Food and Trauma

Not hurricane and wild fire trauma, just regular life trauma.

When I've felt overwhelmed and anxious before food has always played a role. I've not always given in and binged or even always chosen poorly. But it's always been part of the situation.

Not this time. I'm filled with fear about this trip my family is on, fearful that I'll lose my husband and children as they decide that the don't want a white wife or mother. It's irrational, I know, but it's there.

But weird thing; no food trouble. Not ugly starving, not frantic hoarding, not even baked pasta with four cheeses. Just simple pintos and brown rice and beans, zucchini and herbs from my garden; lots of fruit for extras. Good stuff.

And it's not been a struggle or a fight. I've hardly even given it thought. I just noticed that I was eating pretty clean. And I feel good.

Divine intervention?

Well then amen and hallelujah and thank you thank you thank you.

Clean

I had a bad weekend. Camping. Beer. and CHIPS. Nasty combination.

So, like we clean the house after it gets messy, mow the lawn, weed the gardens. This week is about eating clean. Fruit for breakfast. Vegetables for lunch. A simple protien and a dry vegetable for dinner. No sweets, no alcohol. Good fragrant tea. Good books, bubble baths, long walks in the woods.

This is a good way to recover from a weekend of eating unkind foods. Recovering with kindness. And, it feels good, too.

Peace and love.

...and on it goes....

I actually considered writing on this blog the words "seems like the food is going pretty well" and damn it if I didn't have to just go and prove myself wrong with a tortilla and some cheese! But ha, one tortilla with some cheese can't really undo a good month. And it has been a good month. I must be a little shaky today because I was doubting whether things were moving in a slimmer direction so I got on the scale. Yes. Slowly, but yes, we're dropping weight. Being older--well and hell, being Scandinavian means that things are still distributed in ways that make me unhappy. I really think I'll need surgery to ever have a flat stomach! But I don' t really care. I am learning so much and it's so good in so manyways.

I've been reading both Writing Yourself Right Sized by Julia Cameron and Love Yourself Thin (re released as "The Love Powered Diet) by Victoria Moran. Victoria told me a few days ago (well, yes in the book, but still....) that the best way to get through the hard feelings, the BIG feelings is to sit with them, to let them happen and wash over you. Stuffing not required--stuffing YOURSELF not required. Victoria has taught me a lot over the years with her good books, so when she said that I would not die from it, that the pain would subside before it did me in well, I beleived her. At the end of this last good run of a class, a lovely RE Sunday, the kids' fabulous play I figured I'd crash and I did, but I didn't know what a crash without food would be like. It was brutal. Really brutal. But I sat with it. There were no carbs or sweets or anything to cushion those feelings. I did find myself pretty laid out by the despair, but then, it cleared. It did. I cleaned the bathroom. I read. I listened to David Wilcox, and it was OK. It did lift. Victoria was dead on right. And I kind of feel done with those particular feelings of despair. Moved on. Wow.

So, no, I'm no swimsuit model, but I'm a humbler me, a more real me. A quieter me of all strange things. Still work to be done, like those sneaky tortillas that jump you when you think you're OK, but clearly a little further down the path. Good. Good stuff.

Writing the wild things

I've been following the practices, or at least the ones I've read about so far from "The Writing Diet, Writing Yourself Right Sized" by Julia Cameron. This is good stuff. Not that I like the thought of "right" sized, like there's a wrong sized? But there is a better size that feels better and is healthier. For me there is.

I love the writing. I'm finding myself awakening at 6:15 even before my alarm goes off, I guess at 6:14 and 55 seconds then? I wake up just so I can write. And then I walk. The other morning a fog was just lifting and clearing with the good strong spring sun. I saw these white orbs in the grasses. Then I noticed them suspended in the trees. Spider webs outlined in droplets of water left behind by the shimmery fog. It was beautiful. When I get to the bridge over the creek the smell is wet wood and sweet grass and bay trees. I know that a little fox or a raccoon or even a little deer has probably bounded out as I came around the bend. They watch me from the bushes, waiting for me to walk on so that they can drink and sun again.

It's beautiful.

The writing yourself right also invites a daily food journal. I haven't kept one for a long time, and I've been really resistant to it. But it's good for me now as I right myself. It's like a sailboat being upside down in the water and taking some leverage to right itself. I'll have nice deep pull in the water again. But for now I need a little push, a little help. I bought a lovely little red journal and some of those liquidey lovely pens to write with. And while I'm yet to do a full day, I'm making progress. Progress is good.

So far it's been a clean week. Yes, it's Monday but Sunday counts, too. I had dismissed what the impact of such a radical turn in goals would mean. I'm digging into old scripts and old losses. It is extremely hard. I'm longing for a church, a religious community that could help me through this. But I signed away my church and my religious community when I signed on for the job. I knew it, went in with eyes open. It may not have been the very best idea though. Not for me. Not for a person who treasures church and the ritual and the weekly filling.

I miss sitting and being led. It could be that I planned my time off poorly this year and that two of the four weeks I was to have off wound up being weeks on for one reason and another. It could be May. May is hard. It could just be that it's hard to give up your church when you love chur ch.I do love my work. I love it like I love the air and clean sheets and hot baths. I love it with my skin and bones. Deep. Soul stuff.

But it's a hard time. And taking care of myself is hard when I'm responsible for so much.

Things are good though. I love the walks. And I love the writing. For the last two days my new love Noodles has come with me. Oh, having a fur ball to love. And for now, the food is clean. It's good.

The next thing I really must do is to plan some time off. Some time off that includes a Sunday. Some time off that includes a Sunday, and a dog, and the water and writing and a walk in the early morning before the fog has completely left the valley. Some time.

The morning after

I have the worst hangover. I feel just awful. No mind altering substances, just food. Food's clearly worse for me. Today I turn 42, that's really "in your 40s". But that's not it. I'm letting go. Letting go of dreams and hopes and plans and a future I thought was the right one.

Thing is? It turns out that it wasn't the right one. I thought I had an academic future, that when the kids were old enough I could go get my master's degree and think about a professional future. But I am taking a class. And while many, many people can do this. I cannot. There are not enough hours in the day to study and work and be a good mother. Not with my husband gone three of the last four weeks for work. Not with the kind of job that I have that eats time like the plant in Little Shop of Horrors. Not if I want my kids to grow up in a house that is not run by chaos.

The funny thing? The academic part isn't the problem. I'm not a traditional learner. I'd have done much better back when you learned your practice or your craft from a real person, over years yes, but by doing and modeling. Text books make me want to cry and research? Oh my god, it's horrible. But I can do it. And I don't even really hate it. But I hate being so pulled in so many directions all the time. And I cannot do it and be who I really am. So, I'm not going to. But it has a long term impact on what I'm going to do with my life. That means a different future. That's scary. That feels awful.

So, what do we do when we're scared and feel all alone in the world? Reach out to friends? Go for a walk in the woods? Write? NO! We eat Salt and Vinegar chips and chocolate and bread with butter. Of course!

Of course.

So today, I am on my knees, praying a big huge "please" prayer. "Please help me eat with love today, just today. Amen."

Amen.

Sometimes when I try

Danger, danger, danger! I have an upcoming event, you know an event. Something I'd really like to go to looking nice, looking my best. You know what that means. Looking.....thin. I'm trying so hard not to let it spin out into the mushroom cloud of compulsive not-eating. Sometimes when I try hard though it's the worst.

My husband has been asked to be on a panel of adult adoptees for a discussion following the movie "Adopted". He really is a good person to sit on a panel. He's intelligent, articulate, a powerful mid-life man that people (read white adoptive parents) may listen to more than other folks who may be on the panel. But his story isn't pretty. Our story isn't pretty. It's horribly painful. And the scary thing is that there are parts of the prep for this panel that sound just like the beginning of the long slide to divorce mediation and separation from five years ago. I'm trying to trust and hold love and light in my heart and hands. But oh ouch. And scary.

So, if this event goes off, and I get to go and sit in the audience and listen to my husband try to be careful and kind in talking about this painful issue in his life; I hope that I can focus on supporting him and loving him and holding myself in care, too. But it might be a tough couple of weeks as we bounce along facing these things again, facing the pain of the past, trying to find a way forward in forgiveness and love. And the food might be tough.

I started my "Morning Pages", writing three pages of stream of consciousness stuff. We'll see how it goes. So far so good. The other thing that "The Writing Diet" asks so far is a daily food journal. We'll see how that goes, I am not sure I want to focus on food, but for now it might be good to do. Or maybe I'll have to write down everything I eat for the rest of my life--a years long history of bananas and yogurt topped with granola. That's so exciting, like glue drying. And I still can't find a good yoga class, but I started running again. Yes, my back hurts a little more but it hurts if I don't run, too. So I might as well run a little.

So I guess the answer for now is to hold on and try to keep a balance between the very busy days and the fear. And to try to live into the love and the light. And to keep cheese and tortilla chips and white pasta in check. Still so much better than the days of drive thru and ice cream. Life is this funny long process, and I guess we just never do get it just right. Just right enough is all I'm hoping for.

Eating like no one ever loved me!

Last week was not a good week. I thought I was doing OK with food and self care, but in hind sight? Bread with butter is not actually self care. Sometimes I can talk myself into the stupidest things! It's not a big deal, and I'm doing OK, but wow, when that circle talk gets going, I can really ride along.

I don't like living without my spouse in the house, and when his leaving is preceded by big fights, caused of course because he's leaving, I really have a bad time of it. When he got home last weekend and we were de-briefing about the week I told him "I ate like no one has ever loved me". I didn't even notice that that's what I had done, but once the words were out, I realized just how true it was. But hey, I caught myself. And that really is everything. Not being perfect. But catching the imperfections, offering care, kindness and forgiveness and movin' on.

I was a little worried though. So I did actually step on the scale. Five pounds down since the last time. OK, it's not good to step on the scale, and I'll try not to, but I admit. It was a relief to get some outside affirmation that I didn't just put on a huge amount of weight. After all, I talked myself into believing that bread and butter is self care. Come on, I'm a pretty fast talker. I might have gone out and bought a larger size of jeans without telling myself. THAT might have been why they still fit.

OK, not all sane, but not all insane either. See? Good stuff.

So for this week, I really am taking care of myself. I decided that it's a clean eating week, all whole foods, no processed foods (LIKE BREAD!) and lots of good tea. I thought it was going to be a less busy week, but it turns out it's just going to be a different busy week. So, brown rice and beans and fruit and veggies and oats and tea. Good stuff, mister. Good stuff. All of it.