimate goal sometimes. For someone who has a history of overeating and making poor food choices, it’s good to take a look at what I’m putting into my body at times like these. I know that stress is a huge (major) trigger for me and my eating disorder.

At the heart of my former eating disorder was a compulsive over-eater. Although I can’t remember my eating history prior to around the age of eight, my intuition tells me that my eating disorder began as compulsive overeating. My childhood was tumultuous, and food soothed me. I ate to make myself feel better. The resulting bulimia and tendency to starve myself came much later, when I was more aware of my body and more aware of the taunts from other children.

Right now, I’m taking a look at what I’m eating. Even if I only use this method of keeping track of my food until I’ve made it through the remainder of my busy season at work, I feel like this is a positive measure for my health both mentally and physically. It’s possible that I’m just using this as a crutch, but at the moment, I feel like it’s the only way that I’m going to do what is best for my body at a time when my mind is on overload and can’t be intuitive on its’ own.

So, there ya have it. The intuitive eater has gone awry. I don’t feel like a failure. I’m not ashamed.

And I’m doing what is best for me right now.