Weighty Matters

Although I’ve been on a great streak for the last six months, I still battle old habits, patterns and thought processes.  These struggles happen to some degree almost every day.  There are days when I want to retreat into old eating behaviors virtually all day long.  Granted, I really can’t binge, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to deep six the more protein/low carb/low fat/ low sugar meal choices and eat greasy fried foods and a pint of ice cream.

This is particularly scary because if I took my time over several hours, I could eventually consume a pint of ice cream.

I’m making great progress on my plan to increase my exercise.  However, while I want to exercise on some level, the part of me that grew accustomed to sloth and laziness as an super obese person would also be perfectly content to curl up in the recliner with a book and do nothing.

I have internal conversations with myself all of the time.   This happened a lot today.

Ever since successfully doing a regular Zumba class on Saturday, I said I would go to another class today.  I was looking forward to it, really!   Earlier in the afternoon, I was out with teammates on a manatee release.   When we finally got back to work we needed to isolate some of the video clips and send them to the news bureau.  I needed to select the best photos from those I’d taken and get them approved so I could help spread the news.  On a normal day I would have left work around 4:30, which would give me plenty of time to get home to let out my dogs and feed them, change into workout clothes, and arrive at Zumba in time for the 5:30 class.  Instead, I didn’t get out of work until close to 5:00 so I was rushed.

On the entire drive home I debated and made excuses in my head.  I’d never make it in time.  I’d been on my feet and rushing around a lot already.  I could swim in the pool instead.  I didn’t want to arrive late for the class, etc. etc. etc.  I pretty much talked myself into going home and staying in for the rest of the evening.   Luckily, I recognized this as a past habit of finding perfectly good excuses and rationalizations for not exercising.

I passed the Zumba place and timed how long it took me to get from there to my house.  The clock told me that I could accomplish what I needed to do and still get to class on time.  That’s exactly what I did.   When the class finished an hour later I was proud of myself.  Not only had I successfully done Zumba again, but I’d confronted an old behavior pattern and triumphed.

That set me up for the evening’s second challenge.  I’d worked out with every bit of effort and energy I could muster.  Believe me, I don’t coast in these classes!  Didn’t this mean that I deserved a reward?  Something like a bag of M&Ms or a rich, gooey Milky Way bar?

I absolutely believe it’s important to reward myself for following my food plan and exercising.  However, it’s equally important to find rewards that don’t negate the positive efforts I’ve put forth.  Again I almost had myself convnced was really craving a chocolate bar on the way home.  I made a deal with myself.  I needed to first get some protein into my body for dinner.  I decided that if I still truly wanted some chocolate for dessert I would run down to the store on the corner.

By the time I got home five minutes later and heated up a small hamburger patty, my appetite for food had diminished.  I took my time because I really needed the protein to meet my nutritional goals for the day.   I resisted the urge to break off most of the meat and share it with my dogs.  Eating slowly, I finished the patty and a small serving of vegetables.  I had no desire for anything else at that point.

A couple of hours later, I felt a twinge of “want chocolate” return.   However, I didn’t want it enough to change out of my sleepwear and go to the store.  Instead, I grabbed my jar of PB2 with Premium Chocolate — a product of dehydrated peanut powder and cocoa — and mixed up a couple of tablespoons with water for a snack.

As a comparison — 39 grams of peanut M&Ms have 200 calories, over 90 of which are fat calories.   They also have about 24 grams of carbs, over 19 grams of sugar and less than 4 grams of protein.

A two tablespoon serving of PB2 with chocolate has 45 calories, 10 of which are from fat.  There are 6 grams of carbs, 3 grams of sugar and 4 grams of protein.  It’s a great, still yummy, alternative.

If I wanted to keep score for the day, I’d give myself two marks and my brain’s old behavior patterns a big zero!  I’m pretty pleased with the results today and will do my best to build on them tomorrow and the next day, and every day after.

This doesn’t mean that, as God as my witness, I’ll never eat M&Ms again.  When I do, however, I want the treat to be a positive, conscious choice.  I don’t want to indulge because I fell back into an old pattern.  So whenever necessary, I’ll continue to battle my own brain.

Almost 20 years ago, I was very involved in OA.  I worked a strong program with three or four meetings a week.  I abstained from compulsive overeating and binging for months at a time.  Without following a popular diet, I dropped 50 or more pounds.

Even more than working the 12 steps, I believed in them.  They lived in me and provided an excellent guideline for my daily choices.  In those days, I honestly believed that I could and would achieve long term success and remake my life into something far healthier physically, emotionally and mentally.

Not that maintaining abstinence is ever easy, but a program friend at the time struggled constantly and despite hard work and effort, never achieved abstinence for any significant amount of time.  I remember clearly the day she told me she was looking into having gastric bypass surgery.  I was dismayed!  I feared for her and, even more, felt badly that it seemed like she was giving up on herself.

A few years later, another friend made the same decision.  I had a pretty similar reaction.

I’ve said before that I resisted even considering having surgery myself for years and years.  Right now I can’t help but wonder how much of that was legitimate fear and how much was me comfortably living in denial.    I was talking to a friend tonight who lives the struggle daily with food and overeating.  She understands all the issues.  I shared with her that a year ago, I was broken down and as low as I’ve ever been about my obesity.   Even last year when I had my defining moment and decided to investigate bariatric surgery for myself, I felt like the moment came from weakness.  I don’t have word-for-word memory of what my friend said, but the gist was that it’s time to think about this choice differently.

She’s right.

It’s only in hindsight that I see the difference.  Making the decision, commiting to the plan of action, and all the many things that come with that action plan, aren’t acts of weakness, they’re examples of strength.   It’s kind of funny that it’s taken so long for me to truly internalize this realization.  Once I made the decision and started the process of consulting with the surgeon, doing all of the evaluations, talking to people about it, I never felt weak.  I felt stronger and rejuvenated.  The positive action changed everything.   The changes still happen on an almost daily basis.

To be honest, whenever I’ve been with someone suffering a different disease, I had reacted differently than I did with my program friends.  When my mother’s relapse took her so far down that she couldn’t get back to sobriety without going to rehab, I told her she was making a strong choice for her own well being.  I dated a man with bi-polar disorder.  He had a hard time accepting that he needed professional treatment and that the therapist and team were allies to his recovery.  I would never, ever have thought that Mom or my ex seeking treatment indicated that they were weak.

With my friends, however,  I reacted out of my own fears.  I didn’t understand that they weren’t “giving in” or caving.  They were choosing what they needed.  Their choices took guts.   I wish I could go back and contact those friends from long ago. I owe them amends.  I don’t know how to reach them, unfortunately.

At least for today I can acknowledge that I was wrong and that I definitely see things differently now.  I’m really glad that I’m acknowledging the strength in myself, too.

Today didn’t shine for me the way that my work days often do.  I’m in the enviable position of really loving my job, the organization that employs me, and the people with whom I work.  This does not mean that every single day is going to be magnificent.   Today turned out to be a “dust” day, even though it started out in good shape.

I discovered an error.  Although I didn’t make the initial error, it was connected to something that I was responsible for checking and I missed it, plain and simple.  Unfortunately, mistakes are rarely plain and simply in my world.  .   I  believe in owning my own shit and taking responsibility for screw ups.  Those are good practices.  So, today, I discovered the goof, researched the solution, found that it wouldn’t be too costly a mistake and admitted it to my bosses.   I am extremely hard on myself, often harder than anybody else is on me. True to form, they were accepted the error and the solution and brainstormed with me on how this might have happened and what we needed to do to prevent a repeat.  Then, in different words, they pretty much told me to unclench my stomach and not beat myself up about it.

A little later on a completely different subject, I misspoke a point, totally saying something that came out wrong which resulted in someone else taking something personally.  We immediately addressed it and when I apologized again, the other person said that it was okay, we’d worked through it and cleared it up.  Whew.

In between these issues, the phone simply didn’t let up with internal and external phone calls.  Some of these brought new, interesting, potentially great things into the mix; others ranged from annoying to downright wacky.  By  3 p.m. I wanted chocolate.  By the end of the day I was wiped.

In the interest of full disclosure, a buddy had a small peppermint patty.  I gave myself permission to have it and savored every bit of this small bite.  I did not go back for seconds or thirds or go hunt up other things to eat on top of the single tiny treat.

On the drive home, my spirit was blah and I really wanted to feel better.  I started to reflect that my old M.O. would be to bury the blues in binge foods like pizza and ice cream.  In the old days, those first bites always lifted the mood, but by the time I was done, I was just numb and not feeling anything — blah, better or otherwise.

My point, and I do have one, is that comforting or coddling myself with food is no longer an option but living a happier, healthier life does not guarantee that dust days won’t happen.  I worked it all out in my head before I got home.  I’d fixed what could be fixed and if that was good enough for everyone else, it damn well should be good enough for me.  I made a conscious decision to let go of the ick and embrace a positive action that didn’t include food and overeating.

I walked in the door and greeted my dogs, then quickly changed into a swimsuit.  I grabbed my iPod nano and opted for the pool.  (It’s the first evening in a week that isn’t completely stormy.  The sun was even partially out.)  Jogging and doing other exercises in the water while Springsteen rocks Thunder Road, Adele belts out Rolling in the Deep, and Dolly Parton chirrups an unlikely, bluegrassy, uptempo version of Time for Me to Fly,  is a great way to lift a bum mood.

After about 40 minutes, I fed the dogs, showered off, and then fed myself a small, simple, tasty meal.   I’m in a much, much better place this evening than I was a few hours ago and I did it all without plowing into vast quantities of food.

Today is shining up to be more like a diamond after all!

******** Edited to Add *********

All evening while I busied myself with a few projects, I continued to think about this day.  I finally decided that I didn’t make my point as solidly as I’d like.  For me a day like today brings forth a lot of lessons.  I know these things but often need reminding when I’m in the middle of things.  (This reminds me of an old saying that when you’re up to your ass in alligators, it’s tough to remember that your objective was to clean the swamp.)  Lesson one: Keep things in perspective.  I made a mistake.  This mistake did not result in the destruction of my company or trigger a war somewhere.  Lesson two: (I actually followed this one.)  If someone mistakes your meaning, correct the misinterpretation as soon as possible.  Lesson three:  Mistakes or misinterpretations — when you do what you can to fix things, remember the lesson and then Let. It. Go.  Lesson four: No matter what, eating over the difficulties is not an option.

That last bit is the big thing that I need to constantly reinforce in myself as I continue to recover.  Overeating was always a coping mechanism.  It wasn’t a healthy one, but it filled a need in its own dysfunctional way.   I need to be aware of when I’d like to reach for the old familiar method of coping and pick something else instead.  Today I swam and exercised instead.  Tomorrow, if circumstances warrant, I might use some other way or thing to cope.  Having several healthy coping options can only be good!

A good friend shared something with me earlier that gave me flashbacks to early years of being a heavy child, adolescent, teenager, etc.  My poor parents.  In addition to the concern they felt over my weight, the mix of love and worry, I must have frustrated the hell out of them.  I’m sure they felt hopeless when nothing they said, did or tried worked.  I don’t blame them because, loving me like they did, they wanted to do anything that they could to get me to lose weight.  Nothing got through.  Not logic and reason mingled with fear — like when they explained how restricted my life would be if I developed diabetes.

Cajoling and bribery didn’t work either.   When I was a kid, I was obsessed with horses and riding horses.  So were my closest friends.   I wanted a horse of my own more than anything.   One day my father said that if I lost 50 pounds, he’d buy me a horse.  You would think that having my heart’s deepest desire promised to me would have been enough motivation.  It didn’t even trigger an attempt.  I remember being incredibly hurt and angry that the wonder of having a horse was contingent on such a strict condition.

Very often a well-meaning attempt to motivate or push me to do something set off a similar negative reaction.  I’m not clear in my own mind why I’d react poorly to people in my life who honestly meant well and resent their attempts to help.  Looking back and trying to work it out in my head and emotions, I think all these attempts made me feel useless and ineffective as a person.   I think in my response, I was really expressing my own frustration and feelings of helplessness.  I was probably thinking, “Don’t you think I would if I could?”  Along with that was a healthy wish for people to just get off my freaking back about my weight and leave me along.

I think one of the reasons I developed my skill for sneak eating was because I hated the thought that people constantly judged what was on my plate and how much I consumed.  One night I remember an aunt offering me a piece of pie for dessert.  I asked for a small slice and then went into the kitchen to get the coffee pot.  I heard her say, “I can’t believe Mary’s going to eat that.”  In my head I answered, “Then why the f**k did you ask me if I wanted some?”  No, I never said that out loud, but I sure screamed it in my head.  I’m sure she meant well.

To great extent, I got exhausted and fed up with everyone else focusing so much relentless attention on what I was eating or what I wasn’t, etc.   I was really concerned that this would happen post weight loss surgery.  I have to say that I am pleased and grateful that most of the people I work with and my friends consistently respect my boundaries.  They know that I don’t like to announce my weight loss progress on a regular basis, so they wait for Fridays when I reveal my current weight.  I so appreciate their willingness to support me in the ways that I say I need.  This helps in so many ways.

Now that I’ve had weight loss surgery and am experiencing such terrific success and progress and greatly improving my health, I have to give kudos to all of the people in my life who have NOT said, “Too bad you didn’t do it years ago.”  There might be many who are thinking that, but to date, only one family member has said it to me.  She’s done it on the last two phone calls we’ve had.  I have a feeling she might say it in every future phone call.   I give a mental shrug and reply that everything happens in its own time.  It would not be useful or effective to try to explain to her that telling me that achieves nothing constructive.

Oooh, I just got distracted by a story on Nightline.   A new study says that one in 10 bariatric patients develop alcoholism within two years.   Fact is that we have less tolerance for alcohol.  We get drunk on less alcohol but sober up really quickly.

They’re talking about cross-addiction or addiction transference.  I hope this isn’t a surprise to anyone.  I wonder if some of the people did not realize that they were food addicts before they had weight loss surgery.  I am really vigilant about this and do not overdo alcohol usage.  I have wine very rarely and don’t overindulge.  I had a couple of drinks the weekend of my nephew’s graduation.  Most of the time when I go out to eat with friends I order water.  Even though some of what was just mentioned in this news story seems elementary and obvious to me, I’m glad they did the story.  More people need to hear that the weight loss surgery takes care of the physical situation by making it impossible to overeat, but it’s only a tool.  The really important work takes place in the head and emotions.  That aftercare is as appointment as the follow-up appointments with the surgeon who checks your body.

Okay, back to my topic.  As I wrote this and thought back to the early years, I wish that instead of supporting me through a long list of different diets, I wish my parents had consulted a therapist when I was a kid.   I don’t think anyone understood food addiction and eating disorders back then the way that they do now.  How could they figure out the most effective way to help me if I couldn’t figure out what I needed?  I didn’t know what to ask for.  I do now.  I know what I need and I can more easily express those needs.  This makes a huge difference.

I’m not going to blame myself or anyone else for my lack of success earlier over the years.  In retrospect, we all did the best that we could at the time.  Even if it didn’t work, we all meant well.

First off, some self-congratulation.  I’ve made all of my exercise commitments for the week so far!  I exercised in the pool on three evenings, moving non-stop for 40 minutes each time.  I made it to Tai Chi class last night.  What’s more, I really enjoyed all of the activity.  On Saturday we have a three hour long Tai Chi intensive which, call me crazy, I’m really looking forward to.

I didn’t write a fresh post yesterday because I’ve really been musing over my Openness post and all of the comments.  There was much to think about and the process caused some other things to drop into place and, wouldn’t you know it, triggered more questions for me to ponder.

Mostly I’ve been thinking about the Why of it all.  This is not a new exercise.  For decades I’ve wondered about the roots of my compulsive overeating and food addiction.  Going far, far back to my childhood, why did I start to use food for some other purpose than just nourishment?  Why did I first decide that food could do something more than fuel my body?  Why did overeating become necessary in my psyche?

Damned if I know.  I still can’t figure it out.  Sometimes it’s possible to point to some sort of trauma as a trigger for diseased thinking and behavior.  Physical, emotional, mental, sexual abuse.  A sudden tragedy.  Parental abandonement.  The list is long, but none of them apply to my childhood.

Through therapy and much self-study, I know I used food to cope with certain circumstances in my teens and beyond, but those things weren’t the triggers either. For example, my mother’s alcoholism didn’t evolve until I was a teenager. My overeating started when I was much younger.  Food as a coping mechanism was already in place when I needed it for new things I experienced.

I wonder if my earliest chubbiness was really just the normal stage that many, many kids go through, but instead of resolving it and growing out of the “baby fat”, the diseased food behavior developed later than I always thought.

I think it’s a safe bet that addictions run in families even if the substance changes.  My mom was a social drinker even when I was a kid, but it did not disintegrate into a problem until sometime in my teens.  Her father died a few months before I was born, but in every picture I’ve seen, he was morbidly obese.  Possibly he also suffered an overeating disorder.  Possibly the seeds were planted from birth for me to develop some sort of addiction but the conditions that proved perfect for the seeds to germinate and flourish didn’t come together until later.

Again, damned if I know.  Honestly, I do not believe I’m ever going to reach a point where I can sift the information and memories until I’m left with that one shining nugget that I can point to and declare, “That’s why.”

Which brings me to the most valuable realization.  It doesn’t matter.  The why is no longer important.  Knowing why I developed an eating disorder won’t help me fix the problem.   Maybe, and the jury’s out on this, it might provide some sort of consolation, but it won’t change what I need to do on a daily basis to continue to heal.  I don’t need to find someone or something to blame.  Honestly, laying blame anywhere — whether on myself or on somebody else — is counterproductive.

It’s all very simple when I get down to the heart of the matter.  A) I have an eating disorder — the disease of compulsive overeating.  B) I am constantly faced with choices of whether to eat according to my healthy plan or to veer off and eat compulsively.  C) No matter what happened in the past, if indeed anything did, or what I experience today or tomorrow, the choice to remain in recovery is up to me.  Nobody and no thing can make me overeat unless I consent and choose to do so.

I used to think that unraveling the knotty questions and getting down to the why would empower me.  Now I know that I empower myself every day, every meal, every time I choose not to inappropriately eat.

That realization is the prize worth keeping.

I had another solid day with my food plan.  I don’t think it’s possible to overestimate the positive effects of building a great day.  I’m choosing to celebrate how I feel right now because I’m fully aware this will help me bridge the effects over to tomorrow.

During the day, the food plan was sort of boring and uninspired.  Nutritionally sound, yes.  Fabulous, no, but I stayed committed.  🙂  I made up for it at dinner — not in amount of food, but in quality.  I’d made plans for a couple of good friends to join me for a porch sit.  I don’t remember if I’ve explained a porch sit before.  Basically, it’s just like it sounds.  My friends come over and we sit out on my porch and chat.  Usually we have some sort of food and wine while we enjoy each other’s company, conversation, and the view of the harbor.

While we normally get take out from somewhere, I felt like cooking so I ran out last night and got the ingredients for Gnudis.  (To read more about my discovery of these delicious treats, click here.)  Tonight after work, I took fresh basil from my herb garden, walnuts, garlic and olive oil and mixed up a fresh pesto as an additional choice to the marinara.  Add some spring greens for salad and crusty bread (for my friends, not me) and we had a light, tasty meal.

The process pleased me for so many reasons.  One, I love to cook.  Two, I love to cook and serve friends food then watch them enjoy what they eat.  Three, everything I made and served fit my food plan.   Not only could I enjoy the flavors in the immediacy of the tasting, but I didn’t have to deal with an aftertaste of guilt.

That’s how food and eating should be, don’t you think?  We should all be able to celebrate food for its deliciousness, the nutrition it provides, and the social and cultural aspects of preparing and sharing meals.  We should all also be able to enjoy the celebration without descending into crapitude afterwards.

All of my life, my relationship with food and how I used it was immensely dysfunctional.  Improving this connection is doing great things for me right now.  I’m relishing the positive changes.  All I need to do is follow my food plan and I can enjoy this feeling every day.

I got back to Florida from Chicago late on Sunday and drove from the mainland directly to work yesterday.  So, last night was my first night back at my home and this morning was the first time/opportunity I had to weigh myself since before the trip.  I didn’t lose any weight over the week.

Naturally, my first reaction was one of disappointment with a sizeable dollop of internal whining.  “Ohhhh, but I was sooooo good and I tried soooo hard!”  “I barely ate and I only had a few pieces of chocolate but I did alllll that walllkkkiinnnggg.”  “Whine whine whine, kvetch, kvetch, moan.”

Then I got some healthy perspective.  In the past whenever I went away to a conference, I absolutely ate too much food, including dessert at every meal.  I also used to have a few drinks every night and some nights more than a few.  I was heavier so I didn’t do any more walking than necessary and, although I danced, I didn’t set the floor on fire in high-aerobic, calorie-burning workouts.  Invariably I returned from conferences weighing more than before I left.

To have spent almost a week away from home and out of my routine and managed to maintain my weight is a victory.  Let’s look at some facts.  Liquid is liquid.  I could have had wine or a mixed drink or two every single night.  They served chocolate cheesecake after dinner one night and I absolutely could have slowly but steadily consumed the entire piece.  Instead I took two moderate forkfuls and then moved the plate out of my reach.  Yes, I grabbed some small pieces of chocolate, compulsively, when moving between the rows of promotional materials on my way to various panels, but it’s not like I binged on pounds of the stuff.  I was mindful of my eating and my nutritional goals.  I took care of myself and I maintained.

Yes, definitely a victory.

More to the point, I’m back home and back into my routine.  Before, whenever I was on a diet and then veered off, I usually did not get myself back on track.   Things are different now.  I’m different.   The losing trend shall recommence immediately.

I just learned about the unexpected death of a young co-worker’s father.  Many of our long-term management team have known the man for many, many years and the news has rocked them too.

But my mind keeps returning to his daughter, who is in her mid-20s, around the age I was when my Dad died unexpectedly in 1983.  That was the single most devastating thing I’d ever experienced and it ripped me apart.  In my struggle to cope, I ate.  And ate.  And continued to eat.

In the couple of years before his death, I’d lost 100 pounds on a medically-supervised, highly restrictive, mostly-protein diet.  It sure as hell was a simple plan — 1 oz of protein in the morning, 3 oz of protein at lunch, 5 oz of protein at dinner with a cup of vegetables.  Six months before Dad died, I was the thinnest I’d been in my entire adult life.

After his death, I steadily gained back all 100 pounds and over the years continued to add more, in between bouts of weight loss.  What a roller coaster.

That was my m.o.  I ate to numb my feelings, to anesthetize my pain.  Food was my sedative.  The heck with limiting myself to comfort food.  ALL food comforted me.   The despair I felt about packing back on my pounds was a far distant second to the despair over losing my father.

I’ve been on a really even keel for the last four months.  Sure, I’ve experienced the occasionally upsetting situation, but with the help of my sleeved stomach and the work I’m doing on my head and emotions, I haven’t needed to run to food for numbing.  We had a saying (one of many) in OA that the feelings won’t kill me, but the food will.  I’m glad that I’m developing and practicing more effective, less unhealthy, coping mechanisms.

However, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I was suddenly hit with something as devastating as my father’s death.  Even if I tried to stuff down the pain with food, I can’t physically handle the necessary volume.  Big pain needs a semi-truck’s worth of food to keep it from erupting and blowing me apart.

I believe that I need to be proactive right now and practice when small upsets occur.  If I get stressed, angry, annoyed or whatever over something in my life, I will stay conscious and remain in touch with the feelings.  I’m strong and capable.  I can handle the emotions without numbing myself to the feelings.  I will do it without food.  The practice will do me good, just in case I get hit with something much bigger.  Sure as all get out, running back to food is not an option!