Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Christmas is About Love Not Food

I have been worried about the holidays, especially Christmas. This is the super bowl of the year for my family. Christmas is it. We go all out, spend a lot of time together, eat enormous amounts of food, spend more time together, gobble more food, and eventually open presents in a frenzy of paper and ribbon extraction. It is insane and wonderful. We really look forward to it every year.

That is still true, but this year is different in that I am not looking forward to the food. I am, but I’m not. We have several parties and celebrations that are all centered on food and lots of it. My cousins have a huge party and they are some kind of good cooks. That is the first weekend of December. It’s a great time and I love seeing all the extended family, but the food is buffet style and it is nearly incomprehensible.

I’m not going this year and I would love to say that it is because I am strong and I am refraining from parties that have too much of an emphasis on food. I don’t know if I am strong enough to say that and stand up to the family that way. I really want to only for self-preservation, but it’s hard. I hunger for that celebration with family and food. This year I don’t have to give that party up for that reason. I am in school and have too much homework to do. I can’t spend the day driving to another town and spending the day. My wife has a work party (the bosses boss) and that is a must-attend event.

Unfortunately that is like my family parties, just worse. There is food in every room of the house, and every level. There are at least 100 people that attend this work-related event so it’s big. They start cooking two months before hand. The problem is that I can’t get away from the endless buffet tables. They are in every freaking room of the house. So we are choosing to go, fraternize, and then leave. The big boss’ wife makes some delicious desert that is so buttery and addictive that it calls to me weeks before that party happens. I don’t remember the name of it; I call it baked heroine. It’s buttery and gooey, artery clogging, heart stopping, fat building goodness and I don’t need one single piece of it. I don’t know that I can keep out of it, but hopefully we won’t stay long enough for me to eat much of it.

Then comes Aunt Bessie’s party. She cooks enough food two feed 35 people and she expects all 12 of us to eat it all … every morsel. What we don’t eat is forced on us to take home. It consists of the traditional turkey and stuffing dinner with extra sugar and salt. It’s good, mind you, but it is not good for me. It’s laid out in buffet style, of course, and we spend several hours there. I pick and pick at the food, then over eat during the meal, and then pick some more. It is absolute insanity. Then I am forced to take home the food that is bad for me.

On Christmas Day, we get up at the crack of God and open presents – usually around 6 a.m. or so. The kids get up and so we all get up. Afterwards, the rest of the extended family comes over for Christmas Breakfast. This has been a tradition in my family for years and it is a big food extravaganza for at least 15 people, sometimes more. The typical buffet consists of:

Biscuits
Sausage Gravy
Pancakes
Sausage
Bacon
Fried Fresh Side Pork
Ham
Egg Casserole
Fried Eggs
Hash Browns
Fruit
Butter and Jelly
Peanut Butter (for the pancakes)
Milk
Orange Juice
Apple Juice
Syrup

Sometimes we throw in extra goods like banana bread french toast, cinnamon roll french toast or pork chops. Don’t get me wrong; I love every bite sopping up any leftover gravy with a biscuit. And if it were just one meal, then it wouldn’t be a problem. But it’s the last in a long line and it’s becoming dangerous for me. I don’t want to give it up. Like an old friendly blanket, I want to curl up with my biscuits and gravy. I have to draw the line somewhere.

How exactly do I tell my family about my concerns? Do I ask them to change their long traditions for me? That feels selfish, partly because Aunt Bessie has told me so. Others have told me that I can’t avoid the parties. That is wrong. I just have to learn not to overeat. I don’t know how anyone else will feel about me wanting to change these traditions and I don’t want to ruin their Christmas. That’s a lot to ask. They know about my food addiction; maybe I should just let them come to a decision by themselves. What if they don’t? Then what? Controlling my eating has proved a fruitless endeavor. I have been worried about it for some time. I don’t want to the reason. Like the one student in class who ruins it for everyone else.

“Because of one student, boys and girls, we are no longer going to let you do such-and-such. I’m very sorry, but someone has ruined it for the rest of us.” That is a lot of stress and actually makes me want to eat more. That doesn’t work at all. There has to be a better way, but I have not been sure what to do, until recently.

Turns out I didn’t have to say a word. Just expressing my concerns on my blog has yielded results. My family reads my blog, a thought that I try to keep out of my mind so that I am honest in my writing and honest with my audience. I figure it’s my space and if they want to read it then that’s fine, but they can choose not to if they find it hurtful or offensive. Turns out that isn’t true either. I think it has helped my mother and I to have a closer relationship. We talk about things we’ve never discussed before. She came up with the solution on her own and it doesn’t really involve me so much. I haven’t asked them to change anything. I’ve just talked about my concerns. The other day she told me on the phone:

“I do not want you to worry about Christmas. You hear me? You are not to worry about it anymore,” said my mom.

That’s all it takes I guess. I don’t really know what that means. Is she going to make a new breakfast menu or is she going to make me an alternative breakfast? Maybe it’s something I have not thought about. I don’t know, but I’ve decided not to worry about it. She said she’s taking care of it and that’s just going to be enough for me. It feels nice not to have to think about it. I don’t want my Christmas taken up with obsessive thoughts about food.

Christmas is about love and contrary to our cultural traditions, food is not love. Parties are not about food. Celebrations are about family and community, love and peace. I have a hard time with that idea. I want it to be about food just like the next guy, but I can’t do that anymore. I have to change that before anything else can happen.

I’m not worried about food or about what others think. Mom said she will take care of it and I’m going to let her. She’s good at that kind of thing. No one argues when she makes changes in the family. When she says something is a new tradition, then it’s a new tradition and everyone just accepts it. When she says that we are doing something, then everyone does it, like it or not. And they don’t put up a fuss. She wields some kind of super mind manipulation power, kind of like a girl version of Professor X from the comic book and movie franchise, The X-men.

I’m excited about Christmas and about the prospects of not worrying and fretting. It’s about family and that’s exactly what I plan on focusing on. I will be out of school for a month and want to spend my time with my family, not with food. Christmas is about Love and I am determined to keep it focused there.

The First Thanksgiving

Every year we spend Thanksgiving Day with my wife’s family, which is thankfully not the typical engorging binge fest of the traditional type. Always a health conscience family, they instituted a turkey day change many years ago. It’s a wonderful day of family playfulness and Christmas tree decorating, and oh yeah, we have some food too.

A small pot of homemade beef vegetable soup, chili, turkey breast, cheese and crackers and fruit are the main ingredients. There isn’t much more than that. There is usually a pumpkin pie, but it stays hidden for most of the day. Something for which I am indeed thankful.

This year, the family called and asked us what they could do for me. That’s right, they asked. Unlike Aunt Bessie, who is more concerned with her preferences and traditions than anyone elses health, they offered to include or exclude any foods, including the pies. That makes all the difference in the world. I was okay with the pie. I probably shouldn’t be and in truth I probably should have asked if they might go without it, or at least to offer a sugar-free version, but I didn’t. I guess, deep down inside, I really wanted that pumpkin pie. I am concerned for my health, but I still powerless sometimes. I want the smorgasbord just like everyone else.

I did pretty well, except for the pie. There wasn’t stuffing and sweet taters and homemade bread and corn and all that other crap that does me in. That’s important to mentioned. I made changes. I didn’t gorge on all that nonsense. I ate soup and a few pieces of cheese and crackers, veggies and fruit. Pumpkin pie aside, that is still a big change and I celebrate that success. Could be better, but more importantly it could have been much worse. I could have chosen to … well you know.

I’m feeling pretty good about this holiday season, so far. It’s only just gotten started, but I am optimistic and ready to plan for it.

Friday, November 10, 2006

It's Not All Success

Busy nights are always a deadly trap for me. We had parent-teacher conferences and didn’t have time to make supper beforehand as it started at 5:30 p.m. When we left, it was dark outside because of the end of daylight savings time and we were hungry. We decided to … celebrate our child’s excellent report card.

I still have a way to go in my search for healthy eating behaviors. It’s a long and treacherous road and some days are better than others. Last night was not such a good night. I had salad, soup and sushi, so that’s a pretty healthy choice. A much better choice than say a country staple (and personal favorite of mine) chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and rolls.

The real issue is that fact that I used food as a celebration. Here I go, criticizing others for brining me food and always having elaborate parties centered around food and yet I run out and celebrate a good report card with food. That’s a problem for me and one paradigm that is some kind of hard habit to break.

It’s one thing to refuse to attend someone else’s party because it centers around food or has too much food just sitting on tables and crying out to be eaten and sit in the comforts of a warm belly. It’s another to tell yourself “no” when it’s your little party and you want to celebrate with dinner out.

Dinner out. That is the thing, isn’t it? Many of our cultural rituals center on eating. Some tell me that I just have to learn to deal with those parties because they are going to come up. Yeah, I don’t really like that answer. I think it’s a cop out and is only valid so long as I accept it.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

A Helpful Halloween

Halloween was my first Holiday since making my rules and changing my life, and I was nervous about it. We had a party to go to at the house of some friends from college. We tend to fix really nice meals and I was scared that I would eat myself stupid.

Didn’t happen. First of all, as soon as I got there our friend (and nurse practitioner) Kimmie came up to me and handed me a special package. It had sugar free chocolates and a pedometer. She smiled so sweetly and said that she had been reading this blog.

I was surprised. Not surprise that she would do such a thing, but I was just taken aback by the whole thing. I am used to how Aunt Bessie responds and tend to assume everyone will respond the same. This was the first party that we didn’t have tables of food. It was wonderful. We had a pot of soup, nuts, a few snacks (but not many) a few cupcakes, a mincemeat pie and a pile of apples.

I will say that I eyed that pie and those pretzels dipped in almond bark, but I didn’t do it. I had something sugar chocolates for me, soup and some apples. That was enough. I did it. I didn’t eat the pie; I didn’t even cut a sliver. I didn’t have a cupcake. I did enjoy a few nuts, but that was it.

It helped knowing that my friend cared enough to have something for me. I didn’t expect it and I didn’t ask for it. That’s the best part. She just did because she knew and as a medical practitioner she wants to see me succeed in my weight loss. It’s nice to have friends who care and who get it, or at least try to get it. This group does. These friends are very supportive. We encourage and stick up for each other, and genuinely love and care for one another.

A few days later, Halloween came by. I had three pieces of Halloween candy on that night, but that’s all. I didn’t beat myself up over it. I feel good that I didn’t eat a pound of Butterfingers. Interestingly enough, as soon as that night ended, the basket of goodies disappeared. My lovely wife hid them and then took them to work the next day.

My daughter’s candy is hidden in the house somewhere. I don’t ask and I don’t search. I don’t really think about it. I have my own snacks which I enjoy such as smoothies, gala apples, yogurt and some sugar free frozen treats in the freezer. A lot of folks don’t have a spouse that is supportive of weight loss. I’m lucky that I do. It was a good Halloween. One holiday down and two more to go. We have lots of parties this time of year: family, work, and other events. I still haven’t decided what to do about those.

Damn The Pusher Man

I called Aunt Bessie to check on her persistent cough the other day. I think it is due to allergies, but she doesn’t believe in such things. Allergies exist only in one’s head, which includes allergies to cats and food. My poor brother-in-law is weak because he can’t be around cats. I suppose those puffy eyes and inability to breathe is really just some character flaw rather than a medical condition. We talked for a minute and then she mentioned the letter I sent her:

“I got your letter,” she said to me in a pleasant voice.

“Oh yeah?” I responded. I said nothing more about it, giving her the chance to talk only if she chose.

“I went to the store today,” she responded. And here it comes my friends. Hatches are securely battoned down. “I bought some chicken thighs like you had the other day.”

Says I: “uh huh.”

“I won’t bring them to you.”

My God, the letter worked? I am actually making progress? She gets it; she really gets it? I was so hopeful until she made her real intensions known. She found a loophole in my rule and is just letting me know who is the real boss.

“I won’t bring them down there. You can come here to get them. I know you like them; they are the same kind you cooked the other day.”


That’s how it begins. First it starts with some healthy food that I can have, and then she will bring the cookies and cakes too and if you take one then you have to take it all and then the cycle degenerates into the same habits of old. Doesn’t Steppenwolf have a song about this?

“Yeah, well, I uh, well … Aunt Bessie we’ve decided to not accept any food or groceries from anyone. That just makes it easier. It’s too hard otherwise.” I thought that was a good response to her – proper, kind and still keeping my ground.

“I know it’s hard,” she says. “I guess that’s what you have to do … for now.” I didn’t fall for it this time. “Soon you will get in the habit and lose a little bit of weight and then you can break over.”


Break over? Isn’t that the problem with weight loss? We work hard, lose a bit of weight, then we get tired, give in and gain back the weight plus a few more pounds to boot? She’s not talking about my losing weight. She’s talking, deep down inside, about her compulsive desire to feed me. If she just waits me out she will be able to feed me again, just like the old days, and then she can have the life she wants – not the life that is healthy for me. She’s prepared to sabotage me later on the down the road and just letting me know about it. It’s always been this way with her.

No one understands that except my family. Everyone in our family gets Aunt Bessie. We know how she works and are used to it. She doesn’t show those sides to people outside the family. To the rest of the world she presents as the finest, most caring little old lady with lots of spunk. That cute spunk to the rest of the world is translated to control and domination to the immediate family. My parents, sister, other aunt, several cousins and her siblings see it, but no one else does. The domination is something one has to experience to truly understand.

I don’t know what’s harder: resisting my eating addiction or resisting the relentless pursuit to ensure my health failure by my Aunt Bessie. She is bound and determined to watch me fall flat on my fat and wallow in my own utter inability to control my hunger.

That’s how it feels anyway, but the truth is it really has less to do with my failure and more to do with her desire to wield control over me. She is more concerned with her feelings than my health. It is all about control. The only rules to be made are those that she imposes on others. She doesn’t take kindly to anyone else setting rules, even if those rules do not affect her directly.

In some very dysfunctional way, she enjoys seeing others struggle and fail. It gives her a sense of peace knowing that she is in utter control of her life while we are not in control of ours, giving her fodder to discuss our shortcomings when and with whom she chooses. Usually that discussion is held until there is a audience around, with you standing aside and taking the lashing by her cat-of-nine-tails.

My making a rule about only eating healthy food and ridding my own home of junk food is perceived as an affront to her. We need sugar. My daughter needs sugar. She will miss out on needed vitamins and minerals. Forget about the fact that cookies and gravy contain no essential minerals and nutrients. We need them, by golly, and I am depriving my daughter of these things. She will become malnourished if she doesn’t get cakes and chicken fried steaks.

But Aunt Bessie is determined. She has made known that it will be okay for me to break over soon and she expects me to return to my old ways. And who will be there during my weak times, when I am ready to give up and succumb to my urges to gorge, but my old pusher, Aunt Bessie, with a basket full of biscuits and gravy, and a cobbler or two. Then she will have her old eating buddy back and all will be right with the world.

Monday, November 06, 2006

My Skinny Goggles

I am tired of being obsessed with food and my weight. The oppression, the perseveration of thought is overwhelming. I am always thinking about what I’ve eaten, what I’m eating, or more often than not, what I am going to eat.

Focusing on losing weight does not address the issue at all. It simply moves the obsession from one thing (eating) to something else (not eating). The constant barrage of food is still there. The scale, that godforsaken piece of plastic, is nothing more than another reminder of food, triggering one to not eat, or is some circumstances triggering a frustrated response to gorge.

I hate the damn thing and yet that is how we – the doctors, our friends and family, the world, weight loss programs – gauge the fat guys progress. Oh they also use the fabric tape to measure that belly and man boobs, but that is the same thing – just a flatter, more flexible version of the weight scale. We take before and after pictures and measure our success through those skinny goggles.

I’m tired of substituting one obsession for another. I’m tired of thinking about weight all the time. I want to be free of it all. I don’t have to weigh or measure or gauge my success through traditional means. After all, my goal really isn’t to lose weight at all. I am okay in my big skin. It’s my health that I am concerned about. My fat is the standard by which everyone else measures me, but it is not how I measure myself.

I’m done with scales and fabric tapes. I’m done with before-and-after pictures, and with proving that I am successful at weight loss. I don’t really care about losing weight; I care about being healthier and making healthier choices. That’s it. I’ve had it with all this nonsense – the stress caused by losing weight and the devastating and destructive feelings when I gain it back.

The rest of the world can measure my success through my size if they wish. It doesn’t really bother me. That’s how it is when folks wear their skinny goggles. That’s okay. People are supportive and I accept their good vibes however they decide to offer them. But my response will not be the same.

“Hey, Jack. You’ve lost weight,” say they.
“Oh yeah, maybe.”
“How much have you lost,” they will ask.
“I don’t know; I don’t keep track anymore.”
“You don’t keep track?” they will ask.
“Nah. I don’t think about it anymore. I just try to do my best.”

It will probably make some uncomfortable and I may find myself having to explain the idea. I don’t mind that either. People want to learn about things they don’t understand, and if I don’t answer their questions, then I may be helping to further fat discrimination. Can’t do that. So I’ll be patient and just tell them how it works, if they really want to know.

My focus is on my own healthy choices. I am not, like many new religious converts, out to change everyone to my own ideology. Although I do recognize that in order for me to have personal success, then I may need those very close to me to make some changes too. But I’m not out to help other fat people to lose weight, change their lifestyle, or take off their skinny goggles. I’m focused on me and that entails several things, which require a few more rules.

RULE 1: Focus on Healthy Choices
RULE 2: No Sweets in the House
RULE 3: Do Not Accept Groceries from Anyone
RULE 4: Do Not Keep Track of Weight Loss
RULE 5: No More Scales or Fabric Tapes

In order to focus on healthy choices, I need to have an exercise plan, which I do. The best way to make life-changing habits is to form an action plan that makes specific statements that are declarative and positive.

MY GOALS
I will exercise five days a week. (bicycling or walking)
I will practice my martial arts during breaks from school.
I will drink herbal tea every night, which helps my stress.
I will study hard, but B’s are okay.
I will make healthy food choices at home and at restaurants.
I will eat until I am full. (It’s okay to leave food on my plate.)

I still haven’t decided what to do about Thanksgiving (which is now less than a month away) and Christmas (which will sneak up on me and bite me in the hindquarters if I am not careful). It’s time I thought about how to make healthy choices at these horrible, holiday diabetic death traps. I’ll have to give it more thought and talk with my supportive team of family and friends.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

The First Supper

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.