Thursday, August 16, 2012
At 46 I didn't think that there were really any great personal revelations left for me.
At 47, I can't believe how ignorant I was about my own self just a few months ago.
I firmly believed that I ate massive amounts of unhealthy foods to the point of purging, because I just *really* loved food. No really. That was the only reason. Sure, sure - "other" people eat because they're sad/lonely/unwell, but me, I'm fine, just really into gourmet binging...like on a zen level.
What was I afraid of? Why couldn't I admit that there was more to my obesity than just an overactive palate? Maybe it was the fear of being labeled as mentally ill, maybe it was wanting to be the only obese and special snowflake who ate because food was just so darned yummy. I just don't have the answers as to why I did what I did, or why on earth I rationalized it the way I did. Freud was very into the "why" of it all, but for me that would mean dwelling on and in the past. I would so much rather dance in the present.
In the here and now, I've lost 25 pounds by utilizing every tool at my disposal - Sparkpeople, family and friends, as well as an insightful therapist who specializes in (gasp!) eating disorders. It turns out that by opening my eyes and realizing that I am ill, that healthy people don't eat themselves to death just because grilled chevre sammies are delish, that I have a fighting chance of beating this. More than a fighting chance.
At 47 I am learning how to start over. I am learning to be aware of myself, and right now that means tracking everything that goes into my body, and every bit of exercise I do. I was knocked out last week by a colon infection and I found myself MISSING EXERCISE. Absolutely unheard of in my existence, as I was previously high priestess of the sloth people. I may be only at the beginning of my journey towards health, but I'm not worried - I'm headed in the right direction, and I am in excellent company!