I've been away from this blog for a long time because of the emotional difficulties involved in making certain transitions to the changes in my life since leaving the Asian country I had been living on for over two decades. The bottom line is that I've been depressed and sliding deeper into it for quite some time. The issues that lead to that depression are complex, and actually have only a little to do with weight, weight loss, or my relationship with food.
This blog isn't really a place for me to talk about other aspects of my life, including depression, but there are parts of it which fit the motif. Mind you, I know my readers would be more than happy to listen if I'd like to talk, and I may yet go into some elements of this depression which are not related to food or weight. The one thing about it that I can and will say is that people often believe that depression is about sadness. It is, but the greater part of it is more than that. Depression is a thief. It steals your energy, your ability to experience joy, and your resilience. During the last few months, my ability to cope, experience pleasure, be productive, and endure any hardship have been eroded by depression. I haven't blogged because I've been barely coping with what I have to do. I didn't have to blog, so I didn't.
Things are slowly getting better. Circumstances have actually not changed, but a turning point was reached in certain aspects of my life where I decided that I had to yank myself mentally out of the downward spiral I was in and start rebuilding mentally or I'd never climb out of the hole I was being dragged into. That is not to say this is a complete process at this point, but I pulled myself out by sheer force of will and a realization of the long-term cost if I did not break the cycle I was in. I keep resisting being dragged back down. I am not always successful, but I am finding enough success to keep trying.
Before I go on, it is imperative that I say that I don't believe that people can overcome depression by will or by "snapping out of it". I am/was depressed due to circumstances and not due to innate biochemistry. I do believe that certain techniques can slowly help a person re-write their biochemical nature, but not if the roots of it are genetic. My case is unique, as am I. If anyone takes a message of pulling oneself up by ones own bootstraps from this post, then there has been a misinterpretation of my intent. What I've suffered is hard, and what I'm doing to deal with it is difficult, but it is not something I think just anyone can do. We all live in our own skins and within our own unique set of circumstances.
The process by which I'm dealing with my depression and the situation surrounding it is not at all different from the "rewiring" that I did to help change my relationship with food. The biggest difference is that the results are absolutely faster because I haven't spent as many years building to this state as I spent getting to 380 lbs. It's a lot easier to overcome a few years or months of biochemical changes brought on by difficult experiences than to rewire decades of them.
Getting to the aspects which concern this blog, I wanted to speak of how this has impacted my eating/weight. My weight remains stable. I'm still not thin, of course, but I've been maintaining my 200 lb. loss without calorie counting, restriction, or extreme exercises. I have not found myself compelled to eat compulsively to deal with my feelings. Sometimes I have actively wished that that would still be effective for me, but I have undone the connection that says that eating will make me feel better. I remember that it might make me feel bad enough to forget how miserable I am emotionally, but I have not turned to that. The cognitive "rewiring" I did has served me well in this regard.
What no amount of mental conditioning can do, however, is take away the fact that, as a force which drains you resolve and resilience, depression makes it far harder to deal with additional difficulties. That is, I've found it harder to spend time being hungry or to resist eating impulsively rather than to simply wait for meals. While this has not had an impact on my weight maintenance, it has certainly hindered more loss as well as made my overall diet "noisier" than it should be. By that, I mean that I've been inclined to snack more and less healthily, though absolutely there is no issue with quantity.
I don't mention these things to deal with this punitively. Trust me when I say that I'm not beating myself up over eating 3 tiny pieces of candy a day instead of one. I mention this here merely because I want to say that my depression has had this particular impact on my eating. It dampens impulse control. It undermines the ability to endure discomfort, even routine hunger which is normal between meals for most people. It is a factor, though it hasn't been a highly destructive one for me.
In an odd way, this depression has revealed a certain triumph for me. My biggest fear upon returning "home" has been that I would re-gain the weight I'd lost as I dealt with the hardships of being here. I gained a lot of weight last time I made a move from my East coast home to my husband's West coast home because of the stress and emotional upheaval it brought. This time, it did not happen despite even greater difficulties that had to be faced. I attribute this to the mental groundwork I laid to change my approach to food as well as my increased awareness. My husband's support and cooperation are also a part of this. If he had invalidated my pain this time as he had done nearly two and a half decades ago when I made the initial move, I don't know where I'd be this time. Fortunately, his eyes are open this time and he has been a lot better about making the changes necessary to validate my concerns as well as be supportive.
It has been a hard road coming home, and I'm nowhere near riding out the bumps. This post is just checking in to let my kind readers know where I am and what has happened. I hope to tell more when I have greater energy, but, for now, I'm holding my ground.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Friday, December 14, 2012
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Bite-size pieces
Sometimes I wonder what my readers think of me. What sort of person do they imagine I am, if indeed they imagine me at all. What do they think my days are like based on the facet of self that I display here, if indeed they think about how I spend my days at all.
There are several reasons why I wonder about this. One is that, through other blogs, I have been maliciously and tenaciously stalked by people who construct an imaginary life for me based on the facets shown on that blog. They cherry pick details from what I say in order to fill in huge gaping holes in their knowledge of me and paint the ugliest picture possible and ignore the information that does not conform to their highly fanciful work of art that they have entitled "me" (meaning, me, not them).
Since I have experience with people imagining my life based on one set of writing, I have at least some sense that others may be doing it based on other writing. It may sound egotistical and narcissistic to believe people spend their time ruminating on the person behind the blog, but it isn't something I conjured up in my imagination (unlike the impressions my stalkers have of me).
Beyond that, I think it is natural for us to feel that we "know" a person after following their words for some time. In some sense, we do know them, though in a very limited fashion. So, you don't have to be a weird stalker to feel well-acquainted with an individual who shares their life in the manner that I do. In fact, readers of this blog see the real me in the most intimate psychological sense than the readers of my other blogs. You really may know me in a true sense, though still from a certain perspective.
I was thinking about this today because I'm having a bad day and wondering if I make it clear often enough that I have such days. I spend so much time talking about how I cope with my problems that I wonder if I mislead people into thinking I am able to process them efficiently and merrily move on with my daily life. That's not so. It's an ongoing battle. If I haven't made that clear before, I want it to be clear now.
Today, I'm having intermittent depression and persistent fatigue. Though I am trying to remain positive about adjusting to my new life, it does cumulatively weigh me down. There are days when I would rather just sit around and do nothing but read, watch T.V. or, yes, eat junk food. The "sitting around" part is especially challenge to overcome and, if I were physically ill, I'd just stay in bed when I wanted to until I felt better. However, when I'm mentally "ill" (meaning blue, sad, depressed, etc.), then I think that I can't indulge my desires without paying a price. Lying around only makes the bad feelings worse.
When I have days like this, I try to deal with it in bite-size pieces rather than push myself to go at things wholesale. Emotionally, I can't bear the thought of going outside for a 40-minute walk today. The idea of even leaving the house is too much for me, but I know that movement and exercise help with depression and that I'll feel terrible if I just sit around and indulge my sadness. The answer to this is not to chastise myself and berate myself into doing something I don't want to do, but to manage in bite-size pieces of activity.
For each person, this sort of thing would be different depending on how physically and mentally capable they feel. For me, this means planned pacing around the small space of the cabin I'm in. Every time I feel up to it, about two or three times an hour, I will get up and pace the length of the cabin ten times. I also will do my regular back, knee, and arm/upper body exercises as normal as part of these short bursts of activity.
This exercise is not to make up for any notion of "sloth" or to burn calories, but a deliberate attempt to work with my feelings of depression. It may not make them go away, but it will stop me from sinking any lower. It will also help me focus on something other than my negative feelings (boredom about where I am, stress about adjustments and decisions to be made, fear about uncertainty, and fatigue from both physical and mental problems). And, frankly, it decreases the chances that I will turn to the easiest and most attractive of answers, food. I'm am just as prone to the sense of not feeling hungry, but just wanting to eat because it's easy pleasure as anyone else.
Focusing on intermittent physical activity reduces the amount of time that I have to say, "no", to the impulse to eat because it provides positive focus, but it does more than that. It allows me to set up miniature goals that can be accomplished regularly and provides a sense of accomplishment. Pacing the room 30 times an hour won't do much for my health, but it will do a lot for my sense that something positive is being done instead of simply feeling tired and sad.
Of course, this isn't just about movement, though that is one piece of it. I am also pushing myself to do qualitative things between like reading a book that I need to get read (for a review), writing blog posts, reading meaningful content (as opposed to light entertaining content), doing small cleaning tasks, and preparing nutritious food for later. Thinking about doing all of these things at once is far too much for me given how I feel, but intermittent tackling of successive ones is something I can handle. I can't ponder cleaning the whole house, but I can sweep the floor in the next half hour. I can't think about putting lunch together, but I can wash and spin the lettuce dry in the next 15 minutes.
I get down sometimes, more recently than ever, and it's hard, but I have learned that you can improve things by taking it in bite-size pieces. It helps not to think you have to take too many bites at once and to not think too far ahead about the next one. I just do what I can at a pace that I can between the sense that I can't do anything. On the whole, it starts to add up and propels me slowly away from the depression, lethargy and fatigue. I think it's a good way to be, and a lot better than pushing too hard to be some ideal and then failing and hating yourself for it. Instead of feeling like I "lost" a day to depression, I can feel like I survived it as well as possible and achieved a lot under the circumstances.
There are several reasons why I wonder about this. One is that, through other blogs, I have been maliciously and tenaciously stalked by people who construct an imaginary life for me based on the facets shown on that blog. They cherry pick details from what I say in order to fill in huge gaping holes in their knowledge of me and paint the ugliest picture possible and ignore the information that does not conform to their highly fanciful work of art that they have entitled "me" (meaning, me, not them).
Since I have experience with people imagining my life based on one set of writing, I have at least some sense that others may be doing it based on other writing. It may sound egotistical and narcissistic to believe people spend their time ruminating on the person behind the blog, but it isn't something I conjured up in my imagination (unlike the impressions my stalkers have of me).
Beyond that, I think it is natural for us to feel that we "know" a person after following their words for some time. In some sense, we do know them, though in a very limited fashion. So, you don't have to be a weird stalker to feel well-acquainted with an individual who shares their life in the manner that I do. In fact, readers of this blog see the real me in the most intimate psychological sense than the readers of my other blogs. You really may know me in a true sense, though still from a certain perspective.
I was thinking about this today because I'm having a bad day and wondering if I make it clear often enough that I have such days. I spend so much time talking about how I cope with my problems that I wonder if I mislead people into thinking I am able to process them efficiently and merrily move on with my daily life. That's not so. It's an ongoing battle. If I haven't made that clear before, I want it to be clear now.
Today, I'm having intermittent depression and persistent fatigue. Though I am trying to remain positive about adjusting to my new life, it does cumulatively weigh me down. There are days when I would rather just sit around and do nothing but read, watch T.V. or, yes, eat junk food. The "sitting around" part is especially challenge to overcome and, if I were physically ill, I'd just stay in bed when I wanted to until I felt better. However, when I'm mentally "ill" (meaning blue, sad, depressed, etc.), then I think that I can't indulge my desires without paying a price. Lying around only makes the bad feelings worse.
When I have days like this, I try to deal with it in bite-size pieces rather than push myself to go at things wholesale. Emotionally, I can't bear the thought of going outside for a 40-minute walk today. The idea of even leaving the house is too much for me, but I know that movement and exercise help with depression and that I'll feel terrible if I just sit around and indulge my sadness. The answer to this is not to chastise myself and berate myself into doing something I don't want to do, but to manage in bite-size pieces of activity.
For each person, this sort of thing would be different depending on how physically and mentally capable they feel. For me, this means planned pacing around the small space of the cabin I'm in. Every time I feel up to it, about two or three times an hour, I will get up and pace the length of the cabin ten times. I also will do my regular back, knee, and arm/upper body exercises as normal as part of these short bursts of activity.
This exercise is not to make up for any notion of "sloth" or to burn calories, but a deliberate attempt to work with my feelings of depression. It may not make them go away, but it will stop me from sinking any lower. It will also help me focus on something other than my negative feelings (boredom about where I am, stress about adjustments and decisions to be made, fear about uncertainty, and fatigue from both physical and mental problems). And, frankly, it decreases the chances that I will turn to the easiest and most attractive of answers, food. I'm am just as prone to the sense of not feeling hungry, but just wanting to eat because it's easy pleasure as anyone else.
Focusing on intermittent physical activity reduces the amount of time that I have to say, "no", to the impulse to eat because it provides positive focus, but it does more than that. It allows me to set up miniature goals that can be accomplished regularly and provides a sense of accomplishment. Pacing the room 30 times an hour won't do much for my health, but it will do a lot for my sense that something positive is being done instead of simply feeling tired and sad.
Of course, this isn't just about movement, though that is one piece of it. I am also pushing myself to do qualitative things between like reading a book that I need to get read (for a review), writing blog posts, reading meaningful content (as opposed to light entertaining content), doing small cleaning tasks, and preparing nutritious food for later. Thinking about doing all of these things at once is far too much for me given how I feel, but intermittent tackling of successive ones is something I can handle. I can't ponder cleaning the whole house, but I can sweep the floor in the next half hour. I can't think about putting lunch together, but I can wash and spin the lettuce dry in the next 15 minutes.
I get down sometimes, more recently than ever, and it's hard, but I have learned that you can improve things by taking it in bite-size pieces. It helps not to think you have to take too many bites at once and to not think too far ahead about the next one. I just do what I can at a pace that I can between the sense that I can't do anything. On the whole, it starts to add up and propels me slowly away from the depression, lethargy and fatigue. I think it's a good way to be, and a lot better than pushing too hard to be some ideal and then failing and hating yourself for it. Instead of feeling like I "lost" a day to depression, I can feel like I survived it as well as possible and achieved a lot under the circumstances.
Friday, April 20, 2012
True "Choice"
I've been back in the United States for about 3 weeks now and have been continuing to adjust to life here. On a superficial and public level, I can feel progress being made in terms of acclimating to life here. I feel less uncomfortable interacting with people and being understood. I'm starting to get a feel for the boundaries of public discourse with my husband and getting accustomed to the occasional "intrusion" of my psychological space by random people who feels it's within appropriate cultural boundaries to comment on something I'm saying or doing.
When I was younger and much heavier, I should note that the way in which strangers interacted with me was quite different. Their behavior was punitive, judgmental, and often overtly rude. Many people didn't look me in the eye when interacting with me, as if I was too dull or unimportant to deserve the common courtesy of being recognized as a fellow human. Strangers tittered, looked my way and whispered about me, and young people would laugh and mock me openly. I don't know if this no longer happens because my weight is much lower now or if it is because society has gotten so much fatter that people generally view obese individuals as less note-worthy. It could also be that being young and fat is different than being upper-middle-aged and fat. When you're young, you are being evaluated for your potential "hotness" and found wanting. When you are older, you're pretty much invisible anyway so weight may matter less.
Emotionally, it continues to be a bit of a roller coaster for me here. One thing which I continually remind myself about because I think it is very important to internalize is that rationally understanding something is not the same as recovering emotionally. I may know the reasons for and circumstances related to my discomfort. I may be able to write down every little thing which is an adjustment based on transitioning from my former life in Asia to life back "home". Knowing these things and that they are causing me stress does not stop the end result and that is feeling depressed, tired, and generally as if I'm flailing madly in my attempts to cope in an unfamiliar environment. One mistake people make is thinking that knowing why will translate into stopping the unpleasant feelings. "Why" is helpful in recovering, but you still have to go through the emotions. I still cried every night for the first week and still cry intermittently now. Knowing why I cry doesn't stop me from needing to do so. It just helps me fully integrate what is causing my feelings when I have them.
The main value of the "why" comes in several ways. First of all, you don't take those feelings out on random people or act on them inappropriately (and ineffectually) in various situations. I'm not getting overly pissed off at the cashier for not ringing up my purchase properly as a way of taking out my frustration at not being able to easily recognize American coins rapidly and make exact change effectively. I assign the feelings to the proper stimuli and I let them out when I'm alone knowing that the feelings will pass when I am more acclimated to the environment.
The second reason that the "why" is helpful is that it allows for useful catharsis. Thinking you're depressed because the future is vague and uncertain (as mine is) rather than because you've just entered a radically changed situation in which you feel naive, uncertain, and, yes, stupid, leaves you in a far worse place. I can't manage the uncertainty of my future, but I can cope with incidental confusion. One will pass soon. The other will have to wait to sort itself out.
Finally, knowing why allows me to connect feelings to something concrete rather than burst into tears without knowing the actual reason. Depression, free-floating anxiety, etc. are often biochemical for people who are biologically inclined to feel such things, but mine are situational. Situations pass. I am sad now for concrete reasons that will change with time. This understanding makes it easier to live with the temporary sadness.
The situation for me since before I left the Asian country that I was living in is that I've been going in waves of sadness and strength. One day, I'm down and I eat poorly and the next day I'm up and I eat well. The "up" days are conscious efforts and the down days are an indication of being overwhelmed and not having the energy to push into a more positive space. This pattern has continued up until the past several days and I've been aware of every bit of it everyday. In essence, I'm "allowing" the down times and recovering actively on the up times.
When I say I "eat poorly", I don't mean I'm pigging out every other day, but more that I'm not being so careful about nutrition and giving into impulses that I normally would push back against and resist. For example, every night, I tend to be a little hungry at bed-time, but if I just ignore that, I'm fine and sleep well. In "down" times, I find it harder to resist the urge to eat a snack that I actually do not "need". In fact, that snacking often leads to worse sleep and bad dreams. Since I haven't been sleeping well in general since the move started in earnest about two weeks before I left my former home, anything which makes me sleep more poorly is not really a good idea.
Right now, I'm working on decreasing the frequency and intensity of the "down" times. I'm attending to this both in terms of emotional considerations and physical ones. The fact that I'm ready to face this means that my emotional exhaustion from all of this change is starting to abate, but I'm nowhere near believing it is gone. Weight isn't really much of an issue in this as I'm not looking at weight. I'm looking at behaviors and outcomes aside from weight. I want to be a master of my actions and part of that, as I have said before, is the power to say both "yes" and "no". By taking control every other day and saying "no" to eating when I'm a little hungry at night, I prove that "no" is still an equal option. By giving in to that mild hunger every other day and saying that I'm going to eat because I don't want to tolerate more stress on this particular day, I prove that "yes" is still an equal option.
We often confuse "power" with the ability to fulfill our every whim or have everything the way we want it to be. We even more frequently confuse "choice" with making some sort of subjectively defined "right" choice. True power and true choice are not confined to one path. They are found in having the option to pursue multiple options. If only one road is "right" all of the time, then you're not really making a choice but rather railroading yourself into an option-less position regardless of the circumstances under which the "choice" is being made.
When I was younger and much heavier, I should note that the way in which strangers interacted with me was quite different. Their behavior was punitive, judgmental, and often overtly rude. Many people didn't look me in the eye when interacting with me, as if I was too dull or unimportant to deserve the common courtesy of being recognized as a fellow human. Strangers tittered, looked my way and whispered about me, and young people would laugh and mock me openly. I don't know if this no longer happens because my weight is much lower now or if it is because society has gotten so much fatter that people generally view obese individuals as less note-worthy. It could also be that being young and fat is different than being upper-middle-aged and fat. When you're young, you are being evaluated for your potential "hotness" and found wanting. When you are older, you're pretty much invisible anyway so weight may matter less.
Emotionally, it continues to be a bit of a roller coaster for me here. One thing which I continually remind myself about because I think it is very important to internalize is that rationally understanding something is not the same as recovering emotionally. I may know the reasons for and circumstances related to my discomfort. I may be able to write down every little thing which is an adjustment based on transitioning from my former life in Asia to life back "home". Knowing these things and that they are causing me stress does not stop the end result and that is feeling depressed, tired, and generally as if I'm flailing madly in my attempts to cope in an unfamiliar environment. One mistake people make is thinking that knowing why will translate into stopping the unpleasant feelings. "Why" is helpful in recovering, but you still have to go through the emotions. I still cried every night for the first week and still cry intermittently now. Knowing why I cry doesn't stop me from needing to do so. It just helps me fully integrate what is causing my feelings when I have them.
The main value of the "why" comes in several ways. First of all, you don't take those feelings out on random people or act on them inappropriately (and ineffectually) in various situations. I'm not getting overly pissed off at the cashier for not ringing up my purchase properly as a way of taking out my frustration at not being able to easily recognize American coins rapidly and make exact change effectively. I assign the feelings to the proper stimuli and I let them out when I'm alone knowing that the feelings will pass when I am more acclimated to the environment.
The second reason that the "why" is helpful is that it allows for useful catharsis. Thinking you're depressed because the future is vague and uncertain (as mine is) rather than because you've just entered a radically changed situation in which you feel naive, uncertain, and, yes, stupid, leaves you in a far worse place. I can't manage the uncertainty of my future, but I can cope with incidental confusion. One will pass soon. The other will have to wait to sort itself out.
Finally, knowing why allows me to connect feelings to something concrete rather than burst into tears without knowing the actual reason. Depression, free-floating anxiety, etc. are often biochemical for people who are biologically inclined to feel such things, but mine are situational. Situations pass. I am sad now for concrete reasons that will change with time. This understanding makes it easier to live with the temporary sadness.
The situation for me since before I left the Asian country that I was living in is that I've been going in waves of sadness and strength. One day, I'm down and I eat poorly and the next day I'm up and I eat well. The "up" days are conscious efforts and the down days are an indication of being overwhelmed and not having the energy to push into a more positive space. This pattern has continued up until the past several days and I've been aware of every bit of it everyday. In essence, I'm "allowing" the down times and recovering actively on the up times.
When I say I "eat poorly", I don't mean I'm pigging out every other day, but more that I'm not being so careful about nutrition and giving into impulses that I normally would push back against and resist. For example, every night, I tend to be a little hungry at bed-time, but if I just ignore that, I'm fine and sleep well. In "down" times, I find it harder to resist the urge to eat a snack that I actually do not "need". In fact, that snacking often leads to worse sleep and bad dreams. Since I haven't been sleeping well in general since the move started in earnest about two weeks before I left my former home, anything which makes me sleep more poorly is not really a good idea.
Right now, I'm working on decreasing the frequency and intensity of the "down" times. I'm attending to this both in terms of emotional considerations and physical ones. The fact that I'm ready to face this means that my emotional exhaustion from all of this change is starting to abate, but I'm nowhere near believing it is gone. Weight isn't really much of an issue in this as I'm not looking at weight. I'm looking at behaviors and outcomes aside from weight. I want to be a master of my actions and part of that, as I have said before, is the power to say both "yes" and "no". By taking control every other day and saying "no" to eating when I'm a little hungry at night, I prove that "no" is still an equal option. By giving in to that mild hunger every other day and saying that I'm going to eat because I don't want to tolerate more stress on this particular day, I prove that "yes" is still an equal option.
We often confuse "power" with the ability to fulfill our every whim or have everything the way we want it to be. We even more frequently confuse "choice" with making some sort of subjectively defined "right" choice. True power and true choice are not confined to one path. They are found in having the option to pursue multiple options. If only one road is "right" all of the time, then you're not really making a choice but rather railroading yourself into an option-less position regardless of the circumstances under which the "choice" is being made.
Monday, August 15, 2011
It's Not About How Badly You "Want" It (part 3)
part 1 is here
part 2 is here
Last night, I was talking to my husband about how I was feeling regarding my sister's circumstances, which are inextricably linked to her weight. Because of a slip of the tongue, he said that she couldn't change because she didn't "want" it badly enough. As is so often the case, we sometimes over-simplify what we mean to say with words that distort what we really mean. Even though it wasn't what he meant, it did get me thinking about how we often talk about how people have to "want" something badly enough to start taking action toward change.
A lot of people talk about "wanting" it enough to change when it comes to weight loss. I'm here to say that every fat person in the world "wants" to change. Most very desperately would like to lose weight, but "wanting" something is not the same as being able to acquire it. This is a critical mistake that people make when they either fail or decide not to even make the attempt or when they see others doing so. The reason that this is so important to distinguish from "want" is that not knowing the real cause leaves people feeling as though their motivation is what is missing rather than what is really the issue.
I discussed my sister's situation in the other parts of this sequence and I know that she would like to lose weight and speculated that she probably has secretly tried on occasion and failed. I know that I tried and failed on a small level so many times that I ultimately decided that it was inevitable that I would always weigh well over 300 lbs. Here is how it works:
You are at the bottom of a deep dark well and would like to get out. You search around for places where you can grasp the wall and start climbing out. Occasionally, you see a depression or a jutting rock and you grab at it and try to haul yourself out. Sometimes, it isn't deep enough and you can't get enough of a hold to pull your body up. At others, the rock crumbles in your hand. Sometimes, you can get a good grip and start lifting yourself out and make a little progress then you slip and fall back down again. After each effort, you find yourself back at the bottom in a sense of deep frustration and anguish. Sometimes when you fall back down, the ground gives way and you're in even deeper.
After some time has passed, you've got years of attempts under your belt. You're now an expert at recognizing what will not work. You've tried to use that stone over there or that depression here dozens of times in conjunction with other strategies and every time you have been unable to get out of the well. You are expert at what isn't going to work because you've tried and failed so many times. After awhile, you simply see no point in trying. You still want out of the well very, very badly, but can see no way to escape. Attempts to try just increase your sense of hopelessness. It's easier to simply stop thinking about escape and make the best of where you are. This includes no longer trying to get out because the failure only reminds you of how trapped and helpless you are.
This is the story of a fat person. What you "want" has nothing to do with it. Fat people want to be thinner. They simply cannot find a way out and many eventually stop looking. This analogy fails to impress thin people or successful losers of weight because they were never stuck in that well or the one they were in was one they personally could climb out of. Each "well" is mental and unique. The sides are steeper, smoother, etc. based on the life experiences and personality of each person. Judging others by their inability to escape simply because you could get out is an act of rampant narcissism and a need to elevate oneself above others. It's just not that simple. It's very complicated.
For me, I spent nearly two decades not only sliding down to the bottom of that well, but watching the ground open up under me and swallow me a little deeper each year. From 1989 to 2009, I not only could not find a way to lose weight, but steadily gained despite wanting to lose. In 2009, the thing that changed was my strategy. Being expert at what had never worked (rigidity, exercising a lot, "dieting"), I decided that this time it had to be very, very different if I wanted to escape. This time, I had to try tactics that were atypical because "typical" tactics didn't work for me.
This time, I ate chocolate. This time, I put no food out of bounds. This time, I focused on portions over food types. This time, I didn't castigate myself for eating certain foods or for eating "too much". This time, I wouldn't worry about how fast I lost as long as I was moving in a behavioral and cognitive direction which I felt was "right" for my future. This time, I was going to work hard on my psychological issues with food rather than view it all as simplistic "choices" divorced from my psyche. This time, I wasn't going to assign value judgments to how and what I ate and I was going to focus on eating "normal" rather than "healthy" or "perfect". This time, I wasn't going to hate myself thin. This time, I was going to tunnel sideways using a spoon rather than try and just climb straight up. And, this time, it worked... for me.
The problem is that what works for one person doesn't necessarily work for others. That being said, I think that we can see that the "tried and true" methods do not work for many people in the long run. It is unsustainable to live the path of righteous eating and rigid control for most folks. I can't say that I'm thin (yet, and may never be), but I can say that I've done this for two years and two months now and it isn't an obsession and I don't feel trapped. I absolutely do not feel like what I'm doing is a burden anymore and can happily say I'm good to live this way forever. It's amazing how not denying yourself anything makes it easier. Of course, reframing food mentally in the fashion I have done is far from "easy". I had to learn to be satisfied with one cookie, a few bites of chocolate, or a small handful of pretzels, but the mind can be tuned to be satisfied with less once the psychological issues that compel us to "need" more are dealt with.
In my sister's case, the well she's in is deeper, darker and more intimidating than the one I was in. I like to believe that, if I were there with her, I could help her the same way I have helped myself. Deep down though, I think that's ego speaking. I think the only thing I could do for her is share my cooking and role model my eating patterns to her and she could then attempt to emulate them or not. I think the psychology of her relationship with food is too deep and hidden for anyone to access, including her, and I don't know that that aspect is something she has the capacity to address emotionally. And I understand that completely. It's painful, scary, and harder than most people can possibly imagine. And, what is more, except for the part of me that wants her to have a higher quality of life, less fear, and better health, I don't care. I love my sister no matter what and know that she's an intelligent, kind, caring, and worthwhile person. I just wish that she could have the type of life she deserves and weren't so much a prisoner of the body she's in that she will be denied the type of life a truly good person deserves.
part 2 is here
Last night, I was talking to my husband about how I was feeling regarding my sister's circumstances, which are inextricably linked to her weight. Because of a slip of the tongue, he said that she couldn't change because she didn't "want" it badly enough. As is so often the case, we sometimes over-simplify what we mean to say with words that distort what we really mean. Even though it wasn't what he meant, it did get me thinking about how we often talk about how people have to "want" something badly enough to start taking action toward change.
A lot of people talk about "wanting" it enough to change when it comes to weight loss. I'm here to say that every fat person in the world "wants" to change. Most very desperately would like to lose weight, but "wanting" something is not the same as being able to acquire it. This is a critical mistake that people make when they either fail or decide not to even make the attempt or when they see others doing so. The reason that this is so important to distinguish from "want" is that not knowing the real cause leaves people feeling as though their motivation is what is missing rather than what is really the issue.
I discussed my sister's situation in the other parts of this sequence and I know that she would like to lose weight and speculated that she probably has secretly tried on occasion and failed. I know that I tried and failed on a small level so many times that I ultimately decided that it was inevitable that I would always weigh well over 300 lbs. Here is how it works:
You are at the bottom of a deep dark well and would like to get out. You search around for places where you can grasp the wall and start climbing out. Occasionally, you see a depression or a jutting rock and you grab at it and try to haul yourself out. Sometimes, it isn't deep enough and you can't get enough of a hold to pull your body up. At others, the rock crumbles in your hand. Sometimes, you can get a good grip and start lifting yourself out and make a little progress then you slip and fall back down again. After each effort, you find yourself back at the bottom in a sense of deep frustration and anguish. Sometimes when you fall back down, the ground gives way and you're in even deeper.
After some time has passed, you've got years of attempts under your belt. You're now an expert at recognizing what will not work. You've tried to use that stone over there or that depression here dozens of times in conjunction with other strategies and every time you have been unable to get out of the well. You are expert at what isn't going to work because you've tried and failed so many times. After awhile, you simply see no point in trying. You still want out of the well very, very badly, but can see no way to escape. Attempts to try just increase your sense of hopelessness. It's easier to simply stop thinking about escape and make the best of where you are. This includes no longer trying to get out because the failure only reminds you of how trapped and helpless you are.
This is the story of a fat person. What you "want" has nothing to do with it. Fat people want to be thinner. They simply cannot find a way out and many eventually stop looking. This analogy fails to impress thin people or successful losers of weight because they were never stuck in that well or the one they were in was one they personally could climb out of. Each "well" is mental and unique. The sides are steeper, smoother, etc. based on the life experiences and personality of each person. Judging others by their inability to escape simply because you could get out is an act of rampant narcissism and a need to elevate oneself above others. It's just not that simple. It's very complicated.
For me, I spent nearly two decades not only sliding down to the bottom of that well, but watching the ground open up under me and swallow me a little deeper each year. From 1989 to 2009, I not only could not find a way to lose weight, but steadily gained despite wanting to lose. In 2009, the thing that changed was my strategy. Being expert at what had never worked (rigidity, exercising a lot, "dieting"), I decided that this time it had to be very, very different if I wanted to escape. This time, I had to try tactics that were atypical because "typical" tactics didn't work for me.
This time, I ate chocolate. This time, I put no food out of bounds. This time, I focused on portions over food types. This time, I didn't castigate myself for eating certain foods or for eating "too much". This time, I wouldn't worry about how fast I lost as long as I was moving in a behavioral and cognitive direction which I felt was "right" for my future. This time, I was going to work hard on my psychological issues with food rather than view it all as simplistic "choices" divorced from my psyche. This time, I wasn't going to assign value judgments to how and what I ate and I was going to focus on eating "normal" rather than "healthy" or "perfect". This time, I wasn't going to hate myself thin. This time, I was going to tunnel sideways using a spoon rather than try and just climb straight up. And, this time, it worked... for me.
The problem is that what works for one person doesn't necessarily work for others. That being said, I think that we can see that the "tried and true" methods do not work for many people in the long run. It is unsustainable to live the path of righteous eating and rigid control for most folks. I can't say that I'm thin (yet, and may never be), but I can say that I've done this for two years and two months now and it isn't an obsession and I don't feel trapped. I absolutely do not feel like what I'm doing is a burden anymore and can happily say I'm good to live this way forever. It's amazing how not denying yourself anything makes it easier. Of course, reframing food mentally in the fashion I have done is far from "easy". I had to learn to be satisfied with one cookie, a few bites of chocolate, or a small handful of pretzels, but the mind can be tuned to be satisfied with less once the psychological issues that compel us to "need" more are dealt with.
In my sister's case, the well she's in is deeper, darker and more intimidating than the one I was in. I like to believe that, if I were there with her, I could help her the same way I have helped myself. Deep down though, I think that's ego speaking. I think the only thing I could do for her is share my cooking and role model my eating patterns to her and she could then attempt to emulate them or not. I think the psychology of her relationship with food is too deep and hidden for anyone to access, including her, and I don't know that that aspect is something she has the capacity to address emotionally. And I understand that completely. It's painful, scary, and harder than most people can possibly imagine. And, what is more, except for the part of me that wants her to have a higher quality of life, less fear, and better health, I don't care. I love my sister no matter what and know that she's an intelligent, kind, caring, and worthwhile person. I just wish that she could have the type of life she deserves and weren't so much a prisoner of the body she's in that she will be denied the type of life a truly good person deserves.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Breakthrough, but not a good one
As my last several posts have made it clear, I've been having a very hard time of it psychologically as of late. Losing weight solved some problems, and it created new ones. It reminds me very strongly of something I once read about "even thin people have problems". I'm not thin, but I'm also no longer abusing food for emotional purposes.
Several days ago, I had a snapping point from all of the tension and problems I've been dealing with. In the past, that snapping point brought on an incident where I had a disconnect and mindlessly ate. That was a "cry for help" in which I turned to what I always turned to, self-destructive over-eating. This most recent point had me do something different because food no longer does it for me.
The "something different" was that I lashed out at someone else and did something quite inappropriate. Instead of turning my destruction inward, I turned it outward. I realize in retrospect that both the eating and the lashing out were attempts at self-protection and control. Eating protected me by adding padding to my body and provided a false sense of control because I decided I was choosing to overeat to give me pleasure and comfort. Lashing out at someone else did not comfort me, but what I did (and no, there will be no details) made me feel that I could put up a wall that needed to be in place to reduce the hurt I was feeling. I did what I did fully believing that it was an act of emotional protection and that if I didn't protect myself from this pain, no one else would. It was irrational, but I didn't see it that way at the time.
It was a bad thing to do, and caused no amount of upheaval in my life. The next day, I deeply and sincerely apologized for what I did and explained the circumstances that brought about my actions. My apology took full responsibility and revealed private information about myself and my weight loss which made me deeply vulnerable to this person. I also offered a hand in mending the damage I'd done. The apology was coldly rejected and the hand slapped away. That was fair enough, but I was surprised since I made it clear that this was a mental health issue and the person involved had mental health assistance training. I didn't deserve better, but I had hoped for a little more empathy and compassion from someone who was in a business which requires such things when dealing with people with psychological issues. However, this person was fully entitled to withhold forgiveness and to choose not to exercise understanding or empathy.
What I realize now in retrospect is that I've made a breakthrough in how I handle my stress and pain, but that it isn't necessarily a good one. Instead of hurting myself, I hurt someone else. Note that this isn't something which happens often, and occurred in the depths of deep, deep psychological pain and turmoil. Since not several days ago, I was wishing I'd just die in my sleep to escape my pain, that shouldn't be too surprising.
I've learned a lot from this and feel now that I "shattered" in a way and figured out something of value from how the pieces fell. I need to not allow the situation to get so bad that something like this can happen if it can possibly be prevented (which may not be possible, but it's important to try), but also I need to be careful about acting impulsively when in deep distress. That being said, I'm not sure that it's 100% within my control at such times, but I need to be more aware of the potential for this to happen. The truth is that it is the first time that this has happened since I was a child. I didn't expect it of myself so it was harder to stop. If you can't see the train coming, you don't know it's going to hit something until after the collision has occurred.
What I know now is that, for the first time in a long time, my anger and loathing isn't entirely directed at myself in times of pain. The reactions I had (eating) were grown from the sense of worthlessness that was bred into me since starting to gain weight in childhood. The first response to pain was to hurt myself, because I was not worth preserving. Now, I realize that I don't hate myself enough to hurt me first, foremost, and unconsciously, but have to be very careful to not lash out and hurt someone else. In the fallout of all of this, I told my husband, "this is not me," and I know that I was pushed to this place and acted in opposition to who I am as a result of all I have lost along with weight. I have never been the type of person to hurt others, and in fact have always put others interests before my own to the point of greatly harming myself.
Several days ago, I had a snapping point from all of the tension and problems I've been dealing with. In the past, that snapping point brought on an incident where I had a disconnect and mindlessly ate. That was a "cry for help" in which I turned to what I always turned to, self-destructive over-eating. This most recent point had me do something different because food no longer does it for me.
The "something different" was that I lashed out at someone else and did something quite inappropriate. Instead of turning my destruction inward, I turned it outward. I realize in retrospect that both the eating and the lashing out were attempts at self-protection and control. Eating protected me by adding padding to my body and provided a false sense of control because I decided I was choosing to overeat to give me pleasure and comfort. Lashing out at someone else did not comfort me, but what I did (and no, there will be no details) made me feel that I could put up a wall that needed to be in place to reduce the hurt I was feeling. I did what I did fully believing that it was an act of emotional protection and that if I didn't protect myself from this pain, no one else would. It was irrational, but I didn't see it that way at the time.
It was a bad thing to do, and caused no amount of upheaval in my life. The next day, I deeply and sincerely apologized for what I did and explained the circumstances that brought about my actions. My apology took full responsibility and revealed private information about myself and my weight loss which made me deeply vulnerable to this person. I also offered a hand in mending the damage I'd done. The apology was coldly rejected and the hand slapped away. That was fair enough, but I was surprised since I made it clear that this was a mental health issue and the person involved had mental health assistance training. I didn't deserve better, but I had hoped for a little more empathy and compassion from someone who was in a business which requires such things when dealing with people with psychological issues. However, this person was fully entitled to withhold forgiveness and to choose not to exercise understanding or empathy.
What I realize now in retrospect is that I've made a breakthrough in how I handle my stress and pain, but that it isn't necessarily a good one. Instead of hurting myself, I hurt someone else. Note that this isn't something which happens often, and occurred in the depths of deep, deep psychological pain and turmoil. Since not several days ago, I was wishing I'd just die in my sleep to escape my pain, that shouldn't be too surprising.
I've learned a lot from this and feel now that I "shattered" in a way and figured out something of value from how the pieces fell. I need to not allow the situation to get so bad that something like this can happen if it can possibly be prevented (which may not be possible, but it's important to try), but also I need to be careful about acting impulsively when in deep distress. That being said, I'm not sure that it's 100% within my control at such times, but I need to be more aware of the potential for this to happen. The truth is that it is the first time that this has happened since I was a child. I didn't expect it of myself so it was harder to stop. If you can't see the train coming, you don't know it's going to hit something until after the collision has occurred.
What I know now is that, for the first time in a long time, my anger and loathing isn't entirely directed at myself in times of pain. The reactions I had (eating) were grown from the sense of worthlessness that was bred into me since starting to gain weight in childhood. The first response to pain was to hurt myself, because I was not worth preserving. Now, I realize that I don't hate myself enough to hurt me first, foremost, and unconsciously, but have to be very careful to not lash out and hurt someone else. In the fallout of all of this, I told my husband, "this is not me," and I know that I was pushed to this place and acted in opposition to who I am as a result of all I have lost along with weight. I have never been the type of person to hurt others, and in fact have always put others interests before my own to the point of greatly harming myself.
All of this reasoning and explaining in no way makes what I did "okay", but understanding the dynamic is the only way I can grow from it and diminish the likelihood of doing something like this again. It's a new piece of the puzzle, and one that I acquired at the expense of more than one person.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Envy
I envy cutters. Yes, you read that right. I envy people who harm and mutilate themselves to deal with their pain. Unlike people who eat to bury their pain, cutters are regarded with sympathy. People want to help them and realize that the scars of their destructive behavior are a manifestation of illness. Fat people receive no such sympathy for bearing the scars of their suffering, and the bigger the "scar" (the heavier the person), the less sympathy they receive.
Lately, the quality of my life has been spiraling downward. This is related to what I wrote about in my previous posts, but also an overall tendency for me to work harder at being more productive, more psychologically whole, and to be physically stronger. At this point in time, the way I've taken myself apart to stop my reliance on food to deal with my pain is something I'm not sure I'll survive intact, one way or another.
I'm that much weaker for having made this effort, but not in any of the ways which people would recognize as being "weaknesses". On the contrary, I'm sure people would see everything I've done as nothing but success - losing lots of weight, looking "better", being healthier, and assuming a more productive role in the world. Superficially, I'm looking to be a screaming success. Inside, I'm falling apart.
One thing I know in a visceral fashion but knew superficially before is that the palliative effects of overeating for someone psychologically inclined to use such coping mechanisms are profound. When that is taken away, the forces that drive one to it do not vanish. The pain that motivated the seeking of food for comfort or numbing remains. Without the food, there is nothing but profound pain with no relief. Sometimes the pain is so great that I wish I would simply fall asleep and not wake up the next day. I don't want to die and I wouldn't end my own life, but I wish to stop hurting without relief.
People who fail at their "diets" have something I no longer have. They have the capacity to return to food for comfort because they haven't conditioned the effectiveness of doing so out of them. All I have is rawness and suffering. It makes me wish there was something else to turn to, and that returns me full circle to cutters. I in no way want to elevate what they do, but I can see the appeal of seeking relief in a way that doesn't find you being labeled and judged. It's a sad fact of the world that hurting yourself in one way is ridiculed and seen as character weakness and a lack of self-control and hurting yourself in another is a cry for help. I keep crying, but find no help.
Lately, the quality of my life has been spiraling downward. This is related to what I wrote about in my previous posts, but also an overall tendency for me to work harder at being more productive, more psychologically whole, and to be physically stronger. At this point in time, the way I've taken myself apart to stop my reliance on food to deal with my pain is something I'm not sure I'll survive intact, one way or another.
I'm that much weaker for having made this effort, but not in any of the ways which people would recognize as being "weaknesses". On the contrary, I'm sure people would see everything I've done as nothing but success - losing lots of weight, looking "better", being healthier, and assuming a more productive role in the world. Superficially, I'm looking to be a screaming success. Inside, I'm falling apart.
One thing I know in a visceral fashion but knew superficially before is that the palliative effects of overeating for someone psychologically inclined to use such coping mechanisms are profound. When that is taken away, the forces that drive one to it do not vanish. The pain that motivated the seeking of food for comfort or numbing remains. Without the food, there is nothing but profound pain with no relief. Sometimes the pain is so great that I wish I would simply fall asleep and not wake up the next day. I don't want to die and I wouldn't end my own life, but I wish to stop hurting without relief.
People who fail at their "diets" have something I no longer have. They have the capacity to return to food for comfort because they haven't conditioned the effectiveness of doing so out of them. All I have is rawness and suffering. It makes me wish there was something else to turn to, and that returns me full circle to cutters. I in no way want to elevate what they do, but I can see the appeal of seeking relief in a way that doesn't find you being labeled and judged. It's a sad fact of the world that hurting yourself in one way is ridiculed and seen as character weakness and a lack of self-control and hurting yourself in another is a cry for help. I keep crying, but find no help.
Monday, May 30, 2011
The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done
A lot of people say that losing weight is one of the hardest things they've ever done. For me, having lost weight is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Nearly two years after starting to make changes in my life, I'm finding that the psychological issues continue to create difficulty in my life. Being aware of the possibility of those changes, and even anticipating them and trying to adjust for them, hasn't made them any easier. It's like knowing your leg is going to be broken doesn't make it any less painful nor heal any faster.
Part of the reason that the changes have been so profound for me is that, as a person who has been morbidly obese for nearly her entire life, the way I operate in the world and the way the world has operated (often against me) represents a lifetime of conditioning. I not only react as if I still weighed close to 400 lbs., but I have the mental composition of someone who is accustomed to living a life in accord with that. What that really means continues to reveal itself to me, and it's very hard.
One of the biggest issues that I have is that of having different expectations of myself which often place stress on me. I can work more, because I'm now more employable and I don't have excruciating back pain. I also have more stamina, and can get more done at home and work. Instead of defining myself as someone with limits, I see myself as close to "normal". However, if you have lived most of your life with particular limits, it's hard to know now where the line is drawn. No one has limitless stamina or energy either mentally or physically, and since I have changed, I have to step forward to find my new boundaries. This may sound simple (stop when you're tired or overwhelmed), but life is not so tidy in practice.
As I've been remapping my identity and changing my life in accord with my weight loss, I've been pushing the boundaries little by little and expanding my life to incorporate the types of things other people have done all of their lives without a second thought. I go into stores I avoided before because of narrow aisles. I walk without fear of crippling pain or excessive social censure (though I still get some of that). I went to work outside of my home. I'm going to attend a social function with my husband next weekend, something which I would have been too embarrassed by my body size to do before and wouldn't have considered even if I didn't have bad back pain.
It all sounds very simple when I type it out like that, but the mental journey to who I was to who I am trying to become has been very hard. Even when I willingly do the things I do and even enjoy them, it's still hard psychologically. I may not perceive it, but it grinds me down and puts stress on me. I often feel as if I've broken apart the "me" that was 380 lbs. but had a way of functioning emotionally as a super obese person for so many years and have been putting her back together into a more functional manner.
The problem is that not all of the pieces are in place yet, and sometimes some aspect that is lacking leaves me depressed, stressed, or feeling that I don't know who I am. This incomplete picture is a constant source of difficulty, because I sometimes build some aspect up only to find it's not working and have to tear it back down and figure out what to build again. Even when I superficially appear to be doing well, I feel like I'm drowning on some level. Even successful change or negotiation of a new challenge can leave me exhausted and depressed. On a psychological level, the "new me" isn't "better" than the old me. She's just different and that adjusting is hard after a lifetime of "the old me".
All of these analogies sound abstract, so I will try to give a more concrete example. The first day of work at my (now less new) part-time job was exhausting even though I only worked for about 3 hours. The last time I worked at this job, I worked for about 6 hours. In the previous post, I mentioned that the clients can choose who they deal with and that is why. New employees are unknown so they only get the people who are indifferent to who they work with. Through time, more people know me and I get more work so the hours increase.
Even though I work more hours now, I'm less tired because I'm adjusting. The thing I'm adjusting to isn't longer hours per se, though that is a part of it. What I'm working with is the idea of me being a person who has a commitment that can't easily be broken, goes out in public and deals with people in a professional environment, dresses for such rather than wearing any old clean casual clothes, has to adhere to a schedule other than her own, and who is treated close to being just "normal". It's my whole self-image that is making a shift, not merely my hours.
This all comes coupled with ongoing dealings with issues I've had which changed when I decided to lose weight - dealing with being hungry, dealing with more activity despite having pain, etc. While restricting myself in the former regard and pushing myself in the latter are not as hard as they once were, it is quite a change from before when I could eat what I want when I wanted and not have to endure the physical discomfort of hunger day-in and day-out or to push myself to walk everyday despite pain. There's also the loss of easy pleasure. I still would like to eat more for the mere enjoyment of good tasting food. I don't even want to eat big portions, but I'd like to be eating more variety on a given day, but I can't if I want to keep losing weight. I often feel like every joy in my life has to be struggled for and that nothing positive ever comes easily. The effort nullifies the value of the pleasure I receive. It's like work. The old me didn't have to suffer in these ways, but the new me knows that a paradigm shift must be pushed ahead on if I want to be a different person physically and emotionally.
In many ways, I've traded one sort of suffering for another. It's not all "I'm so happy that I weigh so much less" or that my quality of life is so much better. My quality of life is better in many ways, but not all, not by a long shot. People think "quality of life" is objective and can be measured by things like how superficially attractive you are, how active you can be, how wealthy you are, etc. This is how people succeed yet find themselves in the depths of despair and even become suicidal. Quality of life is measured internally and there are people who may appear to be complete failures with limits who are quite happy overall. My external life is better than it has been in quite some time. My internal life is often a shattered mess.
Part of the reason that the changes have been so profound for me is that, as a person who has been morbidly obese for nearly her entire life, the way I operate in the world and the way the world has operated (often against me) represents a lifetime of conditioning. I not only react as if I still weighed close to 400 lbs., but I have the mental composition of someone who is accustomed to living a life in accord with that. What that really means continues to reveal itself to me, and it's very hard.
One of the biggest issues that I have is that of having different expectations of myself which often place stress on me. I can work more, because I'm now more employable and I don't have excruciating back pain. I also have more stamina, and can get more done at home and work. Instead of defining myself as someone with limits, I see myself as close to "normal". However, if you have lived most of your life with particular limits, it's hard to know now where the line is drawn. No one has limitless stamina or energy either mentally or physically, and since I have changed, I have to step forward to find my new boundaries. This may sound simple (stop when you're tired or overwhelmed), but life is not so tidy in practice.
As I've been remapping my identity and changing my life in accord with my weight loss, I've been pushing the boundaries little by little and expanding my life to incorporate the types of things other people have done all of their lives without a second thought. I go into stores I avoided before because of narrow aisles. I walk without fear of crippling pain or excessive social censure (though I still get some of that). I went to work outside of my home. I'm going to attend a social function with my husband next weekend, something which I would have been too embarrassed by my body size to do before and wouldn't have considered even if I didn't have bad back pain.
It all sounds very simple when I type it out like that, but the mental journey to who I was to who I am trying to become has been very hard. Even when I willingly do the things I do and even enjoy them, it's still hard psychologically. I may not perceive it, but it grinds me down and puts stress on me. I often feel as if I've broken apart the "me" that was 380 lbs. but had a way of functioning emotionally as a super obese person for so many years and have been putting her back together into a more functional manner.
The problem is that not all of the pieces are in place yet, and sometimes some aspect that is lacking leaves me depressed, stressed, or feeling that I don't know who I am. This incomplete picture is a constant source of difficulty, because I sometimes build some aspect up only to find it's not working and have to tear it back down and figure out what to build again. Even when I superficially appear to be doing well, I feel like I'm drowning on some level. Even successful change or negotiation of a new challenge can leave me exhausted and depressed. On a psychological level, the "new me" isn't "better" than the old me. She's just different and that adjusting is hard after a lifetime of "the old me".
All of these analogies sound abstract, so I will try to give a more concrete example. The first day of work at my (now less new) part-time job was exhausting even though I only worked for about 3 hours. The last time I worked at this job, I worked for about 6 hours. In the previous post, I mentioned that the clients can choose who they deal with and that is why. New employees are unknown so they only get the people who are indifferent to who they work with. Through time, more people know me and I get more work so the hours increase.
Even though I work more hours now, I'm less tired because I'm adjusting. The thing I'm adjusting to isn't longer hours per se, though that is a part of it. What I'm working with is the idea of me being a person who has a commitment that can't easily be broken, goes out in public and deals with people in a professional environment, dresses for such rather than wearing any old clean casual clothes, has to adhere to a schedule other than her own, and who is treated close to being just "normal". It's my whole self-image that is making a shift, not merely my hours.
This all comes coupled with ongoing dealings with issues I've had which changed when I decided to lose weight - dealing with being hungry, dealing with more activity despite having pain, etc. While restricting myself in the former regard and pushing myself in the latter are not as hard as they once were, it is quite a change from before when I could eat what I want when I wanted and not have to endure the physical discomfort of hunger day-in and day-out or to push myself to walk everyday despite pain. There's also the loss of easy pleasure. I still would like to eat more for the mere enjoyment of good tasting food. I don't even want to eat big portions, but I'd like to be eating more variety on a given day, but I can't if I want to keep losing weight. I often feel like every joy in my life has to be struggled for and that nothing positive ever comes easily. The effort nullifies the value of the pleasure I receive. It's like work. The old me didn't have to suffer in these ways, but the new me knows that a paradigm shift must be pushed ahead on if I want to be a different person physically and emotionally.
In many ways, I've traded one sort of suffering for another. It's not all "I'm so happy that I weigh so much less" or that my quality of life is so much better. My quality of life is better in many ways, but not all, not by a long shot. People think "quality of life" is objective and can be measured by things like how superficially attractive you are, how active you can be, how wealthy you are, etc. This is how people succeed yet find themselves in the depths of despair and even become suicidal. Quality of life is measured internally and there are people who may appear to be complete failures with limits who are quite happy overall. My external life is better than it has been in quite some time. My internal life is often a shattered mess.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Tired of Climbing
In moments of despair, I often feel like I'm in a deep, dark pit which I am trying to climb out of with little, slow or no success. In good times, I don't think about being in it because I have the sense of moving up toward something better and brighter, but the truth is that I'm still there and still climbing. I only really notice where I am when something happens to knock me down deeper or stop or slow my progress. The effort of the climb or in simply not sliding down deeper, however, is always with me.
This pit isn't physical, of course, nor is it necessarily metaphorical, but speaking of it in this fashion renders it so. This tunnel toward the center of the earth is psychological, and it is uniquely mine. The depth, the shape, the angles, the obstacles, and the holds are formed by my personal history.
Everyone has their own pit of some sort, but not everyone has one as deep, dark, or as difficult as any other particular individual's. In fact, I dare-say that mine is nowhere near the hardest to climb up from nor the deepest, but it's still pretty deep. Some people have very shallow ones, or very gently sloping ones. Their move toward the brightness and beauty of daily happiness is so effortless that the only thing which makes it hard for them to regularly climb out is a catastrophe. For others, it tunnels all the way through to China. They can't even see the light of joy, and mainly imagine what awaits at the top.
The pits we're in are formed by life experiences and circumstances.
Poor? Dig a little deeper.
Ugly? Deeper.
Sick? Deeper yet.
Emotionally unstable or sensitive? Much deeper.
Fat? Tormented? Abused? Much, much deeper still.
There's a nearly endless list of things which can make that hole harder to get out of, and I've lived a lot of them, though not necessarily the worst possible ones. My husband, on the other hand, has one of those shallow, gentle pits. He spends little time in it, and gets out of it pretty fast. He had good parents, a middle class lifestyle, and a natural easy-going nature. He's not only in a shallow pit, but he's got strength to climb out.
One of the things I've realized is that a lot of people, me included (for a little while at least), think that the pit they're in is entirely dug as a result of one factor, their weight/relationship with food. They think that losing weight will mean they are out and in the sun. It's not like that though. Dealing with your food issues makes you stronger for the climb. It may make you move up a little faster, and even closer to the top because less is weighing you down. I'm not talking about the ballast of your body, but that of social censure, self-hatred, and rejection. Losing these things which fall away with the weight makes the climb easier.
You are still, however, in that same hole. You're not out by a long shot simply because you've dealt with food issues. If you think you're out though, you're more vulnerable to easing your grip and slipping back down again, pulled down by the weight of self-loathing and disgust when you think you're detestable again because you've regained weight or started to eat in a less noble fashion.
I realize ever more clearly how deep I'm still in a dark and unhappy place and how hard it continues to be to pull myself up and closer to the top. At times, I grow incredibly weary of the effort of it all, but I still keep trying because I want to reach the light at the top. This has little to do with food anymore, and that's what brings about a certain clarity. It has to do with all of the crap I've been through in life as a result of the way I've been judged, mistreated, and physically damaged.
Every day is a new day with pain - knee pain, back pain, and sometimes other random but not infrequent pains like headaches or stomachaches. Every day is stressful. Every day is walking out on a limb in fear of falling off but walking out on it nonetheless. You can only do that so many times before you grow worn out and just want to stop. You want to arrest the climb for awhile, even let go and slide down just so you don't have to exert even the effort of holding yourself in place.
In all of this, what I realize is that food actually played a role of value in that climb. It was fuel, both emotionally and physically. The emotional palliative effects made the pain more bearable. The physically fueling effects made the exertion less noticeable. Food made the climb easier, but the results of using food in this fashion made it harder.
Gaining weight and being super fat added to the pain and sapped my stamina, but it was hard to find the strength to let it go and keep climbing while waiting for the slow changes that would make things easier to manifest. It was, essentially, abandoning the medicine and hoping in a few months, years, etc. to no longer feel sick. It takes a very long time, but eventually, that is what happens. If you keep climbing without that ballast, you get stronger and can climb a little better and with greater ease. But, it's not easy. It's never going to be easy, and right now I'm just tired of climbing.
And it has nothing to do with food.
This pit isn't physical, of course, nor is it necessarily metaphorical, but speaking of it in this fashion renders it so. This tunnel toward the center of the earth is psychological, and it is uniquely mine. The depth, the shape, the angles, the obstacles, and the holds are formed by my personal history.
Everyone has their own pit of some sort, but not everyone has one as deep, dark, or as difficult as any other particular individual's. In fact, I dare-say that mine is nowhere near the hardest to climb up from nor the deepest, but it's still pretty deep. Some people have very shallow ones, or very gently sloping ones. Their move toward the brightness and beauty of daily happiness is so effortless that the only thing which makes it hard for them to regularly climb out is a catastrophe. For others, it tunnels all the way through to China. They can't even see the light of joy, and mainly imagine what awaits at the top.
The pits we're in are formed by life experiences and circumstances.
Poor? Dig a little deeper.
Ugly? Deeper.
Sick? Deeper yet.
Emotionally unstable or sensitive? Much deeper.
Fat? Tormented? Abused? Much, much deeper still.
There's a nearly endless list of things which can make that hole harder to get out of, and I've lived a lot of them, though not necessarily the worst possible ones. My husband, on the other hand, has one of those shallow, gentle pits. He spends little time in it, and gets out of it pretty fast. He had good parents, a middle class lifestyle, and a natural easy-going nature. He's not only in a shallow pit, but he's got strength to climb out.
One of the things I've realized is that a lot of people, me included (for a little while at least), think that the pit they're in is entirely dug as a result of one factor, their weight/relationship with food. They think that losing weight will mean they are out and in the sun. It's not like that though. Dealing with your food issues makes you stronger for the climb. It may make you move up a little faster, and even closer to the top because less is weighing you down. I'm not talking about the ballast of your body, but that of social censure, self-hatred, and rejection. Losing these things which fall away with the weight makes the climb easier.
You are still, however, in that same hole. You're not out by a long shot simply because you've dealt with food issues. If you think you're out though, you're more vulnerable to easing your grip and slipping back down again, pulled down by the weight of self-loathing and disgust when you think you're detestable again because you've regained weight or started to eat in a less noble fashion.
I realize ever more clearly how deep I'm still in a dark and unhappy place and how hard it continues to be to pull myself up and closer to the top. At times, I grow incredibly weary of the effort of it all, but I still keep trying because I want to reach the light at the top. This has little to do with food anymore, and that's what brings about a certain clarity. It has to do with all of the crap I've been through in life as a result of the way I've been judged, mistreated, and physically damaged.
Every day is a new day with pain - knee pain, back pain, and sometimes other random but not infrequent pains like headaches or stomachaches. Every day is stressful. Every day is walking out on a limb in fear of falling off but walking out on it nonetheless. You can only do that so many times before you grow worn out and just want to stop. You want to arrest the climb for awhile, even let go and slide down just so you don't have to exert even the effort of holding yourself in place.
In all of this, what I realize is that food actually played a role of value in that climb. It was fuel, both emotionally and physically. The emotional palliative effects made the pain more bearable. The physically fueling effects made the exertion less noticeable. Food made the climb easier, but the results of using food in this fashion made it harder.
Gaining weight and being super fat added to the pain and sapped my stamina, but it was hard to find the strength to let it go and keep climbing while waiting for the slow changes that would make things easier to manifest. It was, essentially, abandoning the medicine and hoping in a few months, years, etc. to no longer feel sick. It takes a very long time, but eventually, that is what happens. If you keep climbing without that ballast, you get stronger and can climb a little better and with greater ease. But, it's not easy. It's never going to be easy, and right now I'm just tired of climbing.
And it has nothing to do with food.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Another Loss (not the pound kind)
Several months after starting this blog, I did a post on "the benefits of being fat". I did that post in order to help mentally prepare myself for things I was bound to lose along the way. The loss of many of those benefits was relatively instant. In particular, the loss of unrestricted access to food pleasure. Later, I lost the "excuse" of not doing things I really didn't want to do because of mobility issues. I had to face up to refusing to do certain things because they weren't important enough for me, particularly in the face of my sensitive nature and tendency to feel overwhelmed more easily than many people.
I realized yesterday after my funk, which induced the "I wish..." post, that I was deep in the throes of another loss of a certain benefit of being fat. I realize that I am just now coming to the point where I was losing another benefit of being fat. This time, I was losing the ability to blame any sadness I felt in life on my weight or relationship with food. Sure, I'm still plenty fat (at about 255 lbs.), but it's reaching a stage where my sense of "mastery" over food makes it feel almost inevitable that I will be able to keep losing. It's much harder to hang my unhappiness coat on that "fat" hook than ever before.
Before, every time I felt down or depressed, I had my weight and disordered relationship with food to look to to blame. I'm sad because people treat me badly every day because of my weight. I'm unhappy because I'm in pain every day and can't even accomplish easy tasks like buying groceries without suffering. I'm depressed because I can't stop myself from eating even if I try.
Now, I have to face the fact that maybe I'm sad because I'm sad. Maybe there's no reason for it. It may be a fact of my nature emotionally or biologically to be sad at times. Since I live with a husband who is about as emotionally well-balanced in every way as a person can be (and is really the most wonderful person in the world - and I'm not exaggerating), I do not have recent experience with people who just get sad for no reason (or at least they don't tell me that happens to them), so I think there must be a root cause. My first response is to believe that it's a way of being broken that I have to "fix", but maybe that's not the way to handle every problem.
I think I have to just live with the negative feelings I'm having and stop trying to find concrete reasons or fixes. There's a hole in me that maybe cannot be filled intentionally, but that will find its own closure through time.
Friday, July 9, 2010
I Wish...
I wish I...
By divorcing myself from the joy I took in food, I gained a better relationship with it, but I am left with nothing to take its place.
...was materialistic so that I could buy things and feel happy. I wish an iPad, new clothes, or jewelry mattered to me so that such a simple thing as spending money to acquire bits of junk was meaningful.
...was vain, so that my improved appearance was more meaningful to me. I wish I cared about the shape of my breasts, behind, and waist or how my face looks.
...was nosier, so that I cared about what celebrities did with their lives and could preoccupy myself with the minutiae of their lives.
...had more creative energy, so that working on creative endeavors didn't wear me out and I could cram every waking moment making things of value instead of feeling exhausted and left with a wandering mind.
...was not so easily over-stimulated so that I could fill my time with experiences that didn't overwhelm my nervous system and blow out my emotional fuses.
...was less self-aware, so I didn't understand the depths and causes of the emptiness I sometimes feel.Today, I told my husband that I was tired of never having "enough". I blamed him for this, and said that he was what I wasn't getting "enough" of. The truth is that what I'm not getting enough of is meaning. Now that I can't fill myself up with food, I feel so incredibly empty sometimes that I want to scream. I feel like nothing is exciting anymore, and I wonder if this is depression at having lost something which was a destructive, yet simple, pleasure.
By divorcing myself from the joy I took in food, I gained a better relationship with it, but I am left with nothing to take its place.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
What the Rat Taught Me
Lately, I've been feeling anxious and depressed during the day for no discernible reason. Nothing has really changed, except my weight, and presumably that is all for the good. I go about my business during the day, and just feel empty, anxious, and at loose ends.
Initially, I attributed these feelings to hormonal fluctuations. I'm aware that weight loss often brings changes in such things, but I don't think that is what the problem has been. It could simply be a tendency to feel sad or depressed coming through, but I don't necessarily embrace that explanation either. I think it's something deeper and harder to put my finger on.
I thought about how I used to spend my days before I changed my eating habits. During the day, I would punctuate my day by eating food for pleasure, or simply because I was vaguely hungry and didn't want to endure more intense hunger. A lot of people attribute this type of eating to "boredom". Frankly, I think that is an oversimplification of what is going on.
In my post on insisting on complexity when considering weight problems, I talked about the rat I trained in a Skinner box. In a nutshell, I trained a rat to press a lever to receive a food pellet, but the rat coincidentally turned around before successfully connecting pushing of the lever and receiving the reward. Because of this, the rat always turned around in a circle before pressing the bar even though that action had no meaning (this is superstitious behavior).
I noted in the post on complexity that it would have been very difficult to break the rat of its superstitious behavior and that in the process of doing so, the rat would have felt stressed and anxious. In fact, I would have had to physically restrain the rat to stop it because it had paired the circling and the lever so completely. If I had held the rat in place, it would have struggled greatly and tried to perform its superstitious action prior to pressing the bar.
Humans and animals have many things about the way they learn in common. Humans, like animals, grow accustomed to certain patterns of behavior and feel anxious when they cannot follow the same habits. People like novelty, but only in small doses. Very few people get up every morning and do something different every day. We derive comfort from the sameness of our lives up to the point where we are bored and then we seek some novelty, but return to our routine soon thereafter.
In terms of changing your diet, the routine for many people who have habitually over-eaten is to eat whenever they want and whatever they want. I'm not saying they stuff themselves like pigs all of the time, but I know that I had a glass of milk if I wanted one before. If I wanted a banana, I ate one. Throughout the day, punctuating your time with food adds up calories. When you're on a diet, you lose the capacity to freely consume food, healthy or otherwise. The diet represents a serious disruption in routine as well as a loss of total freedom to act on your impulses. Both of these losses cause stress.
My feeling now is that I have anxiety because I no longer spend my time carrying out the same routine in regards to food. When I first changed my eating patterns, I wanted to eat because I was famished and the reduction in calories was a shock to my body. After I adjusted to that aspect (after a considerable amount of time), I didn't want to eat because I was bored. I wanted to eat because I was stressed due to the disruption in lifestyle patterns. Just like it would be stressful for the rat to stop circling pointlessly before pressing the bar, it's stressful for me to not do what I used to do to see me successfully through each day. Any change, even a positive one which includes discarding destructive habits can cause anxiety.
Now, I don't even have the impulse to eat, but I still have an acute sense that something is wrong. There is something missing in my day and I feel anxiety because of that. I'm in a state which is equivalent to my holding the rat and not allowing it to circle around and forcing it to just face the bar without turning around. I know that I don't need to "circle around" (eat), but I still feel stress at not being able to do so.
Many people who binge think they do it out of boredom, but I believe that it is more than that. I think that the reason we want to give in to urges created by the stress that results from behavior pattern changes. Though we want the food and the enjoyment of it, it is also the fact that there is an intense feeling of satisfaction and relief at merely acting on our desire to eat. If you eat without pleasure, but still want to eat nonetheless, you are likely acting on the need to relieve anxiety from your change in lifestyle. If you binge and feel a profound sense of relief from the act, you are almost certainly also acting out of the resulting stress. This is particularly so if you eat a lot and not out of hunger or obsess over having a certain meal in a certain quantity regardless of your actual hunger.
Imagine how my struggling rat would feel if I held it in place and refused to let it circle before pressing the bar for some time and I suddenly let it go and allowed it to turn around and just press the bar as it wanted to do. The stress would end. The anxiety would pass, and it would do what it had been straining to do. When people who have successfully dieted suddenly binge, they are "letting go" and relieving the anxiety they feel from the multitude of disruptions to routine and eating patterns. The relief you feel when you give in is palpable, but then is followed by remorse and regret. Part of the reason that we believe that we act mainly out of boredom is that we so frequently ate before for pleasure.
It isn't boredom, but rather not knowing what to do now that your life's habits are a blank slate. That emptiness causes stress, not boredom. That stress is relieved by embracing old habits. It takes a very long time to adopt new and effectively comforting habits, and it also takes an awareness that you aren't just bored and turning to food.
After years of eating throughout the day when I felt like it, it became a compulsion. I needed to eat because I always ate, and not doing so causes stress. This aspect of changing the way you live is obfuscated by the absolute multitude of other issues (hunger, boredom, using food as pain, fatigue or stress reliever, sugar and carb addictions, etc.) at play when you go on a diet. People think they want to eat for many reasons, but the stress of abandoning years of a lifestyle pattern is rarely one of them. We think we're too rational for that. We convince ourselves that we're capable of doing what is best because it is best and we get a reward (weight loss) for it.
I realize that though I have successfully divested myself of many of my destructive food-based behaviors and conditioned myself to endure hunger much more effectively, I have not escaped the stress and anxiety of the loss of my old lifestyle patterns. I don't think about food as much. I don't eat as much or as often. When I'm bored, I don't turn to food. When I'm sad, I don't turn to food or even think about it as an answer. However, I am the rat held in place and feeling stress. My whole life has changed and I feel anxious about it. I have to replace old patterns with new ones, but the new ones aren't going to necessarily remove the stress I feel at the loss of old and comforting routines.
I am gratified that the pattern has been so relatively effectively broken at this stage. I don't want to eat for the sake of eating, but I think that I have to remain aware and vigilant that any stress, sadness, or free-floating anxiety that I feel could compel me to eat if I don't keep in mind that it is the emptiness and loss of habits that compel me. I have to push very hard to fill that emptiness with something else, and be very patient about waiting for those new habits to become as comforting as the old ones.
Initially, I attributed these feelings to hormonal fluctuations. I'm aware that weight loss often brings changes in such things, but I don't think that is what the problem has been. It could simply be a tendency to feel sad or depressed coming through, but I don't necessarily embrace that explanation either. I think it's something deeper and harder to put my finger on.
I thought about how I used to spend my days before I changed my eating habits. During the day, I would punctuate my day by eating food for pleasure, or simply because I was vaguely hungry and didn't want to endure more intense hunger. A lot of people attribute this type of eating to "boredom". Frankly, I think that is an oversimplification of what is going on.
In my post on insisting on complexity when considering weight problems, I talked about the rat I trained in a Skinner box. In a nutshell, I trained a rat to press a lever to receive a food pellet, but the rat coincidentally turned around before successfully connecting pushing of the lever and receiving the reward. Because of this, the rat always turned around in a circle before pressing the bar even though that action had no meaning (this is superstitious behavior).
I noted in the post on complexity that it would have been very difficult to break the rat of its superstitious behavior and that in the process of doing so, the rat would have felt stressed and anxious. In fact, I would have had to physically restrain the rat to stop it because it had paired the circling and the lever so completely. If I had held the rat in place, it would have struggled greatly and tried to perform its superstitious action prior to pressing the bar.
Humans and animals have many things about the way they learn in common. Humans, like animals, grow accustomed to certain patterns of behavior and feel anxious when they cannot follow the same habits. People like novelty, but only in small doses. Very few people get up every morning and do something different every day. We derive comfort from the sameness of our lives up to the point where we are bored and then we seek some novelty, but return to our routine soon thereafter.
In terms of changing your diet, the routine for many people who have habitually over-eaten is to eat whenever they want and whatever they want. I'm not saying they stuff themselves like pigs all of the time, but I know that I had a glass of milk if I wanted one before. If I wanted a banana, I ate one. Throughout the day, punctuating your time with food adds up calories. When you're on a diet, you lose the capacity to freely consume food, healthy or otherwise. The diet represents a serious disruption in routine as well as a loss of total freedom to act on your impulses. Both of these losses cause stress.
My feeling now is that I have anxiety because I no longer spend my time carrying out the same routine in regards to food. When I first changed my eating patterns, I wanted to eat because I was famished and the reduction in calories was a shock to my body. After I adjusted to that aspect (after a considerable amount of time), I didn't want to eat because I was bored. I wanted to eat because I was stressed due to the disruption in lifestyle patterns. Just like it would be stressful for the rat to stop circling pointlessly before pressing the bar, it's stressful for me to not do what I used to do to see me successfully through each day. Any change, even a positive one which includes discarding destructive habits can cause anxiety.
Now, I don't even have the impulse to eat, but I still have an acute sense that something is wrong. There is something missing in my day and I feel anxiety because of that. I'm in a state which is equivalent to my holding the rat and not allowing it to circle around and forcing it to just face the bar without turning around. I know that I don't need to "circle around" (eat), but I still feel stress at not being able to do so.
Many people who binge think they do it out of boredom, but I believe that it is more than that. I think that the reason we want to give in to urges created by the stress that results from behavior pattern changes. Though we want the food and the enjoyment of it, it is also the fact that there is an intense feeling of satisfaction and relief at merely acting on our desire to eat. If you eat without pleasure, but still want to eat nonetheless, you are likely acting on the need to relieve anxiety from your change in lifestyle. If you binge and feel a profound sense of relief from the act, you are almost certainly also acting out of the resulting stress. This is particularly so if you eat a lot and not out of hunger or obsess over having a certain meal in a certain quantity regardless of your actual hunger.
Imagine how my struggling rat would feel if I held it in place and refused to let it circle before pressing the bar for some time and I suddenly let it go and allowed it to turn around and just press the bar as it wanted to do. The stress would end. The anxiety would pass, and it would do what it had been straining to do. When people who have successfully dieted suddenly binge, they are "letting go" and relieving the anxiety they feel from the multitude of disruptions to routine and eating patterns. The relief you feel when you give in is palpable, but then is followed by remorse and regret. Part of the reason that we believe that we act mainly out of boredom is that we so frequently ate before for pleasure.
It isn't boredom, but rather not knowing what to do now that your life's habits are a blank slate. That emptiness causes stress, not boredom. That stress is relieved by embracing old habits. It takes a very long time to adopt new and effectively comforting habits, and it also takes an awareness that you aren't just bored and turning to food.
After years of eating throughout the day when I felt like it, it became a compulsion. I needed to eat because I always ate, and not doing so causes stress. This aspect of changing the way you live is obfuscated by the absolute multitude of other issues (hunger, boredom, using food as pain, fatigue or stress reliever, sugar and carb addictions, etc.) at play when you go on a diet. People think they want to eat for many reasons, but the stress of abandoning years of a lifestyle pattern is rarely one of them. We think we're too rational for that. We convince ourselves that we're capable of doing what is best because it is best and we get a reward (weight loss) for it.
I realize that though I have successfully divested myself of many of my destructive food-based behaviors and conditioned myself to endure hunger much more effectively, I have not escaped the stress and anxiety of the loss of my old lifestyle patterns. I don't think about food as much. I don't eat as much or as often. When I'm bored, I don't turn to food. When I'm sad, I don't turn to food or even think about it as an answer. However, I am the rat held in place and feeling stress. My whole life has changed and I feel anxious about it. I have to replace old patterns with new ones, but the new ones aren't going to necessarily remove the stress I feel at the loss of old and comforting routines.
I am gratified that the pattern has been so relatively effectively broken at this stage. I don't want to eat for the sake of eating, but I think that I have to remain aware and vigilant that any stress, sadness, or free-floating anxiety that I feel could compel me to eat if I don't keep in mind that it is the emptiness and loss of habits that compel me. I have to push very hard to fill that emptiness with something else, and be very patient about waiting for those new habits to become as comforting as the old ones.
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Problem Isn’t Solved
This morning I woke up feeling listless and numb. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the feeling grew increasingly familiar. It was the sort of “going through the motions” feeling that I felt during my prolonged bout of clinical depression.
Last night was not a good night for my husband and I. We didn’t have a big fight or anything as we rarely have that kind of conflict. He had been caught up over the last 5 days or so in a drama related to the professional training he has been undergoing. The people he is working with are in a situation where they are privy to the most intimate thoughts of the people they are training. Supposedly, thoughts are shared frankly and in the utmost confidentiality, but the people conducting the training are being rather unprofessional about some of the negative comments made about them in the journals they have asked people to submit. While my husband’s journal hasn’t been at issue, some vindictiveness toward one of the other people in his training group has been alluded to, and he was sucked into the whole drama when he attempted to be supportive of the women who are being victimized by the unprofessional behavior and postures of the powers that be.
Since he has been so wrapped up in this drama, there really hasn’t been any room for me in his life. He goes to work and works long days, comes home and reads e-mail related to the drama, writes responses to the drama, and eats dinner. Then, we go to bed. Anything I say or do pales in comparison to this situation. Any need I may have, like having my husband inquire after my day’s diet progress as I asked him to do when I had my “cry for help” binge eight days ago, has fallen utterly by the wayside. For the last three days, he hasn’t asked me about my diet, despite my request that he simply ask one question to help me get a little more accountability. It would only take a moment of his time, but his brain is so crowded with helping everyone else that he can’t help me.
This morning after he headed off for this training, I sat on the bed and my morning numbness cleared as I reached the previously detailed realizations, and I started to cry because I feel so utterly isolated and alone. I feel as though my concerns don’t matter, and even if they do, he’s too stressed by the immediate situation to have me pile my issues on top of his. Last night, one of the problems he had was that he suddenly became acutely aware that his e-mail-based support of the women who were caught up in the drama could cause him serious problems if they were accidentally passed on to the wrong people. He had been preoccupied all day with this, and when I mentioned that he hadn’t done what very little I had been asking him to do in regards to asking about my day’s eating, he cried.
My husband rarely cries, so it is very devastating for me when I do something that upsets him this much. He then became very hard on himself about how good a husband he is in general (and he is a very good husband, the best I believe). This made me feel petty and terrible for heaping another concern onto him, and making him feel so bad about himself. I felt I should have waited to mention my feelings about his not asking me about my diet progress until this evening, after the last day of his training when any concern for his involvement in this drama blowing up in his face would have passed.
I’m a strong believer in communication with one’s spouse, even when there are difficult emotional accompaniments. That being said, I believe that it is important to use discretion about the timing of that communication. And, that being said, I think my sense of depression, isolation, and disconnection this morning was related to the fact that lately I feel there is no good time for my needs to be dealt with. What is more, I feel that the mundane nature of dealing with my issues and needs pale in comparison to the complex interactions and ensuing drama of the people that he is dealing with now. I can’t help but feel boring, unimportant, and superfluous. I’m also resentful that he’s spending so much time and energy supporting and helping other people while ignoring my request and needs. He tells me I’m more important than anyone or anything, and then goes on to help everyone but me. This disconnection between his asserted wishes and actions has been an issue for us before, and it is now again, but I don't know if he has the mental energy at present to even begin to deal with it at present.
I don’t mean to paint my husband in a negative light. It is difficult for him not to be involved with these people, and he cares about them and wants to build meaningful relationships with them. It’s all very exciting and fulfilling to be involved in this training and to get to know these new people on the deep level that he has. I have tried very hard to allow myself to be marginalized to some extent with grace throughout this process, but I’m starting to feel entirely pushed out of the picture. I don't want to be one of those women who needs some sort of proof that she's more important than anything else in her husband's life, nor do I want him to drop all other concerns for me. However, I'd like to feel that I'm in the mix at least, and I'm starting to feel that not asserting myself in the interests of not being a type of person I'd rather not be is harming me, my self-esteem, and ultimately my relationship with my husband. I don't want to insist on him putting me first, making me a priority or whatever one wants to call meeting my needs, but it is starting to look that there is no other way that I'll have my concerns dealt with or needs met.
I feel trapped. I feel alone. And I feel like there’s nothing I can do about it except cry and feel pain in my stomach and hope that writing about all of this will provide enough catharsis that I don't develop an ulcer or go on another mechanical binge in order to cry for help again.
Last night was not a good night for my husband and I. We didn’t have a big fight or anything as we rarely have that kind of conflict. He had been caught up over the last 5 days or so in a drama related to the professional training he has been undergoing. The people he is working with are in a situation where they are privy to the most intimate thoughts of the people they are training. Supposedly, thoughts are shared frankly and in the utmost confidentiality, but the people conducting the training are being rather unprofessional about some of the negative comments made about them in the journals they have asked people to submit. While my husband’s journal hasn’t been at issue, some vindictiveness toward one of the other people in his training group has been alluded to, and he was sucked into the whole drama when he attempted to be supportive of the women who are being victimized by the unprofessional behavior and postures of the powers that be.
Since he has been so wrapped up in this drama, there really hasn’t been any room for me in his life. He goes to work and works long days, comes home and reads e-mail related to the drama, writes responses to the drama, and eats dinner. Then, we go to bed. Anything I say or do pales in comparison to this situation. Any need I may have, like having my husband inquire after my day’s diet progress as I asked him to do when I had my “cry for help” binge eight days ago, has fallen utterly by the wayside. For the last three days, he hasn’t asked me about my diet, despite my request that he simply ask one question to help me get a little more accountability. It would only take a moment of his time, but his brain is so crowded with helping everyone else that he can’t help me.
This morning after he headed off for this training, I sat on the bed and my morning numbness cleared as I reached the previously detailed realizations, and I started to cry because I feel so utterly isolated and alone. I feel as though my concerns don’t matter, and even if they do, he’s too stressed by the immediate situation to have me pile my issues on top of his. Last night, one of the problems he had was that he suddenly became acutely aware that his e-mail-based support of the women who were caught up in the drama could cause him serious problems if they were accidentally passed on to the wrong people. He had been preoccupied all day with this, and when I mentioned that he hadn’t done what very little I had been asking him to do in regards to asking about my day’s eating, he cried.
My husband rarely cries, so it is very devastating for me when I do something that upsets him this much. He then became very hard on himself about how good a husband he is in general (and he is a very good husband, the best I believe). This made me feel petty and terrible for heaping another concern onto him, and making him feel so bad about himself. I felt I should have waited to mention my feelings about his not asking me about my diet progress until this evening, after the last day of his training when any concern for his involvement in this drama blowing up in his face would have passed.
I’m a strong believer in communication with one’s spouse, even when there are difficult emotional accompaniments. That being said, I believe that it is important to use discretion about the timing of that communication. And, that being said, I think my sense of depression, isolation, and disconnection this morning was related to the fact that lately I feel there is no good time for my needs to be dealt with. What is more, I feel that the mundane nature of dealing with my issues and needs pale in comparison to the complex interactions and ensuing drama of the people that he is dealing with now. I can’t help but feel boring, unimportant, and superfluous. I’m also resentful that he’s spending so much time and energy supporting and helping other people while ignoring my request and needs. He tells me I’m more important than anyone or anything, and then goes on to help everyone but me. This disconnection between his asserted wishes and actions has been an issue for us before, and it is now again, but I don't know if he has the mental energy at present to even begin to deal with it at present.
I don’t mean to paint my husband in a negative light. It is difficult for him not to be involved with these people, and he cares about them and wants to build meaningful relationships with them. It’s all very exciting and fulfilling to be involved in this training and to get to know these new people on the deep level that he has. I have tried very hard to allow myself to be marginalized to some extent with grace throughout this process, but I’m starting to feel entirely pushed out of the picture. I don't want to be one of those women who needs some sort of proof that she's more important than anything else in her husband's life, nor do I want him to drop all other concerns for me. However, I'd like to feel that I'm in the mix at least, and I'm starting to feel that not asserting myself in the interests of not being a type of person I'd rather not be is harming me, my self-esteem, and ultimately my relationship with my husband. I don't want to insist on him putting me first, making me a priority or whatever one wants to call meeting my needs, but it is starting to look that there is no other way that I'll have my concerns dealt with or needs met.
I feel trapped. I feel alone. And I feel like there’s nothing I can do about it except cry and feel pain in my stomach and hope that writing about all of this will provide enough catharsis that I don't develop an ulcer or go on another mechanical binge in order to cry for help again.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A Progress Report Pep Talk
Sometimes I make myself blog about my progress as a form of giving myself a pep talk. This usually happens when I catch a glimpse of my still huge body in a reflected surface such as the shiny door of my microwave oven, a window I'm passing by when I'm out shopping, or the television screen.
It may not surprise anyone that there are no full length mirrors in my home. Sometimes I wonder if I really should get one so that I can view my body without the distortion that comes from those reflected surfaces. Frankly though, I try simply not to look because what I see makes me unhappy and demoralized, but occasionally, I catch a look without trying to do so.
So, these little progress reports are my way of talking myself out of an oncoming depression at how I appear to be "different", but not "better" at this stage of the game. Taking stock of the things which actually are better helps, even if many of those things are relative and of little consequence on the whole.
Here are the little things which have changed for the better:
Though I don't weigh myself at all at present, I probably will start doing so sometime around the middle of next year, though I will likely do so infrequently (on a monthly basis at the most frequent). There will come a time when progress will be harder to measure qualitatively and a quantitative measure might be a motivational tool. At present, I still view it as potentially more damaging than helpful in my particular case.
Happy New Year to my small group of kind readers, and good luck to you all in the coming year!
It may not surprise anyone that there are no full length mirrors in my home. Sometimes I wonder if I really should get one so that I can view my body without the distortion that comes from those reflected surfaces. Frankly though, I try simply not to look because what I see makes me unhappy and demoralized, but occasionally, I catch a look without trying to do so.
So, these little progress reports are my way of talking myself out of an oncoming depression at how I appear to be "different", but not "better" at this stage of the game. Taking stock of the things which actually are better helps, even if many of those things are relative and of little consequence on the whole.
Here are the little things which have changed for the better:
- My tighter pants (which are stretchy pants) have become loose and are starting to gap a bit at the waist. They're also getting too long and will need to be hemmed. My looser pants are becoming what my husband calls "comically" big. I expect these loose pants to be too impossibly big to wear by the end of spring of next year, even with an elastic waist which can hold them up despite the size.
- Long-sleeved T-shirts that I wear during cool and cold weather times which were uncomfortably tight now fit properly. My upper arms used to fit like sausages in a tight case before in these shirts, and now there is a little play in the fabric of the upper arms.
- My face looks younger and better by an appreciable amount.
- I can only wear my wedding ring if I put a sizing band on it or it is prone to slipping off my finger.
- I don't get nearly as winded climbing stairs or find it as difficult to haul myself up them.
- Though I still wake up with back pain and stiffness (from lying down overnight) every morning, I can now walk without sitting to rest most of the time for up to about 45 minutes, though occasionally my hips will ache and I'll have to have a brief sit down early on in a walk.
- I can withstand hunger pangs far more readily than before and it takes more time to develop a low blood sugar headache than when I started. This is a profound change and I believe my body has made an adjustment to less food and is responding less aggressively to less getting less food. It's still not easy to sit around being hungry, but it is "easier" than before.
- I haven't felt the impulse to binge eat or eat compulsively for about two weeks, though I still eat things which I crave in small portions when I'm not really hungry.
- My belly button depth has noticeably decreased. I know this is gross to people who have never been morbidly obese, but when you shower or clean yourself, you have to go pretty deep to reach the bottom and I can tell by the finger depth that my belly, big as it still is, is getting smaller. One of these days, I'll not have to go the entire depth of my index finger to reach the bottom, but I'm not there yet.
- I'm starting to develop a lap again. My belly apron was so big that I didn't have much of a lap, just my knees poking out. I'm seeing more of my thighes while sitting than I have for quite some time.
- It's becoming easier to type at my computer as my arms rest lower on my body as my stomach gets smaller. I don't have to hold my elbows quite so awkwardly to work around my stomach.
Though I don't weigh myself at all at present, I probably will start doing so sometime around the middle of next year, though I will likely do so infrequently (on a monthly basis at the most frequent). There will come a time when progress will be harder to measure qualitatively and a quantitative measure might be a motivational tool. At present, I still view it as potentially more damaging than helpful in my particular case.
Happy New Year to my small group of kind readers, and good luck to you all in the coming year!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Sometimes...
I just want to crawl in a hole and hide from all of the torment I face every time I step outside my front door.
But, it's really not a whole lot safer here (on the internet).
But, it's really not a whole lot safer here (on the internet).
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