We had Sunday lunch with Aunt Bessie last weekend. It was the first time to eat out with her since she received my letter. I was a bit nervous about it, which of course makes me want to eat. She had asked us if we were still going to eat out, considering all the changes, but we assured her that we would.
For all the pressure and conflicting messages she sends, she is family and we love her. Sunday lunch is our time together and she adores seeing our daughter. So I don’t want to change that if I don’t have to. She may be my pusher, but I don’t want to push her out of our life; I just want to change a few things. That’s all.
She was great. She didn’t bring any food with her. She did offer that she had food at the house, but we declined and that was that. I think she was dearly afraid that we would pull the plug on the Sunday lunch and that would crush her. While I have no intent to do that, I am not above using that against her to encourage more positive behaviors.
It worked pretty well and we had a nice lunch. I made a good choice for lunch. I had chicken fajitas and a salad. Well, I suppose the fajitas are not the best choice, but I made a better choice than I would have. I typically would choose fried something-or-other, steak and taters, or ribs. So fajitas were a step in the right direction. They tend to have a lot of oil on them, but that fight is for another day. I am proud that I left food on my plate.
I ate until I was full and then I quit. That’s a big deal for me. Skinny folks don’t understand that. My stomach may think it is full, but my brain seems to send me signals that indicate that I am still hungry. It’s the weirdest feeling, really. I don’t get it. My body is full, but I don’t feel full. I still feel hungry. There is a deeper hunger I guess.
To me, feeling full does not feel good. There is no satisfaction in full. The contentment comes with feeling overfull, stuffed, and almost miserable. That is the good stuff, baby. Oh yeah, that is when I feel happy and peaceful and so that is what I do. It’s a messed up process; I don’t question that. I have a hard time articulating the sensations, but they are strong.
For a first Sunday lunch after the letter, things went well. I can’t anticipate the end of the honeymoon stage, but I can plan for what I think may be the worst of it: the name-calling, the anger, the incessant lecture and the guilt of punishing my daughter for my diabetes.
This last Sunday was nice and it feels good to focus on that for a while and remember when she was respectful of my eating addiction and my wishes. Aunt Bessie did comment that it would take us all to help me. That sure seems like a step in the right direction. She’s right about that. I can’t do this alone and I desperately need my family’s support.
I am considering going to an Overeaters Anonymous meeting. They have several to choose from in my area. Don’t know much about it except that the 12-step program has helped many alcoholics and it may help me too.
For all the pressure and conflicting messages she sends, she is family and we love her. Sunday lunch is our time together and she adores seeing our daughter. So I don’t want to change that if I don’t have to. She may be my pusher, but I don’t want to push her out of our life; I just want to change a few things. That’s all.
She was great. She didn’t bring any food with her. She did offer that she had food at the house, but we declined and that was that. I think she was dearly afraid that we would pull the plug on the Sunday lunch and that would crush her. While I have no intent to do that, I am not above using that against her to encourage more positive behaviors.
It worked pretty well and we had a nice lunch. I made a good choice for lunch. I had chicken fajitas and a salad. Well, I suppose the fajitas are not the best choice, but I made a better choice than I would have. I typically would choose fried something-or-other, steak and taters, or ribs. So fajitas were a step in the right direction. They tend to have a lot of oil on them, but that fight is for another day. I am proud that I left food on my plate.
I ate until I was full and then I quit. That’s a big deal for me. Skinny folks don’t understand that. My stomach may think it is full, but my brain seems to send me signals that indicate that I am still hungry. It’s the weirdest feeling, really. I don’t get it. My body is full, but I don’t feel full. I still feel hungry. There is a deeper hunger I guess.
To me, feeling full does not feel good. There is no satisfaction in full. The contentment comes with feeling overfull, stuffed, and almost miserable. That is the good stuff, baby. Oh yeah, that is when I feel happy and peaceful and so that is what I do. It’s a messed up process; I don’t question that. I have a hard time articulating the sensations, but they are strong.
For a first Sunday lunch after the letter, things went well. I can’t anticipate the end of the honeymoon stage, but I can plan for what I think may be the worst of it: the name-calling, the anger, the incessant lecture and the guilt of punishing my daughter for my diabetes.
This last Sunday was nice and it feels good to focus on that for a while and remember when she was respectful of my eating addiction and my wishes. Aunt Bessie did comment that it would take us all to help me. That sure seems like a step in the right direction. She’s right about that. I can’t do this alone and I desperately need my family’s support.
I am considering going to an Overeaters Anonymous meeting. They have several to choose from in my area. Don’t know much about it except that the 12-step program has helped many alcoholics and it may help me too.
2 comments:
You know you got my support FJ. My doc says I need to lose 20-25 lbs to lower cholesterol and blood pressure. Sucks gettin' old. Looks like a rice cakes Christmas for us both. - Cousin Herbie
Jack,
I complete understand the need to clean my plate and not being satisfied with just being full. Your blog is helping me examine my eating and what I am teaching my daughter. I appreciate your openness.
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