Food is not my friend...it's just food.

[Guest guest]

Lori wrote:

> Pouch management is easy. Head management is something else again.

>

> ~~ Lyn

> Boy did that statement hit home. I have always believed that most of

> my

obesity was a head thing. It was not the food calling my name. It

wasn't lack of willpower. I often ate without even thinking. I " think "

that makes it a head thing at least for me.

--

Lori, my therapist and I were talking about this very thing last week.

Let's see if I can summarize. I was saying that in our family, food was

not really about " comfort " , since a) my mother was a terrible cook for

the most part, and my parents were very rigid about food, only

shopping on a certain day of the week, and insisting that what they

bought during that one trip should last a family of 5 until the next

shop. They bought the cheapest foods available, and never bought enough

fruits and veggies, etc. Thus, I remember searching through the kitchen

in the couple of days before shopping day, eating things like ketchup

sandwiches on white bread.

My therapist pointed out that while food wasn't really " comfort " for me

in the " here, dear, have some nice cake and feel better, " it felt like

a survival issue. I.e., eat hearty while there's any food around,

because you never know when your competitors (i.e., the rest of my

family) will beat you to it, and you'll be left to starve.

(Incidentally, of the three kids, my brother is the only one who has

never been overweight -- and he was the one who'd steal away with the

few " treat " foods my parents would buy, under the guise of " keeping us

from hogging them " . Of course, my sister and I would find the empties

once he'd " protected " us from them. Gee, thanks!)

So in adulthood, food was one of the few ways I had of dealing with my

internal " hunger " -- only it didn't work. It never really made me feel

better, just fuller and sicker. I always had the idea that it *would*

help, but because it was, in fact, JUST FOOD, it could never fill up

the emotional emptiness, could never provide the emotional comfort that

I hoped it would. For that, I needed to look to the humans in my life,

but because I had been taught early on that you can't depend on humans

to give comfort, I never really thought of that as a viable

alternative. Just never occurred to me to ask for a hug instead of

skulking off to find the nearest bag of marshmallows or whatever.

The problem with using food as a companion, comforter, friend, etc., is

this: *it just doesn't work*. Doesn't matter how much of it I could

suck in, it just never did the job. And because I wasn't fully aware

that I expected it to help in that way, I kept eating more. You know,

the old idea that if what you're doing doesn't work, do it more or do

it better, and then it will? Problem is that if your basic premise is

flawed, no matter how much or how good the food is, it's just not going

to do what you expect it to. It's a bit like being in a relationship

with a sociopath or an alcoholic (and I've tried both) -- you can try

all you like, but you are not going to be able to *make* that person

into a good partner. They, for whatever reason, just cannot do it. They

can never really be there for you, never really give of themselves in

the way that makes a truly good relationship.

Neither can food.

Lately, as I worry about the possibility of allowing myself to slide

back into that tortured relationship with food again, I've been

thinking about some of my oldest assumptions. What if (gasp!) I just

ask for a hug when I need comfort? Of course, the first step is

identifying the need for comfort, which usually seems to manifest, in

me, as a wish to eat something sweet. But when I'm able to do it, and

it works, it feels like such a triumph. And when that happens, I'm able

to allow myself to hope that, having found my " new body " underneath all

those layers of fat, I might, perchance, be able to hang onto it, and

not let it, or myself, get buried again. (And if you managed to wend

your way through that rather convoluted syntax, you should win a prize

of some sort!)

I.

--

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

RNY September 19, 2001

Dr. Freeman, Ottawa General Hospital

BMI then: 43.5

BMI now: 22

-152 lbs

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Guest guest]

Lori wrote:

> Pouch management is easy. Head management is something else again.

>

> ~~ Lyn

> Boy did that statement hit home. I have always believed that most of

> my

obesity was a head thing. It was not the food calling my name. It

wasn't lack of willpower. I often ate without even thinking. I " think "

that makes it a head thing at least for me.

--

Lori, my therapist and I were talking about this very thing last week.

Let's see if I can summarize. I was saying that in our family, food was

not really about " comfort " , since a) my mother was a terrible cook for

the most part, and my parents were very rigid about food, only

shopping on a certain day of the week, and insisting that what they

bought during that one trip should last a family of 5 until the next

shop. They bought the cheapest foods available, and never bought enough

fruits and veggies, etc. Thus, I remember searching through the kitchen

in the couple of days before shopping day, eating things like ketchup

sandwiches on white bread.

My therapist pointed out that while food wasn't really " comfort " for me

in the " here, dear, have some nice cake and feel better, " it felt like

a survival issue. I.e., eat hearty while there's any food around,

because you never know when your competitors (i.e., the rest of my

family) will beat you to it, and you'll be left to starve.

(Incidentally, of the three kids, my brother is the only one who has

never been overweight -- and he was the one who'd steal away with the

few " treat " foods my parents would buy, under the guise of " keeping us

from hogging them " . Of course, my sister and I would find the empties

once he'd " protected " us from them. Gee, thanks!)

So in adulthood, food was one of the few ways I had of dealing with my

internal " hunger " -- only it didn't work. It never really made me feel

better, just fuller and sicker. I always had the idea that it *would*

help, but because it was, in fact, JUST FOOD, it could never fill up

the emotional emptiness, could never provide the emotional comfort that

I hoped it would. For that, I needed to look to the humans in my life,

but because I had been taught early on that you can't depend on humans

to give comfort, I never really thought of that as a viable

alternative. Just never occurred to me to ask for a hug instead of

skulking off to find the nearest bag of marshmallows or whatever.

The problem with using food as a companion, comforter, friend, etc., is

this: *it just doesn't work*. Doesn't matter how much of it I could

suck in, it just never did the job. And because I wasn't fully aware

that I expected it to help in that way, I kept eating more. You know,

the old idea that if what you're doing doesn't work, do it more or do

it better, and then it will? Problem is that if your basic premise is

flawed, no matter how much or how good the food is, it's just not going

to do what you expect it to. It's a bit like being in a relationship

with a sociopath or an alcoholic (and I've tried both) -- you can try

all you like, but you are not going to be able to *make* that person

into a good partner. They, for whatever reason, just cannot do it. They

can never really be there for you, never really give of themselves in

the way that makes a truly good relationship.

Neither can food.

Lately, as I worry about the possibility of allowing myself to slide

back into that tortured relationship with food again, I've been

thinking about some of my oldest assumptions. What if (gasp!) I just

ask for a hug when I need comfort? Of course, the first step is

identifying the need for comfort, which usually seems to manifest, in

me, as a wish to eat something sweet. But when I'm able to do it, and

it works, it feels like such a triumph. And when that happens, I'm able

to allow myself to hope that, having found my " new body " underneath all

those layers of fat, I might, perchance, be able to hang onto it, and

not let it, or myself, get buried again. (And if you managed to wend

your way through that rather convoluted syntax, you should win a prize

of some sort!)

I.

--

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

RNY September 19, 2001

Dr. Freeman, Ottawa General Hospital

BMI then: 43.5

BMI now: 22

-152 lbs

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>