I think about food all the time. All. The. Time. I look forward to my next meal time. I regret what I ate at my last meal time. I think about what I’d like to eat. I think about what I dislike eating. I plan the naughty things that I will indulge in on various days and stress about the things I’ve eaten that I know will prevent me from losing weight. I am, quite literally, obsessed with food.
That is not to say that I believe that I have an eating disorder necessarily. I believe I’ve “binged” maybe once or twice in my life. I don’t starve myself (obviously). I don’t make myself throw up. I do, however, still seem to have a pretty unhealthy relationship with food.
I have friends who are able to actually forget to eat. As in, they are so absorbed in whatever they’re doing that they completely miss the fact that they haven’t consumed food in hours and hours. I have never been that way. I am incredibly envious of people who can do that. I wish I could go for even a few hours without thinking about food.
So I’m obsessed with food, AND I cannot stand to look at my body in a mirror. It’s not a good pairing. Something has to give.
My therapist suggested that I try mindful eating. Apparently this consists of eating when one is hungry and stopping when one is full. It entails being present with one’s food and thinking about what one is putting into one’s body. It does not necessarily include counting calories or points or anything of that nature. The idea is that 80% of what one consumes is “good for you,” and the other 20% is, I don’t know, I guess fun or not so good for you or whatever.
I’ve been trying to do this for the last month or so. I’ve been more successful in being present with my food over the last week or so, and coincidentally I’ve been trying extra-hard to follow a training program: run, cross-training + strength, repeat, repeat, repeat. I made it to the gym 6 times last week. I felt strong. I felt happy, mostly. I felt pleased with what my body could do and with what I had been putting in my body for fuel.
I was getting ready to go to a friend’s house for dinner and I was putting on my jeans after my shower. They were tight. Like, uncomfortably tight. Like, I was a little afraid they were going to rip, tight. And I freaked. I’m still freaking.
Starting tomorrow, I’m going to begin keeping track of my calories again. I simply cannot let myself get bigger than I am. I’m terrified of weighing myself, so I’m not going to. I did, however, take some measurements:
Bust: 41 inches
Waist: 31 inches(!)
Hips: 43 inches (what?!?!)
I’m not sure what I *want* these to look like, but I know this isn’t it. I’m going to take them again in a month and see what happens.
Also, I’ve changed the name of my blog simply because I want to put my process of self-discovery front and center. Hope you’ll bear with me.