Re: Journal Entry/IE Article

[Guest guest]

Wow, I just love what you wrote! Especially the part at the end

where you talk about letting the world fill you up. Very poetic and

inspiring. Thanks for posting it!

<3---

>

> Hey all,

> Just thought I'd share this journal entry / article I wrote the

other

> day about my journey so far with IE...thanks for reading if you do!

> It's kinda long, haha.

> ____

>

> " I'm Having a Fat Morning "

>

> I woke up with a hand on my stomach, and down came the levees. Down

> came the voice.

>

> First, it told me I was too fat. Then it told me that it felt the

way

> all of my pregnant girlfriends' tummies looked to me, except where

> theirs is all beauty and womb-y, life-sustaining goodness, mine is

> just layers of fat sloshing around where air used to be.

>

> I got in the shower and looked down: yep, the voice said, there it

is.

> And, to be honest, I was kind of surprised: it looked a bit smaller

> than the Hindenburg zeppelin I had thought it would be. But it was

> still bigger than what it was when I got married back in the Spring,

> and that's all that mattered.

>

> I'm feeling fatter these days because in truth, I am heavier. About

> four years go, I went on a diet and lost not only a significant

amount

> of weight, but also, apparently, my mind. I started dieting like

every

> " American woman should " to look the way every " American woman

should " ;

> and that pressure, coupled with a massive amount of stress and the

ton

> of bricks I carried around called co-dependency, grew from something

> harmless to something dangerous. I would go on endless cycles of

> binging and restricting - and, at my very worst, resorted to chewing

> and then spitting out food. That was the part one of the one-two

punch

> that ultimately knocked me down. Part two was my brittle self-esteem

> and the crippling desire to be perfect. Needless to say, it all

caught

> up with me. Two years after I started my diet I was diagnosed with

an

> eating disorder.

>

> I did some intensive work with a tag-team of a therapist (who worked

> on my insides) and with a nutritionist (who helped with the

outside).

> Working with them I was able to start identifying the reasons for my

> behavior - and although it was scary, I began the long process of

> finding a healed relationship with food and the people around me.

But

> although the work was good, it was on a limited-time-only basis,

> because only a few short months after starting therapy, I got

married.

>

> After my wedding I moved with my husband to a new state, hours away

> from my friends and family and job and all that was familiar. There

> was a significant gap in between the time I moved and found a new

job,

> padded by many rough days that are painful to remember, and best

saved

> for another essay. But with all that free time on my hands, I

decided

> that would be the time (if there ever was one) to finish what I had

> started back when I decided to treat my eating disorder and

finally -

> really - practice intuitive eating.

>

> Intuitive eating is that natural state we're all born into as humans

> that helps us decide when we're hungry, what we want to eat, and

when

> we're full. It's the age of the baby that cries when it is hungry

and

> stops when it is satisfied. It's the age of the toddler who, no

matter

> how much you beg, cajole, or threaten, will not put anything into

her

> mouth if she doesn't want it. Somewhere along the line, I had lost

> that ability. I'm pretty sure it's around fifth grade, because I

> remember weighing 100 pounds when I was that age, and for some

reason

> I couldn't figure out then, that was a Bad Thing.

>

> So, armed with the tools my nutritionist and my therapist gave when

I

> was still back at my parents' house, I began the journey. And boy,

did

> it suck. I had to level the playing field and legalize the foods I

was

> always scared to eat. I had panic attacks along with my pop-tart for

> breakfast. I flipped out when I ate rice. Anything white or refined,

> forget it. But I kept going, kept listening to myself and started

> eating when I was hungry and stopping when I was full. It did suck,

> but it got better. It got easier. I found that when I honored my

> hunger with things that satisfied me, I was able to pay attention to

> other things. I read up on politics, a subject that had always

eluded

> me. I got a sewing machine for my birthday and tooled around with

it a

> bit. If I was tired at the end of the day, I would rest on the couch

> instead of trying to give myself false energy by eating when I

wasn't

> hungry. When I was sad, I cried; when I was lonely, I cried; when I

> heard a funny joke I laughed; when a favorite song came on the

radio,

> I sang along. And I began to learn when I was hungry and fed myself,

> and then moved on - because life goes on.

>

> It's been six months. I've stayed at around the same weight for four

> of them, give or take a few pounds. I'm learning to accept it

because

> I should accept myself, but some days it's a real struggle. Because

> now I get to deal face-front with all I was hiding when I was

> punishing myself with food. Better to feel guilt over eating

something

> I felt I shouldn't rather than deal with the pain of my parents

having

> their house foreclosed. Better to feel awful for not exercising as

> much as I should than feeling awful for not being able to live up to

> my own unrealistic expectations at work. Although having to

> acknowledge the root causes of my disorder is freeing, it is also

> tough work.

>

> Like it is this morning. Last night I baked some bread, something I

> both enjoy and am terrified of. I enjoy it because of the measuring,

> the smell of the bread, and the way my hands get dusty and covered

in

> bits of flour. I'm terrified of it because of the idea that if I

start

> eating it, I'll never stop. And when you're baking for two people,

> there is usually a lot left over. My husband, who doesn't worry

about

> what he eats, said he'd have some for breakfast. I said I would too.

>

> But the voice told me I shouldn't; and it didn't so much tell me as

> scream at me not to. I walk around the kitchen this morning,

following

> my routine as usual, debating the pros and cons of eating this bread

> for breakfast. I want to eat it, but for some reason, I can't. My

> rational mind breaks down the ingredients for me, while my

irrational

> mind calculates the massive amount of weight I will surely gain as a

> consequence. My rational mind tells me it is probably more healthy

> than the fake bread we have at home, while my irrational mind says

to

> look out for the best interest of my jeans - how would they feel if

I

> couldn't fit into them any more?

>

> So I walk over and cut two pieces. I put them in the toaster, and

then

> take them out. I put butter on them and walk over to the couch. I

> listen to myself. I take the first few bites of my breakfast and

push

> through the fear. It tastes good - chewy and thick and hot. Just as

I

> near the end of the first piece, I hear another voice: my stomach.

It

> tells me in a little voice that it's full. The other piece is still

on

> my plate, glistening and ready for consumption; and although I'd

like

> to eat it, my stomach honestly doesn't want anymore right then. So I

> listen to myself, walk over to the garbage, and throw out the

> remaining piece. I get my coffee, check my email, and start this

article.

>

> Snow is falling outside. It's not sticking; it's not cold enough.

But

> I think about the world outside myself, how good that feels. It

fills

> me up, and I keep going with my day.

>

[Guest guest]

Thank you Christy! Your essay is exactly what I needed to hear today.

I logged on with the intention of sharing the fact that I am feeling

like I am gaining weight, and needed support and kind words to remind

me why I am doing this. And here is this beautiful essay telling me

exactly what I needed to hear. I'm gonna go read it again and again

until I don't care about my jeans not fitting anymore! Thank you

Christy!!

Bonnie

> >

> > Hey all,

> > Just thought I'd share this journal entry / article I wrote the

> other

> > day about my journey so far with IE...thanks for reading if you

do!

> > It's kinda long, haha.

> > ____

> >

> > " I'm Having a Fat Morning "

> >

> > I woke up with a hand on my stomach, and down came the levees.

Down

> > came the voice.

> >

> > First, it told me I was too fat. Then it told me that it felt the

> way

> > all of my pregnant girlfriends' tummies looked to me, except where

> > theirs is all beauty and womb-y, life-sustaining goodness, mine is

> > just layers of fat sloshing around where air used to be.

> >

> > I got in the shower and looked down: yep, the voice said, there

it

> is.

> > And, to be honest, I was kind of surprised: it looked a bit

smaller

> > than the Hindenburg zeppelin I had thought it would be. But it was

> > still bigger than what it was when I got married back in the

Spring,

> > and that's all that mattered.

> >

> > I'm feeling fatter these days because in truth, I am heavier.

About

> > four years go, I went on a diet and lost not only a significant

> amount

> > of weight, but also, apparently, my mind. I started dieting like

> every

> > " American woman should " to look the way every " American woman

> should " ;

> > and that pressure, coupled with a massive amount of stress and

the

> ton

> > of bricks I carried around called co-dependency, grew from

something

> > harmless to something dangerous. I would go on endless cycles of

> > binging and restricting - and, at my very worst, resorted to

chewing

> > and then spitting out food. That was the part one of the one-two

> punch

> > that ultimately knocked me down. Part two was my brittle self-

esteem

> > and the crippling desire to be perfect. Needless to say, it all

> caught

> > up with me. Two years after I started my diet I was diagnosed

with

> an

> > eating disorder.

> >

> > I did some intensive work with a tag-team of a therapist (who

worked

> > on my insides) and with a nutritionist (who helped with the

> outside).

> > Working with them I was able to start identifying the reasons for

my

> > behavior - and although it was scary, I began the long process of

> > finding a healed relationship with food and the people around me.

> But

> > although the work was good, it was on a limited-time-only basis,

> > because only a few short months after starting therapy, I got

> married.

> >

> > After my wedding I moved with my husband to a new state, hours

away

> > from my friends and family and job and all that was familiar.

There

> > was a significant gap in between the time I moved and found a new

> job,

> > padded by many rough days that are painful to remember, and best

> saved

> > for another essay. But with all that free time on my hands, I

> decided

> > that would be the time (if there ever was one) to finish what I

had

> > started back when I decided to treat my eating disorder and

> finally -

> > really - practice intuitive eating.

> >

> > Intuitive eating is that natural state we're all born into as

humans

> > that helps us decide when we're hungry, what we want to eat, and

> when

> > we're full. It's the age of the baby that cries when it is hungry

> and

> > stops when it is satisfied. It's the age of the toddler who, no

> matter

> > how much you beg, cajole, or threaten, will not put anything into

> her

> > mouth if she doesn't want it. Somewhere along the line, I had lost

> > that ability. I'm pretty sure it's around fifth grade, because I

> > remember weighing 100 pounds when I was that age, and for some

> reason

> > I couldn't figure out then, that was a Bad Thing.

> >

> > So, armed with the tools my nutritionist and my therapist gave

when

> I

> > was still back at my parents' house, I began the journey. And

boy,

> did

> > it suck. I had to level the playing field and legalize the foods

I

> was

> > always scared to eat. I had panic attacks along with my pop-tart

for

> > breakfast. I flipped out when I ate rice. Anything white or

refined,

> > forget it. But I kept going, kept listening to myself and started

> > eating when I was hungry and stopping when I was full. It did

suck,

> > but it got better. It got easier. I found that when I honored my

> > hunger with things that satisfied me, I was able to pay attention

to

> > other things. I read up on politics, a subject that had always

> eluded

> > me. I got a sewing machine for my birthday and tooled around with

> it a

> > bit. If I was tired at the end of the day, I would rest on the

couch

> > instead of trying to give myself false energy by eating when I

> wasn't

> > hungry. When I was sad, I cried; when I was lonely, I cried; when

I

> > heard a funny joke I laughed; when a favorite song came on the

> radio,

> > I sang along. And I began to learn when I was hungry and fed

myself,

> > and then moved on - because life goes on.

> >

> > It's been six months. I've stayed at around the same weight for

four

> > of them, give or take a few pounds. I'm learning to accept it

> because

> > I should accept myself, but some days it's a real struggle.

Because

> > now I get to deal face-front with all I was hiding when I was

> > punishing myself with food. Better to feel guilt over eating

> something

> > I felt I shouldn't rather than deal with the pain of my parents

> having

> > their house foreclosed. Better to feel awful for not exercising as

> > much as I should than feeling awful for not being able to live up

to

> > my own unrealistic expectations at work. Although having to

> > acknowledge the root causes of my disorder is freeing, it is also

> > tough work.

> >

> > Like it is this morning. Last night I baked some bread, something

I

> > both enjoy and am terrified of. I enjoy it because of the

measuring,

> > the smell of the bread, and the way my hands get dusty and

covered

> in

> > bits of flour. I'm terrified of it because of the idea that if I

> start

> > eating it, I'll never stop. And when you're baking for two people,

> > there is usually a lot left over. My husband, who doesn't worry

> about

> > what he eats, said he'd have some for breakfast. I said I would

too.

> >

> > But the voice told me I shouldn't; and it didn't so much tell me

as

> > scream at me not to. I walk around the kitchen this morning,

> following

> > my routine as usual, debating the pros and cons of eating this

bread

> > for breakfast. I want to eat it, but for some reason, I can't. My

> > rational mind breaks down the ingredients for me, while my

> irrational

> > mind calculates the massive amount of weight I will surely gain

as a

> > consequence. My rational mind tells me it is probably more healthy

> > than the fake bread we have at home, while my irrational mind

says

> to

> > look out for the best interest of my jeans - how would they feel

if

> I

> > couldn't fit into them any more?

> >

> > So I walk over and cut two pieces. I put them in the toaster, and

> then

> > take them out. I put butter on them and walk over to the couch. I

> > listen to myself. I take the first few bites of my breakfast and

> push

> > through the fear. It tastes good - chewy and thick and hot. Just

as

> I

> > near the end of the first piece, I hear another voice: my

stomach.

> It

> > tells me in a little voice that it's full. The other piece is

still

> on

> > my plate, glistening and ready for consumption; and although I'd

> like

> > to eat it, my stomach honestly doesn't want anymore right then.

So I

> > listen to myself, walk over to the garbage, and throw out the

> > remaining piece. I get my coffee, check my email, and start this

> article.

> >

> > Snow is falling outside. It's not sticking; it's not cold enough.

> But

> > I think about the world outside myself, how good that feels. It

> fills

> > me up, and I keep going with my day.

> >

>

[Guest guest]

Thanks, Bonnie and !

Usually when I'm having hard days with IE, I try to " use my voice " -

my nutritionist (who got me started on IE) says to journal whenever

that happens, so that's what I ended up with on that particular day.

Thanks for all of the encouragement!

-Christy

> > >

> > > Hey all,

> > > Just thought I'd share this journal entry / article I wrote the

> > other

> > > day about my journey so far with IE...thanks for reading if you

> do!

> > > It's kinda long, haha.

> > > ____

> > >

> > > " I'm Having a Fat Morning "

> > >

> > > I woke up with a hand on my stomach, and down came the levees.

> Down

> > > came the voice.

> > >

> > > First, it told me I was too fat. Then it told me that it felt the

> > way

> > > all of my pregnant girlfriends' tummies looked to me, except where

> > > theirs is all beauty and womb-y, life-sustaining goodness, mine is

> > > just layers of fat sloshing around where air used to be.

> > >

> > > I got in the shower and looked down: yep, the voice said, there

> it

> > is.

> > > And, to be honest, I was kind of surprised: it looked a bit

> smaller

> > > than the Hindenburg zeppelin I had thought it would be. But it was

> > > still bigger than what it was when I got married back in the

> Spring,

> > > and that's all that mattered.

> > >

> > > I'm feeling fatter these days because in truth, I am heavier.

> About

> > > four years go, I went on a diet and lost not only a significant

> > amount

> > > of weight, but also, apparently, my mind. I started dieting like

> > every

> > > " American woman should " to look the way every " American woman

> > should " ;

> > > and that pressure, coupled with a massive amount of stress and

> the

> > ton

> > > of bricks I carried around called co-dependency, grew from

> something

> > > harmless to something dangerous. I would go on endless cycles of

> > > binging and restricting - and, at my very worst, resorted to

> chewing

> > > and then spitting out food. That was the part one of the one-two

> > punch

> > > that ultimately knocked me down. Part two was my brittle self-

> esteem

> > > and the crippling desire to be perfect. Needless to say, it all

> > caught

> > > up with me. Two years after I started my diet I was diagnosed

> with

> > an

> > > eating disorder.

> > >

> > > I did some intensive work with a tag-team of a therapist (who

> worked

> > > on my insides) and with a nutritionist (who helped with the

> > outside).

> > > Working with them I was able to start identifying the reasons for

> my

> > > behavior - and although it was scary, I began the long process of

> > > finding a healed relationship with food and the people around me.

> > But

> > > although the work was good, it was on a limited-time-only basis,

> > > because only a few short months after starting therapy, I got

> > married.

> > >

> > > After my wedding I moved with my husband to a new state, hours

> away

> > > from my friends and family and job and all that was familiar.

> There

> > > was a significant gap in between the time I moved and found a new

> > job,

> > > padded by many rough days that are painful to remember, and best

> > saved

> > > for another essay. But with all that free time on my hands, I

> > decided

> > > that would be the time (if there ever was one) to finish what I

> had

> > > started back when I decided to treat my eating disorder and

> > finally -

> > > really - practice intuitive eating.

> > >

> > > Intuitive eating is that natural state we're all born into as

> humans

> > > that helps us decide when we're hungry, what we want to eat, and

> > when

> > > we're full. It's the age of the baby that cries when it is hungry

> > and

> > > stops when it is satisfied. It's the age of the toddler who, no

> > matter

> > > how much you beg, cajole, or threaten, will not put anything into

> > her

> > > mouth if she doesn't want it. Somewhere along the line, I had lost

> > > that ability. I'm pretty sure it's around fifth grade, because I

> > > remember weighing 100 pounds when I was that age, and for some

> > reason

> > > I couldn't figure out then, that was a Bad Thing.

> > >

> > > So, armed with the tools my nutritionist and my therapist gave

> when

> > I

> > > was still back at my parents' house, I began the journey. And

> boy,

> > did

> > > it suck. I had to level the playing field and legalize the foods

> I

> > was

> > > always scared to eat. I had panic attacks along with my pop-tart

> for

> > > breakfast. I flipped out when I ate rice. Anything white or

> refined,

> > > forget it. But I kept going, kept listening to myself and started

> > > eating when I was hungry and stopping when I was full. It did

> suck,

> > > but it got better. It got easier. I found that when I honored my

> > > hunger with things that satisfied me, I was able to pay attention

> to

> > > other things. I read up on politics, a subject that had always

> > eluded

> > > me. I got a sewing machine for my birthday and tooled around with

> > it a

> > > bit. If I was tired at the end of the day, I would rest on the

> couch

> > > instead of trying to give myself false energy by eating when I

> > wasn't

> > > hungry. When I was sad, I cried; when I was lonely, I cried; when

> I

> > > heard a funny joke I laughed; when a favorite song came on the

> > radio,

> > > I sang along. And I began to learn when I was hungry and fed

> myself,

> > > and then moved on - because life goes on.

> > >

> > > It's been six months. I've stayed at around the same weight for

> four

> > > of them, give or take a few pounds. I'm learning to accept it

> > because

> > > I should accept myself, but some days it's a real struggle.

> Because

> > > now I get to deal face-front with all I was hiding when I was

> > > punishing myself with food. Better to feel guilt over eating

> > something

> > > I felt I shouldn't rather than deal with the pain of my parents

> > having

> > > their house foreclosed. Better to feel awful for not exercising as

> > > much as I should than feeling awful for not being able to live up

> to

> > > my own unrealistic expectations at work. Although having to

> > > acknowledge the root causes of my disorder is freeing, it is also

> > > tough work.

> > >

> > > Like it is this morning. Last night I baked some bread, something

> I

> > > both enjoy and am terrified of. I enjoy it because of the

> measuring,

> > > the smell of the bread, and the way my hands get dusty and

> covered

> > in

> > > bits of flour. I'm terrified of it because of the idea that if I

> > start

> > > eating it, I'll never stop. And when you're baking for two people,

> > > there is usually a lot left over. My husband, who doesn't worry

> > about

> > > what he eats, said he'd have some for breakfast. I said I would

> too.

> > >

> > > But the voice told me I shouldn't; and it didn't so much tell me

> as

> > > scream at me not to. I walk around the kitchen this morning,

> > following

> > > my routine as usual, debating the pros and cons of eating this

> bread

> > > for breakfast. I want to eat it, but for some reason, I can't. My

> > > rational mind breaks down the ingredients for me, while my

> > irrational

> > > mind calculates the massive amount of weight I will surely gain

> as a

> > > consequence. My rational mind tells me it is probably more healthy

> > > than the fake bread we have at home, while my irrational mind

> says

> > to

> > > look out for the best interest of my jeans - how would they feel

> if

> > I

> > > couldn't fit into them any more?

> > >

> > > So I walk over and cut two pieces. I put them in the toaster, and

> > then

> > > take them out. I put butter on them and walk over to the couch. I

> > > listen to myself. I take the first few bites of my breakfast and

> > push

> > > through the fear. It tastes good - chewy and thick and hot. Just

> as

> > I

> > > near the end of the first piece, I hear another voice: my

> stomach.

> > It

> > > tells me in a little voice that it's full. The other piece is

> still

> > on

> > > my plate, glistening and ready for consumption; and although I'd

> > like

> > > to eat it, my stomach honestly doesn't want anymore right then.

> So I

> > > listen to myself, walk over to the garbage, and throw out the

> > > remaining piece. I get my coffee, check my email, and start this

> > article.

> > >

> > > Snow is falling outside. It's not sticking; it's not cold enough.

> > But

> > > I think about the world outside myself, how good that feels. It

> > fills

> > > me up, and I keep going with my day.

> > >

> >

>

[Guest guest]

I was really touched by your article, the honesty in it, and so happy

for you for that IE victory at the end. What a great article. You

are a gifted writer as well.

-- In IntuitiveEating_Support , " springfrog17 "

wrote:

>

> Hey all,

> Just thought I'd share this journal entry / article I wrote the

other

> day about my journey so far with IE...thanks for reading if you do!

> It's kinda long, haha.

> ____

>

> " I'm Having a Fat Morning "

>

> I woke up with a hand on my stomach, and down came the levees. Down

> came the voice.

>

> First, it told me I was too fat. Then it told me that it felt the

way

> all of my pregnant girlfriends' tummies looked to me, except where

> theirs is all beauty and womb-y, life-sustaining goodness, mine is

> just layers of fat sloshing around where air used to be.

>

> I got in the shower and looked down: yep, the voice said, there it

is.

> And, to be honest, I was kind of surprised: it looked a bit smaller

> than the Hindenburg zeppelin I had thought it would be. But it was

> still bigger than what it was when I got married back in the Spring,

> and that's all that mattered.

>

> I'm feeling fatter these days because in truth, I am heavier. About

> four years go, I went on a diet and lost not only a significant

amount

> of weight, but also, apparently, my mind. I started dieting like

every

> " American woman should " to look the way every " American woman

should " ;

> and that pressure, coupled with a massive amount of stress and the

ton

> of bricks I carried around called co-dependency, grew from something

> harmless to something dangerous. I would go on endless cycles of

> binging and restricting - and, at my very worst, resorted to chewing

> and then spitting out food. That was the part one of the one-two

punch

> that ultimately knocked me down. Part two was my brittle self-esteem

> and the crippling desire to be perfect. Needless to say, it all

caught

> up with me. Two years after I started my diet I was diagnosed with

an

> eating disorder.

>

> I did some intensive work with a tag-team of a therapist (who worked

> on my insides) and with a nutritionist (who helped with the

outside).

> Working with them I was able to start identifying the reasons for my

> behavior - and although it was scary, I began the long process of

> finding a healed relationship with food and the people around me.

But

> although the work was good, it was on a limited-time-only basis,

> because only a few short months after starting therapy, I got

married.

>

> After my wedding I moved with my husband to a new state, hours away

> from my friends and family and job and all that was familiar. There

> was a significant gap in between the time I moved and found a new

job,

> padded by many rough days that are painful to remember, and best

saved

> for another essay. But with all that free time on my hands, I

decided

> that would be the time (if there ever was one) to finish what I had

> started back when I decided to treat my eating disorder and

finally -

> really - practice intuitive eating.

>

> Intuitive eating is that natural state we're all born into as humans

> that helps us decide when we're hungry, what we want to eat, and

when

> we're full. It's the age of the baby that cries when it is hungry

and

> stops when it is satisfied. It's the age of the toddler who, no

matter

> how much you beg, cajole, or threaten, will not put anything into

her

> mouth if she doesn't want it. Somewhere along the line, I had lost

> that ability. I'm pretty sure it's around fifth grade, because I

> remember weighing 100 pounds when I was that age, and for some

reason

> I couldn't figure out then, that was a Bad Thing.

>

> So, armed with the tools my nutritionist and my therapist gave when

I

> was still back at my parents' house, I began the journey. And boy,

did

> it suck. I had to level the playing field and legalize the foods I

was

> always scared to eat. I had panic attacks along with my pop-tart for

> breakfast. I flipped out when I ate rice. Anything white or refined,

> forget it. But I kept going, kept listening to myself and started

> eating when I was hungry and stopping when I was full. It did suck,

> but it got better. It got easier. I found that when I honored my

> hunger with things that satisfied me, I was able to pay attention to

> other things. I read up on politics, a subject that had always

eluded

> me. I got a sewing machine for my birthday and tooled around with

it a

> bit. If I was tired at the end of the day, I would rest on the couch

> instead of trying to give myself false energy by eating when I

wasn't

> hungry. When I was sad, I cried; when I was lonely, I cried; when I

> heard a funny joke I laughed; when a favorite song came on the

radio,

> I sang along. And I began to learn when I was hungry and fed myself,

> and then moved on - because life goes on.

>

> It's been six months. I've stayed at around the same weight for four

> of them, give or take a few pounds. I'm learning to accept it

because

> I should accept myself, but some days it's a real struggle. Because

> now I get to deal face-front with all I was hiding when I was

> punishing myself with food. Better to feel guilt over eating

something

> I felt I shouldn't rather than deal with the pain of my parents

having

> their house foreclosed. Better to feel awful for not exercising as

> much as I should than feeling awful for not being able to live up to

> my own unrealistic expectations at work. Although having to

> acknowledge the root causes of my disorder is freeing, it is also

> tough work.

>

> Like it is this morning. Last night I baked some bread, something I

> both enjoy and am terrified of. I enjoy it because of the measuring,

> the smell of the bread, and the way my hands get dusty and covered

in

> bits of flour. I'm terrified of it because of the idea that if I

start

> eating it, I'll never stop. And when you're baking for two people,

> there is usually a lot left over. My husband, who doesn't worry

about

> what he eats, said he'd have some for breakfast. I said I would too.

>

> But the voice told me I shouldn't; and it didn't so much tell me as

> scream at me not to. I walk around the kitchen this morning,

following

> my routine as usual, debating the pros and cons of eating this bread

> for breakfast. I want to eat it, but for some reason, I can't. My

> rational mind breaks down the ingredients for me, while my

irrational

> mind calculates the massive amount of weight I will surely gain as a

> consequence. My rational mind tells me it is probably more healthy

> than the fake bread we have at home, while my irrational mind says

to

> look out for the best interest of my jeans - how would they feel if

I

> couldn't fit into them any more?

>

> So I walk over and cut two pieces. I put them in the toaster, and

then

> take them out. I put butter on them and walk over to the couch. I

> listen to myself. I take the first few bites of my breakfast and

push

> through the fear. It tastes good - chewy and thick and hot. Just as

I

> near the end of the first piece, I hear another voice: my stomach.

It

> tells me in a little voice that it's full. The other piece is still

on

> my plate, glistening and ready for consumption; and although I'd

like

> to eat it, my stomach honestly doesn't want anymore right then. So I

> listen to myself, walk over to the garbage, and throw out the

> remaining piece. I get my coffee, check my email, and start this

article.

>

> Snow is falling outside. It's not sticking; it's not cold enough.

But

> I think about the world outside myself, how good that feels. It

fills

> me up, and I keep going with my day.

>

[Guest guest]

I was really touched by your article, the honesty in it, and so happy

for you for that IE victory at the end. What a great article. You

are a gifted writer as well.

-- In IntuitiveEating_Support , " springfrog17 "

wrote:

>

> Hey all,

> Just thought I'd share this journal entry / article I wrote the

other

> day about my journey so far with IE...thanks for reading if you do!

> It's kinda long, haha.

> ____

>

> " I'm Having a Fat Morning "

>

> I woke up with a hand on my stomach, and down came the levees. Down

> came the voice.

>

> First, it told me I was too fat. Then it told me that it felt the

way

> all of my pregnant girlfriends' tummies looked to me, except where

> theirs is all beauty and womb-y, life-sustaining goodness, mine is

> just layers of fat sloshing around where air used to be.

>

> I got in the shower and looked down: yep, the voice said, there it

is.

> And, to be honest, I was kind of surprised: it looked a bit smaller

> than the Hindenburg zeppelin I had thought it would be. But it was

> still bigger than what it was when I got married back in the Spring,

> and that's all that mattered.

>

> I'm feeling fatter these days because in truth, I am heavier. About

> four years go, I went on a diet and lost not only a significant

amount

> of weight, but also, apparently, my mind. I started dieting like

every

> " American woman should " to look the way every " American woman

should " ;

> and that pressure, coupled with a massive amount of stress and the

ton

> of bricks I carried around called co-dependency, grew from something

> harmless to something dangerous. I would go on endless cycles of

> binging and restricting - and, at my very worst, resorted to chewing

> and then spitting out food. That was the part one of the one-two

punch

> that ultimately knocked me down. Part two was my brittle self-esteem

> and the crippling desire to be perfect. Needless to say, it all

caught

> up with me. Two years after I started my diet I was diagnosed with

an

> eating disorder.

>

> I did some intensive work with a tag-team of a therapist (who worked

> on my insides) and with a nutritionist (who helped with the

outside).

> Working with them I was able to start identifying the reasons for my

> behavior - and although it was scary, I began the long process of

> finding a healed relationship with food and the people around me.

But

> although the work was good, it was on a limited-time-only basis,

> because only a few short months after starting therapy, I got

married.

>

> After my wedding I moved with my husband to a new state, hours away

> from my friends and family and job and all that was familiar. There

> was a significant gap in between the time I moved and found a new

job,

> padded by many rough days that are painful to remember, and best

saved

> for another essay. But with all that free time on my hands, I

decided

> that would be the time (if there ever was one) to finish what I had

> started back when I decided to treat my eating disorder and

finally -

> really - practice intuitive eating.

>

> Intuitive eating is that natural state we're all born into as humans

> that helps us decide when we're hungry, what we want to eat, and

when

> we're full. It's the age of the baby that cries when it is hungry

and

> stops when it is satisfied. It's the age of the toddler who, no

matter

> how much you beg, cajole, or threaten, will not put anything into

her

> mouth if she doesn't want it. Somewhere along the line, I had lost

> that ability. I'm pretty sure it's around fifth grade, because I

> remember weighing 100 pounds when I was that age, and for some

reason

> I couldn't figure out then, that was a Bad Thing.

>

> So, armed with the tools my nutritionist and my therapist gave when

I

> was still back at my parents' house, I began the journey. And boy,

did

> it suck. I had to level the playing field and legalize the foods I

was

> always scared to eat. I had panic attacks along with my pop-tart for

> breakfast. I flipped out when I ate rice. Anything white or refined,

> forget it. But I kept going, kept listening to myself and started

> eating when I was hungry and stopping when I was full. It did suck,

> but it got better. It got easier. I found that when I honored my

> hunger with things that satisfied me, I was able to pay attention to

> other things. I read up on politics, a subject that had always

eluded

> me. I got a sewing machine for my birthday and tooled around with

it a

> bit. If I was tired at the end of the day, I would rest on the couch

> instead of trying to give myself false energy by eating when I

wasn't

> hungry. When I was sad, I cried; when I was lonely, I cried; when I

> heard a funny joke I laughed; when a favorite song came on the

radio,

> I sang along. And I began to learn when I was hungry and fed myself,

> and then moved on - because life goes on.

>

> It's been six months. I've stayed at around the same weight for four

> of them, give or take a few pounds. I'm learning to accept it

because

> I should accept myself, but some days it's a real struggle. Because

> now I get to deal face-front with all I was hiding when I was

> punishing myself with food. Better to feel guilt over eating

something

> I felt I shouldn't rather than deal with the pain of my parents

having

> their house foreclosed. Better to feel awful for not exercising as

> much as I should than feeling awful for not being able to live up to

> my own unrealistic expectations at work. Although having to

> acknowledge the root causes of my disorder is freeing, it is also

> tough work.

>

> Like it is this morning. Last night I baked some bread, something I

> both enjoy and am terrified of. I enjoy it because of the measuring,

> the smell of the bread, and the way my hands get dusty and covered

in

> bits of flour. I'm terrified of it because of the idea that if I

start

> eating it, I'll never stop. And when you're baking for two people,

> there is usually a lot left over. My husband, who doesn't worry

about

> what he eats, said he'd have some for breakfast. I said I would too.

>

> But the voice told me I shouldn't; and it didn't so much tell me as

> scream at me not to. I walk around the kitchen this morning,

following

> my routine as usual, debating the pros and cons of eating this bread

> for breakfast. I want to eat it, but for some reason, I can't. My

> rational mind breaks down the ingredients for me, while my

irrational

> mind calculates the massive amount of weight I will surely gain as a

> consequence. My rational mind tells me it is probably more healthy

> than the fake bread we have at home, while my irrational mind says

to

> look out for the best interest of my jeans - how would they feel if

I

> couldn't fit into them any more?

>

> So I walk over and cut two pieces. I put them in the toaster, and

then

> take them out. I put butter on them and walk over to the couch. I

> listen to myself. I take the first few bites of my breakfast and

push

> through the fear. It tastes good - chewy and thick and hot. Just as

I

> near the end of the first piece, I hear another voice: my stomach.

It

> tells me in a little voice that it's full. The other piece is still

on

> my plate, glistening and ready for consumption; and although I'd

like

> to eat it, my stomach honestly doesn't want anymore right then. So I

> listen to myself, walk over to the garbage, and throw out the

> remaining piece. I get my coffee, check my email, and start this

article.

>

> Snow is falling outside. It's not sticking; it's not cold enough.

But

> I think about the world outside myself, how good that feels. It

fills

> me up, and I keep going with my day.

>