Normal? What’s normal….

So things seem to have been going well over the last few weeks. I haven’t really been thinking about eating, my body, my weight most of the time. Of course I have occasional moments of panic: it’s funny how I can feel that I look and feel ok one day and then the next the self-doubt reappears and I am convinced I am on the fast road to becoming a whale! Just catching a glimpse of myself in a shop window or looking at myself in a mirror can have all those negative thoughts circulating again. I get fed up with them, but they are still lurking in the wings, waiting to catch me in a moment of insecurity, filling my brain with their toxic messages. Sometimes I find it hard to fight back, readjust my thinking and get back on the road I want to be on. It takes time.

But that’s all an aside: what I have been considering is what is “normal” eating. Take today, for example, a stressful morning: a long difficult drive to a meeting only to find the other person didn’t show up. I know that happens sometimes but I have been feeling really positive lately (if that doesn’t contradict what I wrote before?), especially about my work so I felt a bit of a dip. When I got home I made coffee and thought that I fancied a bit of chocolate, I knew I didn’t want a lot, but I had a long mental conversation about whether I really wanted chocolate or was I comforting my disappointment? Eventually I decided I did just fancy eating something sweet that had nothing to do with crushing my feelings, I broke a bit off a bar of chocolate, ate that slowly, enjoyed it and didn’t feel that I had to go back for the rest of the bar. Is that what normal people do (probably without the irritating internal dialogue)? Am I starting to be normal?

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The shame of it….

We had a lovely family day yesterday: a birthday meal, plenty to eat and drink, lots of laughter, a really lovely day. I went to bed feeling blessed and happy. And then I had a horrible dream: the only bit of it I remember clearly is being told I had put on a lot of weight. I woke up feeling awful, and then sad that this obsession I have with my body, my eating, my weight, could impact on me so strongly and spoil the end of a lovely weekend.

The primary feeling I had was shame or embarassment. Perhaps the idea that I could enjoy a family day without monitoring all I was eating and drinking was too much for my subconscious, perhaps it was trying to inflict my old ways of thinking back on me? I sat and thought about it, remembering I hadn’t actually eaten that much so why were these negative voices so strong? And even if I had eaten more than normal why did it matter that much? We don’t do this every day, every week or even every month so one day wouldn’t have a huge impact. It just all seems so pointless and negative.

I don’t want the focus of my life to be on this, I want food to be simply fuel but it seems like parts of me are fighting back and I hated the feeling of shame, the idea of someone really hitting me where it hurts: the way I look and the way I feel about the way I look. I imagine every mouthful causing my hips to expand and I am fighting this really hard, talking to myself with the kindess I use with other people, but it is still fighting back. I still look at photos of friends from school to see if they are bigger or smaller than me: what a sad way to judge the world and the people in it. I realise the fight has just begun just when I was hoping it was getting nearer the end!