I'm tired. I'm mentally done for the day. I don't feel like I have the energy to write, yet I'm sitting here typing away anyways. Why? Because I had a rough 45 minutes this afternoon that has left me with burdensome guilt. I need to move on; wake up on a brighter note. What was so terrible? I'm embarrassed to say because my brain knows this guilt is silly; I did nothing wrong. Yet, my gut screams something else.
I was starving at 4:30, a perfectly normal time to get hungry considering I ate lunch at noon. I had spent the day turning down free food in the office, and just couldn't anymore. I started with some delicious Persian rice left over from a lunch meeting, then I moved on to a chocolate biscuit that had been calling my name, and ended with a scoop of java ice cream.
I'm frantically typing because I want my realistic body to win this fight. I want to go to bed knowing it's okay, and I want to show kindness toward myself. Maybe my afternoon meal wasn't the healthiest, but I'm probably the only person who cares. Why do I care so much? There's no good answer. I'm still afraid of gaining weight, although that fear is gone most days. I hold myself to unrealistic standards, which most likely stem from my own thoughts, and the thoughts of diet culture around me.
But I promise, I'm in a much better place than I was years ago. I should be proud of this. I rarely have these binge moments any more. I haven't tracked my food in years. Two years ago I threw my scale away, and now only weigh myself on occasion at the gym. Every day I get better at letting my stomach dictate when, what, and how much I eat. But no one is perfect, although, let's be honest, the desire to reach perfection is what causes food anxiety in the first place.
Where does your brain float to when left alone? Mine is always thinking about food: how much I enjoyed breakfast, contemplating snack choices, deciding what new recipe I want to try next. Most of this thinking is fun, but for once, I would just like to turn this part of my brain off. It's exhausting. I just want to think about something else. I'm so jealous of people who "forget to eat" because they are focused on other things. Don't get me wrong, I want to eat, I just want to know what it's like to not always be thinking about food.
I'm tired. I think I'll go read my book now.
Some of you may remember that our beloved CSA (community supported agriculture) closed up shop a few months ago. To say I was simply sad is an understatement (full post here). David and I had spent three years picking up our box of delicious produce each Friday, and I had spent three years building a weekly menu based on the Thursday email listing what we could expect that week. I like to think I'm a flexible, go-with-the-flow person, but this change illuminated that I'm more of a creature of habit than I thought.
I've done it again. I've said yes to too many things, and now my calendar is beginning to look like a pet monster I didn't ask for. Except I sort of did, because I said yes to everything.
I've recently been experiencing an extended period of low-anxiety; dare I say "normal" levels of anxiety? Well, that is until a few days ago when a series of First World problems swirled around me. I really want to highlight the intentional use of First World problems in this context. The situation I'm about to describe is minor on the grand scale of life, however, trivial does not exclude consequences. So what's this situation which in the moment turned my world upside down?
Our beloved CSA is now closed...forever!
Sometimes, rough moments drop out of the sky without warning, which often makes them feel even worse. I've been thoroughly enjoying life these past few months; dinners out with friends, relaxing Sunday mornings reading the newspaper, sitting by our neighborhood pool, and generally taking advantage of what this city offers in the summer. However, I've spent a lot of today trying to shake an underlying feeling of "blah".
As I sat around thinking about blogging topics this week, I realized it has been a while since I have checked in with my mental health. Some weeks, moments of anxiety and/or stress force me to consider my emotions, but the last few weeks have been pleasantly anxiety free. In fact, it's been two months since I wrote this post after finding myself in a not so great mood one morning. So what's the difference between then and now? Did my negative emotions simply disappear?
It's taken me a while to finish this post. I have been thinking about it for weeks, but have struggled to translate my experience into words. I don't want this to sound like a lecture or research paper, and I certainly don't want to sound too preachy. I think I know what writers block feels like now; maybe I need an editor.
So where should I even begin? I think I may just have to start with my medical history because there is no way to understand how I ended up laying on a table, almost naked, with needles tapped into all sorts of places (did I mention I hate needles?) without it.
If you are reading this, we are now close friends because only my close friends know this much about my inner workings.
Walking enthusiast, kitchen experimenter, sports lover (watching, not playing), and future world traveler.
Get my open diary posts delivered straight to your inbox.