Where in the world is Charlie?
I know. Nothing since Monday.
I have legitimate excuses. But I can’t tell you what they are. Cause I am a woman with some serious secrets. Which makes me feel important. But I’m really not. I know that. I’m normal, just like every other person out there.
So dietey-wise? UG. Not my best week. After my inspirational movie I gave you, was I all strong and empowered?
It’s not too bad, just hanging out back at 170 (tomorrow I will be back at 168 and progress can resume) but I did some emotional eating last night.
I made a comment on chat today with my girl Jia (shameless alternate blog plug: Letters to Jia where we feature the Dirty Diet. Check it out!) that cake is my emotional blankie. It’s my go-to soother. I am a 30 something year old woman, and I still have a pacifier????
This shocks and amuses me. I’m finding out more and more about myself as this journey wears on. My obsession with high carb junk food. My insane cravings. The feeling of deprivation that so consumes my thoughts.
Isn’t what I have in my life enough? I have food to eat, healthy kids, a home, a fantabulous husband, 300 channels on my TV, and internet access 24/7. I have built (from the ground up) a support system that loves my particular brand of crazy and GETS ME. I have friends, family and people cheering me on.
And yet I have a pacifier that comes in a big Peppridge Farms box at my grocer’s freezer.
What the heck is wrong with me?
Why haven’t I looked at it this way before? I need one of those ridiculously big pacifiers they wear at raves (are there still raves happening, or did those stop in the new millennium? I have kids, so I’ve got no clue what happens socially these days outside of book clubs with wine and PTA meetings. With wine) to wear around my neck as a reminder.
I need to start sucking it up.
If I am EVER going to be successful at a) losing the weight, and b) keeping it off, I’ve got to start digging out the big ole truth stick. (Like the one Mr. Echo carried around on Lost)
The truth stick hurts. It says this:
CHARLIE, WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO BE WILLING TO DEAL WITH YOUR EMOTIONS WITHOUT GOING TO FOOD FIRST?
The fact is (and I have an ENTIRE blog to prove it) that as long as the going isn’t tough, I can stay focused. As soon as life throws me a hiccup, the tough get cake. Or pizza. Or whatever else is available.
I have long associated my food habit with the feeling of comfort. If I was upset after a long day at school, Margaret the Saint made cookies. When she and I talked about life and the plight of becoming a girl (and all the joys that entail that journey) she and I shared McDonalds fries in the car. I’m NOT blaming my mother for my food habits. The choice to bury my feelings under icing was all me.
But what if I teach that to my daughters? What if I don’t model self-control, patience or forgiveness? What if they see “Mommy cry, Mommy gets cake” and think that’s the way to live? I take responsibility for my role as a parent in health and wellness matters. Once they are on their own, it will be their choice, and they will make their own decisions. But while they are with me for the next 10 years or so, I am doing them a GREAT disservice by associating coping skills with food.
So I am stopping this craziness here. NO MORE.
We are going to take walks when it’s time to talk. We aren’t going to sit in restaurants to spend time to loved ones( well, we will still do that, I’m sure, but we will provide other opportunities to bond and share besides doing it Family Style). I am going to provide my kids with more skills than being the next great baker. They are going to learn how to deal with life, not deal- a- meal- then- deal- with- life.
It’s time to take my lumps from the truth stick. And as long as the lumps on my thighs go away, I’m totally fine with the pain for now.
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