Thursday, August 30, 2012
Yesterday was a perfect storm for stress eating.
My husband has been out of town all week. The kids are still adjusting to the school year -- my oldest doesn't want to do math the way the teacher wants him to do it, and his Asperger's makes this an emotional thing. Tears during homework, yay. My daughter is doing great so far, but my youngest is dealing with a bully at school.
Already. In first grade.
I'm sick about it. E is bright and good looking and friendly, and he doesn't think this is a huge deal, but I do. Because I don't have that rational, grown up approach that you're supposed to have when your kids come to you with something like this. I don't even know what the correct response might be. I want to cry and rage and tell off his parents -- which I know I can't, so I a close second would be eating bagels until I feel better.
But. Last night, I decided I wasn't going to eat my problems. I was going to feel all of those icky, helpless, hurt feelings instead.
And wow. Not fun. I felt weepy and cranky and guilty and useless. And sleep helped some, but not all the way.
But you know what? I didn't eat 10 bagels last night. In fact, I didn't eat any bagels. I stayed on program and I'm going to stay on program today. And I'm just going to feel this until it gets better -- which, hey, it always does.