Mindful Eating

Today in our OA meeting, one person mentioned how he used to eat as if an efficiency expert were sitting on his shoulder. He also said that recently he has been practicing mindful eating and that he finds he's only eating about half of what he previously consumed at each meal, plus it slows him down and makes his meals more enjoyable.

My thought: Yup... I'm a speed eater too... and my efficiency expert has a huge whip. Crack. Stuff my mouth, prepare new bite. Crack! Not fast enough! Stuff... Not only do I speed eat, but also I gobble my food mindlessly, especially after the first bite. Plus often, I multi-task as well... eating while writing, eating while reading, eating while talking on the phone, eating while watching TV.

Years ago, I attended a Buddhist Silent Retreat at Cloud Mountain. I think it was 5 days. We practiced silence and mindfulness as we participated in various meditations. I especially enjoyed the solo walking meditations on the many trails available in the 15-acre area. Even walking very slowly and being mindful of each step, I found myself writing poems in my mind as I walked. I'll copy one of them to the end of this post.

The most amazing thing about the retreat was eating. We were instructed to eat alone, slowly, in silence, without reading and with our full attention, our full mindfulness, on every single bite we put in our mouths. Eating in that way, each meal took more than a half hour to consume. Each and every bite had taste, texture, purpose and history. The meals were simple and vegetarian. Grains and vegetables never tasted so good to me. I recall feeling completely satisfied after each meal, wanting nothing more, feeling nurtured, blessed, content.

So, of course, when my fellow OA member mentioned his practice of mindful eating, my mind raced back 14 years to the Buddhist Retreat and my own lovely experience with this practice. Is it time for change in the way I eat as well as what and how much I eat? Yes, I believe it is. So today, I make this commitment: For the next week, starting tomorrow, I will eat my lunch each day in a mindful way. I will account for myself here, a week from today. Baby steps in a new direction.

Here's one of the poems I wrote during the retreat after an hour of private, outdoor meditation:

Tree Connection

Although the fenced property line
separates us so that I may not touch you,
I stand with you for this hour in solidarity
and notice the changing forces around us...
the coming and going of hard rains,
the breeze rippling your branches
and the stillness behind the breeze,
the lighter, then darker grey
of the skies above us,
the drifting dances of wooden ducks
in the pond between us.

Although I am human and move about the earth,
today I can appreciate the way you
have stood in one place for forty years or more...
the seasons... the sun, moon, stars...
the animals, insects, birds...
and my kind... all moving around you...
some needing you, some apparently not...
some noticing you, some apparently not.
Yet I know of our connection...
yours, mine and theirs.

Although I am human
and may not cross the line between us,
we are bonded this hour by our downcast eyes.
Your eyes, turning away from
the clear-cut devastation beginning at your roots
and marching over the hills behind you,
your eyes weep
for your missing brothers and sisters.
My eyes, turning away from other human faces
as we pass each other
in this Buddhist place of retreat,
my eyes weep
for the seriousness here
and the lonely lack of human interaction.
Just as you miss the trees in your fold,
I miss the laughter in mine.
Just as you stand alone this hour,
so do I.

100 Days

Today would have been day 100 of abstinence if I hadn't put my hand out to receive an ice cream cone on day 77. Because of that, I set my counter back to zero. On my second try, I'm at day 23, making a total of 100 days of following my food plan and staying abstinent from my binge foods.

To celebrate a total of 100 days on the job (77+23), I'm going to write one of my 10-things lists...

Ten Things About 100 Days of Abstinence

1. It's been much easier than I thought it would be.
2. I rarely obsess or even think about what I'm going or not going to eat.
3. I feel more calm than I have for a long time.
4. I seem to get more done and have a tad more energy.
5. I'm starting to be more aware of my feelings and to be able to name them.
6. I look forward to the weekly OA meetings.
7. I think I can continue doing this for another 100 days.
8. However, I will still try to take it just one day at a time.
9. It feels as though a more honest me is emerging.
10. I started at size 18 jeans and now my 14s are starting to feel a bit baggy.

Ten MORE Things About 100 Days of Abstinence

1. Dropping sizes is good, but the real reward is the return to a foundation of sanity.
2. I've only felt a strong urge to have binge foods one or two times.
3. I cheat a little with my food plan by having a taste or nibble now and then while preparing meals.
4. I have to keep a wary eye on nibbling and tasting. Right now I'm being lenient about it, but that may need to change.
5. I've started taking better care of myself in other ways, such as doing arm exercises.
6. I believe the 12-step program is an important part of making this a life change. I am working on step 4 using an event writing method suggested by a member of my OA group. It takes a lot of time.
7. I haven't weighed myself at all, not even on day one. My "no scale" policy is working very well for me.
8. Writing this blog is very helpful in understanding and placing value on my food addiction recovery process.
9. Reading other recovery blogs and exchanging comments is inspirational, instructive and motivating for me.
10. I got tears in my eyes at Saturday's OA meeting. I rarely cry (once or twice a year?) and never in public.

Re-reading my two lists, I'd have to give this period of time at least 5 bright, optimistic stars!

What is "Thin?"

Genie, one of my favorite bloggers, recently wrote:

It's the big weight loss conundrum of intelligent women: I know how to lose weight, and I don't want to be overweight, so why can't I apply the knowledge to the desire in order to become thin?

Her words make me think about another conundrum of intelligent women and men: What is thin? What is thin enough? Where does thin begin and fat end?

All through my life of dieting, I've tried to change the wording to escape this question. I say physically fit or in the normal range for my age, height and gender. Yet, while abhorring the word fat, I'm in love the word thin, especially in my thoughts and daydreams. The word taunts me.

If only I were thin.....
When I get thin....
Because I'm not thin....

Thin is elusive. It exists on a sliding scale. When I'm 230, thin looks like 182. When the scale says 185, thin looks like 160. I haven't been there for many years, but I recall about 41 years ago, when thin looked like 125.

These numbers are crazy-making! At this moment I am celebrating my decision to stay off the scale (unless the Dr. orders... and even then I don't need to know). I understand the risks of this decision. But it makes me feel like I've finally donned my big girl panties... I don't need a scale to tell me how much to eat, if I'm bingeing or if I'm following my food plan. It's the first time ever that I've lost weight without tracking it, weighing myself and writing down the numbers. And it feels great!

So, for me right now, the scale is not relevant to thin. Yet, not weighing does not the conundrum solve. Thin haunts and taunts me even without the scale. I'm still plagued by thin thinking. For example, my 50th HS reunion is in September. Since I'm thinking about going to it, thin invades my peace with thoughts like these:

How thin will I be compared to the other women there?
Am I thin enough to risk being seen by classmates?
How much thinner will I be by then?
Will I be thin enough to deserve a new outfit?

It's not my weight (or even my appearance) that needs to change. It's my state of mind, my perception about the importance and relevance of thin, that must change. May recognizing this fact be my first baby step on a new and more comfortable pathway.

A Few More Thoughts on Entitlement & Humility

I'd like to say (and think) that I understand humility, but I have only the faintest glimmer.

I know humility is what makes us listen to and try to understand views that are different than our own. In a world of selfish and self-righteous views that lead to conflict and war, humility makes us listen to each other and hear the needs of the earth. It gives us common ground. As an individual, humility comes from the belief that I stand neither above or below anybody else. Humility protects me from low self-esteem and others from the power of my over-inflated ego.

Yes, to answer Karen's comment on my original Entitlement post, my exploration of humility did originate in an OA meeting. A member was telling a story about her family and the way she grew up feeling entitled to have "treats" for many different situations and occasions. I started thinking about what's under that sense of entitlement, one that I also shared.

Might it be possible that I felt more deserving than others? What if I altered my thinking a bit. What if I tell myself that stuff happens to everyone. We all have disappointments, frustrations, death, illness, celebrations, abusive relationships. We do. All of us. So why am I so special that I deserve to have treats?

What if I put myself on the same level with everyone, not above and not below? Does that mean I don't deserve rewards and celebrations? Does that mean I haven't succeeded? Does it mean I'm just average? Does it mean I have no reason to try to improve, to better myself? This is indeed a concept that needs grappling. I don't know the answers.

But I resonate with Ralph W. Stockman, who said humility is intelligent self respect which keeps us from thinking too highly or too meanly of ourselves. Intelligent self-respect makes good sense to me. With intelligent self-respect, I no longer binge when I feel entitled to a treat.

Entitlement Thinking

Here's the concept, plain and simple:

• I am entitled to eat anything I want any time I want because my ballet teacher said I was too large to be a dancer.
• I am entitled to eat anything I want any time I want because my parents didn't bother to come to my dance performance.
• I am entitled to eat anything I want any time I want because my daddy was killed in a car accident and my mama abandonded me to my grandparents so she could go back to school.
• I am entitled to eat anything I want any time I want because I was sick in bed for an entire year and "mistreated" in the hospital.

Those are the big ones. Here are some of the itty-bitty, forgettable ones I've used:

• I am entitled to eat anything I want any time I want because my husband's being mean to me.
• I am entitled to eat anything I want any time I want because I'm really stressed out about work.
• I am entitled to eat anything I want any time I want because the stock market crashed and I lost most of my savings.
• I am entitled to eat anything I want any time I want because we've been snowed in for over a week.
• I am entitled to eat anything I want any time I want because I'm here at this art opening, adrift among people I don't know.

I've practiced entitlement thinking, especially about food, most of my life. It's time to stop. Time to realize that my circumstances are normal events that happen in everyone's life... nothing special or unique about them.... just part of the normal ups and downs of life. Humility may be the antidote to entitlement thinking.

My prayer to Universe & Life Force:

Teach me humility
that I may stand with others
and not above them.

Show me humility
that I may confess my errors
and retrace my steps.

Grant me humility
that I may forgive my mistakes
and learn from them.

I'll close this post with a quote about humility by Ralph W. Stockman.

"True humility is intelligent self respect which keeps us from thinking too highly or too meanly of ourselves. It makes us modest by reminding us how far we have come short of what we can be."

More Thoughts about "Notice Me!"

Yesterday I wrote that my addictions might have been a subconscious and inappropriate way of saying "Please notice me" to my parents. Today I'm wondering what did my parents notice about me back then?

We were a family of 5 kids, me being the first born. The youngest, my only sister, is 16 years younger than I. At the time of my growing alcohol, smoking and love addictions, I was 23-26 and my sister was just a child at 7-10. The brother next to me was away (college and military), leaving two other brothers, ages 15-18 and 12-15, at home. So, they had a youngster and two teenage boys, plus me, at home. Both my parents worked full time in demanding, professional careers.

I don't know if this is a factor or not... My biological dad was killed in a car accident when I was 5. My step dad and mom married when I was 7. So the siblings at home were my step sister and brothers. I didn't think of them that way; nor do I think I was ever any less family to my step dad for not being his own biological offspring.

My mom was more of a disciplinarian in our family than Dad, who I remember as being more easy-going. My brothers did not smoke or drink at that time. My dad smoked when he was in college, but quit when I was about 10. Mom never smoked. While I was living at home, neither Mom or Dad drank, except on special occasions, when they would have a bottle of wine at dinner. I do not have any knowledge of alcohol problems in my grandparent's generation, but my Mom's only brother, a WWII veteran, was said to be an alcoholic. My parents always seemed to have a stable, loving marriage.

In 1965-8, while living at home, working and attending graduate school, I began drinking regularly with co-workers after work. Once or twice a week, we closed the bars at 1 AM. Sometimes we continued to drink at a co-worker's apartment after that. Once in a while we started drinking during our lunch hour and never made it back to work. I was having occasional blackouts where I would continue to talk, walk and drive but without any conscious memory whatsoever. I smoked... 2 or 3 packs per day. I was having a bit of a romance with a married co-worker.

I did not smoke or drink at home. However, I came home drunk, sometimes while my parents were still up, slurring my words and stumbling to bed. And, of course I must have smelled like a smokestack. How could they NOT notice?

Sadly, my dad died 4 years ago. I can not ask him about those years now. Nor can I ask my mom, as her memory is nearly gone. The only thing I know is that maybe 5 or 6 years ago, Mom said that they had worried about me and my drinking a lot back in the 60s. I wish I had asked her what reasons they might have had for not talking to me about it then.

Ten possible reasons why my parents didn't talk to me about my addictions while I was living at home:

1. They didn't know what to say.
2. They felt more comfortable by pretending everything was OK.
3. They thought drinking and smoking was just something college-aged kids did, more or less normal.
4. They knew I was holding my full-time job and getting good grades in graduate school. So they figured my drinking was a minor problem that didn't affect my work or education.
5. They had their own careers and three young kids to manage. So they didn't have remaining energy to deal with me.
6. I was an adult, over 21. Maybe they didn't think they had the right any longer, as parents, to correct or discipline their adult offspring.
7. My behaviors at home must have seemed decent, normal and in character to them. Therefore, they may not have realized the extent of my drinking and smoking away from home.
8. They didn't know about addiction, thinking (as I did until recently) that addicts were homeless, street people who drank every day until they passed out. So they may have seen my drinking as a passing issue of a young adult of the times.
9. My mother had to hide cookies. I would find them and eat many of them over a period of days. She must have known somebody was taking them, because she would always hide them in ever more clever places. She never said anything or asked who was "stealing" the cookies. Could she have suspected my brothers?
10. Maybe to talk to me would be to admit "publicly" that they had somehow failed as parents.

I'll never know for sure. Nor can I know how it might have changed my future path into addiction if they had chosen to talk to me about it back then. I feel sad that they didn't say anything; I wish they had. But I can't change the past, theirs or mine. What I can do is to notice my present food addiction and care enough about myself to stop.
I forgive my parents. I open my heart in understanding and forgiveness to them for not talking with me about my actions and to myself for my behaviors during those years.

Notice Me!!!

A story told at my OA meeting today gave me an insight into my addictions. This is the story:

An obese woman was purchasing ice cream, cookies and chips at a grocery store. She had prepared a lie for the checker, intending to say she was buying the goodies for a party that her teen-aged daughter was having. Before she could get the words out of her mouth, the overweight checker looked her in the eyes and said, "Oh, I see you're an overeater too." Hearing the truth like that probably shocked and hurt her, yet she responded by changing her behaviors about food.

What an unusual and bold thing for a checker to say... yet to notice her customer and care enough to say something like that was an act of kindness! Then I got to thinking about my own eating habits, drinking, smoking and staying out late at night... and about how my parents never said anything to me about any of it even though I was living at home. During the two years I lived at home while I was going to graduate school, my addictions reached their peak.

Makes me wonder, maybe my growing addictive habits were a subconscious and inappropriate way of saying to my parents, "Notice me! Please notice me. Please care enough to tell me to stop."

Over the next two decades, I was able to stop first smoking, then drinking. But the food addiction (the binges and overeating) kept going strong, even while I was dieting. It wasn't until just recently that I realized this too IS an addiction and I'm powerless to stop without the help of a higher power and the OA program. Finally, I am noticing me!

Thank you, Eleanor

Emotional times continue for my husband and me.

We had our second counseling appointment, which was... well... not very productive in my opinion. We both seem to be trying to convince the counselor that the other person is doing a lot of irritating things. Dissatisfaction is the key word. Things that aren't working rather than focusing on things that are. I'm not lily-white on this score either.

Our counselor will be gone for a month, so our next appointment isn't until August 24th. That seems nearly an eternity.

I'm contemplating a solo road trip to see my family in the Midwest. I was going to fly there in the fall anyway, so why not get some time away from each other where we can think and maybe even miss one another a bit? My husband thinks it's a bad idea. But then that's part of the problem for me... many things I do seem like a bad idea to him.

Before I leave this subject, thanks to several bloggers who recently posted "nuggets of truth"... favorite quotes. One person mentioned this one, by Eleanor Roosevelt: No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. I love you for this one, Eleanor! And I can substitute any number of things for "feel inferior" such as:

feel fat
feel stupid
feel ashamed
feel unimportant
feel inadequate

See? So now anytime my husband says something that makes me feel badly, I try to remember to repeat Eleanor's wisdom to myself, substituting whatever feeling I'm having. Then I can ask myself, "Am I really willing to consent to this?"

PS. Here's four pages of quotes by Eleanor.

Wee Little Prayer Book

Couldn't sleep well last night... I was thinking about divorce and what it might entail and mean down the road a bit. We had our first appointment with a counselor yesterday, after which, I agreed to suspend actions toward divorce for what ever time it takes to do six appointments with our counselor. However, I've been finding it difficult to suspend thoughts about divorce. Last night (until I finally fell asleep just before dawn) I could find no way ease my mind. When I did sleep, odd dreams kept partially waking me.

I got up early to go to my OA meeting, which felt good. My shoulders dropped and my breathing softened as we recited the serenity prayer. I told the group about divorce thoughts, counseling and how staying on my meal plan and abstinence is a welcome link to sanity for me right now. After I spoke, the room was silent for some moments before the next person began to talk. Hearing others talk, put it all in better perspective for me. Some of the drama drained from the situation with my husband as the others in the group spoke about their lives, failures, successes and hopes.

My husband and I are just people and, like others, we have our troubled times. We get through those times and make some changes or we don't.

Going through some of my old papers last evening, I found a prayer that I wrote 5 or 6 years ago. A friend was going on a spiritual quest, a solo walking journey across Norway. She planned to spend the nights in huts, shelters or simply rig a simple nylon shelter in clearings. Admiring her purpose, I made her a wee little book to take with her and wrote a prayer in the book. Somewhere along the way, she intentionally left the book on a shelf in one of the huts so that the prayer would remain there for others. This is the book (penny shows size).


This is the prayer I wrote and inscribed on the pages of the book:

Calling
all the powers
of the universe...
Let there be kindness
Let there be respect
Let there be forgiveness and forgiving
Let there be peace
Let there be understanding
Let us listen to each other
Let us hear each other
Let there be brotherhood
Let there be stewardship
Oh, let there be love

My prayer to the universe at this moment is to let me apply my own words to myself and my husband.

Resentments

Short post, I think, today... because I have no clever tricks, no answers and only a little hope.

My husband and I have just had our first counseling session today. This is our homework: Step 1. She tells us we need to identify our resentments toward one another. Step 2. Then I must realize and acknowlege that only I can fix my own resentments. (And same for him.) Step 3. Then I must focus on the positive things about our relationship, list them, fluff them up a bit, shine a light on them. (And same for him.)

It isn't easy, she says. Darn right it isn't easy. She didn't mention forgiveness, yet I'm fairly certain that must be part of it too. We have to forgive each other and ourselves for our resentments and mistakes.

Feeling my feelings of resentment, realizing they are complex and deep, I know there's a lot of work ahead. Am I willing to do this work? I don't honestly know at this moment.

The Poet's Trick!

Reading Karen's recent post, I Can't Believe I Ate the Whole Thing, reminds me of a trick I learned from a recovering alcoholic. She has a very addictive personality with issues around sex, alcohol and food. She is also a brilliant writer, poet and teacher. I wrote in a poetry group with her for several years and was always impressed with her insights and compassion regarding addiction.

The trick she taught me is to be mindful of when the voice begins to say things like:

• Just one bite!
• We need this
• We deserve this
• Do it just this one last time
• Oooh that tastes good, let's just have a little bit more
• We'll be good tomorrow for sure

When the voice first taps on her shoulder, she looks immediately for a mind distraction. If she's in her car, she begins to count every red car she sees. If the voice penetrates this distraction, she increases the mind chore by also keeping track of every blue car she sees. If there are no cars, she counts trees. If there is nothing to count, she attempts to recite a memorized poem backwards.

During her addiction recovery, she developed a whole bag of mental exercises that she used to confuse and then silence the voice. She claims it only takes a few minutes before sanity returns.

As I wrote here previously, I used to have issues with love addiction. I would constantly obsess (and that's what it is, isn't it... whether it's a drink, a person or chocolate ice cream) about whatever man I currently had a crush on. When I began to obfuscate my own mind with counting cars or naming every teacher I'd ever had or naming state capitals (never could recite poetry, let alone backwards), the obsessive thinking went away. Yes, it came back. Yes, I did more counting. The point is, whenever I was mindful and used her trick, I could remain sane.

Somehow, I never really attempted to use her trick with food obsessing. And right now, one day at a time, I do not seem to have a problem with it.

I believe that addiction (and food obsessing) has it's roots somewhere in avoidance, especially avoidance of feelings. I believe that it is important for me to do more than silence the obsessive voice... that I must also learn to feel my feelings and explore the many layers of my past stuffed under years of over eating. Lots of work to do ahead. Yet at the moment of obsession tapping me on the shoulder, I hope I'll remember "the poet's trick!"

Banning "Should"

"What if ____" and "How might ___" are magical questions that open more doors and broaden more visions than any other two-word combinations in the world!

On the other hand "Should I _____" is one of the most damaging two-word questions on earth. The reason why "Should I ____" gets me in trouble is because it implies a "yes" or "no" answer. Black or white. Right or wrong. Judgements! Questions rarely have an absolute answer. Life just isn't like that. There are always grey areas and most of time an agreeable or practical answer is somewhere between "yes" and "no." So I change the question.

I've finally learned this lesson when it comes to my art. These days I rarely ask my self questions like:

• What should I do next?
• How should I finish this?
• Should I put this here?

Instead I have learned to phrase the questions differently, eliminating the word should and substituting the words might or what if. The rephrased questions look like this:

• What might I do next?
• How might I finish this?
• What if I put this here?

Ever since I starting to practice might and what if with my art, rather than struggling with should, I've blossomed as an artist. I've developed a more playful and free style. I've become more comfortable and much less critical of both me and my work.

Now, what if I apply this practice to my recovery?!!! Eureka! Earlier today, I recall hearing a voice in my head asking questions like this:

• Who should I ask to be my OA sponsor?
• Should I add ice cream to my list of abstinence foods?
• How should I interpret my meal plan about no snacks?
• Should I make it OK to nibble and taste while I'm cooking?

What if I apply the principles that work so well for me with my art to my recovery? What if I change the wording of these questions to this:

• Who might I ask to be my OA sponsor?
• What if I add ice cream to my list of abstinence foods for a while?
• How might I interpret my meal plan about no snacks?
• What if I make it OK to nibble and taste while I'm cooking?

Now the questions seem much easier to answer. I am not in so much fear of making a mistake. I am not stuck in limbo making no decisions at all because of my fears about making wrong decisions.

OK, that's a change I can make! I will be more mindful of my language regarding recovery. Goodbye to"should" and welcome to "what if" and "might!"

Focus + Baby Steps + The King is Dead; Long Live the King!

Sometimes my world is sooooooo small. My husband and my friends want the best for me, yes. And at the same time they are part of the old me, my old ways with food and addiction... my habits all wrapped up with family and friends and the past.

Sometimes my world is sooooooo expanded by the new connections found through this Words Paint journey. I discover inspiration and hope almost every day both in the process of writing and the words of others.

Yesterday, PJ's post gave me a huge bouquet of insights. And today, Big Girl Bombshell's post introduced me to Dr. J and his King is Dead concept (more about this later).

Originally I didn't intend to become part of a blogging community... I thought my recovery journey would be private. If anybody stumbled on it and wanted to read my posts, fine... but I wouldn't get involved. Now, especially with the above two posts, I see how amazing and fertile shared experiences can be. I am changing... more open to and grateful for this community!

Originally I didn't intend to address or acknowledge my readers... I can't help myself... Please check out the links above!

From PJ comes a deeper understanding of the words focus and baby steps. To focus on the necessary baby steps, to focus on the moment, to focus on the big picture.

Baby steps got me through 72 days of abstinence. Then I fell down. OK, I will get up and take more baby steps. Today is day 3 of renewed abstinence. More baby steps. I look in the mirror and see an overweight woman. I turn to the side and see a belly and large legs and flab over my elbow. With PJ's help I focus on the big picture. I recall how much more my belly protruded and how much more flab covered my elbows just three months ago. I remember that what the mirror reveals is only part of the recovery I am experiencing. Baby steps at work here! Focus on sanity, progress and the big picture!

The King is dead; long live the King! The King is my habits. The old King got too full of himself. The old King started out fine. He filled the holes, salved the bruises and comforted the wounds in me. But over time, his cures were worse than my ailments; his cures became my ailments and caused even more discomfort and sorrow than the holes and wounds. That King grew old and now he is dead.

The new King is my new habits. The new King is young and sometimes makes the mistakes of youth. Yet the new King holds great promise. Long live the new King!

With much gratitude for these insights, I sally forth into a moment, a day, a time of focus and baby steps under the guidance of the new King!

Day #1 Again???

Famous last words...

Have guest = eat more, richer foods. Travel = eat more, get hungrier. Stress = eat more. That's the surface challenge about the week ahead. I know how to deal with that type of challenge... I have my plan and my talisman!

... written in my previous post.

It almost makes me smile to realize I thought the challenge of having J here would be dealing with my old addiction and long-past behaviors. I thought maintaining sobriety about food would be a piece of cake.

Actually, the reverse was true. As you can see on the side bar, I set my Abstinence date back to zero yesterday as I began again to follow my food plan... to abstain from eating certain foods, to eat only three meals per day, to avoid trigger foods and to not eat between meals.

Actually I didn't do too badly during this past week.

1. I did not eat any of my currently listed abstinence foods, not one bite
2. I did not binge
3. I remained fairly faithful to my three-meal-a-day plan
4. I ate a single-scoop ice cream cone between meals... one time
5. I ate a cup or so of trail mix (fruit and nuts) between meals... one time
6. I ate more than a single plate of food at a meal... two times
7. I ate beyond the point of feeling satisfied... three times
8. I ate bread and butter (trigger foods) more times than I consider safe

The boundaries of abstinence are more difficult, I think, with food than with alcohol. If you are an AA member and you have one drink of alcohol, you broke your abstinence. But what about a small sip, a taste, say of a special brew of beer made by a friend? Would that be considered a brake in abstinence? What about a piece of beer-batter fish? Where does one draw the line? It's a little tricky with alcohol and even more difficult with food.

Originally, I did not put ice cream on my abstinence list. It's not even on my trigger food list. However, it should be on one of the lists because it has occasionally been a binge food (when I was eating chocolate) and eating it does make me crave chocolate and other abstinence foods. The good news here is that having ice cream did not cause a downward spiral... this time. In the next days after eating it, I sat with J and my husband while they ate delicious bakery treats one day and apple pie with ice cream the next day. It was not unbearable to abstain.

So yesterday, with J gone home to Europe and me comfortable again in my normal routines, I thought about whether to set the counter back to zero or not. It would have been day 77 of abstinence. I'm proud of that and thankful for all the help I've received along the way. Will I start over... day zero? Or will I say my eating this past week was borderline but acceptable?

I discussed the question with somebody who has had 16 years of sobriety in AA. She suggested we must each decide for ourselves where the line is and when we have crossed it. She also thinks my plan may be a bit too strict. She said many in AA have to start over.

In my mind, eating an ice cream cone crossed the line, even though I had not listed ice cream as either a binge or trigger food. That it wasn't listed is merely a technicality. It is a binge food for me and I know it; I knew when I decided to have it that it didn't fit my plan. I forgive myself for crossing the line. I do not have to be perfect. Yet, I decided to start again.

Yesterday was day 1; today will be day 2. And, with the help of my (as yet not fully understood) higher power, my fellow OA members and everyone who wishes me well on this journey, I will celebrate day 77 on September 18... not so far down the road.

Avoidance

Mia culpa... I am avoiding writing about the second challenge mentioned two posts ago. And it's already here, blossoming to full size in about 9 hours. I am avoiding because I don't want to tell or face the whole truth about the situation. I don't want to deal with the past and I am a little apprehensive about the future.

In this moment all is well. I am following my food plan and doing what I have to do. I am sane and sober.

But I feel insecurity creeping toward me. Will writing help? I don't want my journal to read like true confessions, even though it is for me and for my healing.... I'm waffling about this.

So, guess I'll write the outline... the part that is more or less factual... the part that isn't so much about my feelings.

About 30 years ago I was in Eastern Europe, then under Communist control, and met a family, who were members of an ethnic minority group in the country where they lived. Their ethnic group suffered much persecution. The father (I'll call him J) wanted to get his two children out of that country and raise them in a politically free country.

I helped by getting information for them and by raising money to pay for bribes and expenses (getting the family out of the country was very tricky). For a while, they lived in a limbo status in another country. I visited them there a few times.

After a couple of years living hand to mouth, moving frequently, trying to get into Western Europe but not succeeding, they finally found an opportunity to get into Denmark as political refugees. There they settled, learning Danish, adjusting to a very different culture and eventually becoming citizens.

When they first went to Denmark, they knew nobody. J and his wife were worried about what would happen to the kids if anything should happen to them. I agreed in writing to take full responsibility for the two children if it were ever necessary.

I had four extended visits with the family in Denmark. The last time I saw them as a family of four was 17 years ago. The daughter came to visit me in the USA the year after that. And J came to my home for a brief visit 8 years ago.

In 9 hours J is arriving here for a second visit. My husband, J and I are going on a 4-day motorcycle ride. J will be here for 6 days.

What does all this have to do with my recovery? Well there's the obvious... Have guest = eat more, richer foods. Travel = eat more, get hungrier. Stress = eat more. That's the surface challenge about the week ahead. I know how to deal with that type of challenge... I have my plan and my talisman!

However, under the obvious there's a more significant challenge. When I met J and got to know him over periodic visits to the family in Europe, I greatly admired his strength of character, daring and determination. I began to really love this amazing person. Actually, that was part of it. The other part was that I developed a ginornous crush on him.

My addictions (in addition to the mother addiction of overeating and certain foods) include tobacco (3 packs Pall Mall every day, quit in 1968), alcohol (sober since 1985) and love. Love addiction is the strangest thing... For me it was not sex addiction, even though sex is often desirable as proof of love. It wasn't sex I wanted at all; it was to be loved.

My love addiction manifested itself as crushes, mostly on unavailable or uninterested men. I would constantly obsess about a man on whom I had a crush. Sometimes I would almost stalk the person, hound them with notes/letters.

Poor J. He was very fond of me. But he was also married and totally in love with his wife. For me, it was very confusing. I loved and admired the whole family, including his wife, in a healthy and reasonable way. But at the same time, he was the object of my passionate obsession for a long time, maybe 10 years.

Because of my lust for J, I broke up with my steady boyfriend/partner of 13 years. I only wanted J.

Then some things changed. I began writing poetry with a group of recovering alcoholics, drug addicts and one sex addict. For the first time, I began to see my crushes for what they really were... an addiction to love... obsessive and compulsive attachments that were not reality-based. I awakened to the fact that I could love J as a friend and let go of the notion that he could (0r ever would) be a romantic partner.

After that, I met my husband (1997) and consider myself happily married. No more crushes. J was the last. Not even a hint of it in the 13 years I've been with my husband. Even when J called to tell me his wife had suddenly died of a brain tumor, I did not give more than idle thought to the fact that he was now available.

J and I are close friends. I've stood next to him through many important life changes. We have a strong bond, an emotional and intellectual connection similar to my relationship with two of my brothers and my husband.

So now J is coming here. His visit brings up the past for me... reminds me of my addiction to love. I've been having memory flash-backs about those days when I adored him in such an unhealthy, odd way. We did not have an affair, although at one point I would have if the circumstances had been different. I am ashamed about that. I wonder if I want to talk with him about it? I wonder if there is some way I can make amends. Most of all I want the impossible... to apologize to his wife for the lust I carried for J. But to him as well. It could not have been easy to be my friend.

So the challenge ahead is to feel my feelings, accept my memories of who I was back then, forgive myself for my mistakes and my addictions, and pray for guidance in matters of making amends with J. That's it. That's the challenge I face right now.

WW vs. OA

A fellow blogger got intrigued by my Overeaters Anonymous posts and decided to try OA. She went to a couple of meetings (not in same part of country as me), but didn't feel comfortable with the spiritual aspects of it (God). She has decided OA is not for her and to try Weight Watchers instead.

That got me thinking about the differences between WW and OA from the perspective of my experiences so far.

I've done WW several times. Twenty five years ago, I lost 65 pounds in WW, got to my goal weight and stayed there for more than a year. Then I gained it all back, plus more. Five years later I repeated the same cycle, only didn't quite make it to goal before starting to climb again.

Several more times I re-joined WW, lost a few pounds and quit. Two years ago, I joined WW on line and lost 32 pounds, at which point I hit a psychological wall. I kept paying $16 per month, but was only intermittently keeping track of my food. I re-applied all 32 pounds to my poor body over the next 18 months (and paid $288 more dollars while gaining).

During all my WW experiences, I ate cookies, cake, candy, pastries... When I was being "good," I counted the points. When I was being "bad," I simply "cheated." I was more successful losing weight (and keeping it off) in WW than I have been in the other weight-loss programs I've tried.

My OA experience began 67 days ago. I have not been on the scale. I have not eaten any cookies, cake, candy or pastries... not even a bite. 67 days ago, I was wearing a snug size 18 jeans; now I'm fairly comfortable in size 14. I feel better, more stable, more even-keeled than I have in many decades. It's a start.

Could it turn around? Could the cookies call too loudly for me to resist? Could I quit again? Yes, you bet.

Too bad I can't format columns here... I'd like to list the two programs side by side to easily compare their features (as I've experienced them). I'll have to do it item by item:

WW - about losing weight, learning healthy food choices
OA - about recovery from food addictions

WW - diet driven - count points
OA - spirituality driven - maintain abstinence, stick to food plan

WW - self monitoring, track points, rewards, weigh-in meetings
OA - higher power, group meetings and personal sponsor provide support

WW - weekly fee
OA - free

WW - will power
OA - higher power

WW - bad habits got me to this place of being overweight
OA - I have an incurable disease of addiction to overeating and certain foods

WW - anything in moderation, as long as I count the points
OA - abstinence from certain foods

WW - get to goal weight
OA - experience sanity one day at a time

These two programs are not mutually exclusive. A person could choose WW for their OA food plan.

For me, being abstinent on certain foods is a huge relief. Some part of me must have known that eating one or two WW chocolate brownies every day (in a highly addictive way) was eventually going to snowball into binging and weight gain. Yet, consciously, I had no real clue about addiction.

Holy Hunger by Margaret Bullitt-Jonas is the catalyst that opened my eyes, finally, to addiction... to my need for more than weight loss... to my need for spiritual recovery and abstinence. I will be forever grateful to her for writing her personal journey in such a deep and honest way.

My recovery journey will have its share of bumps, no doubt. I came into the program as an agnostic who is critical of all organized religions. Finding trust and belief in a higher power, surrendering control, and feeling my feelings are the challenges right now. The weight loss is a by-product... good, but not the focus.

OA is right for me because I finally admit, understand and accept that I am powerless over my habit of overeating and my addiction to certain foods. When dieting, I have power for some length of time. But over and over again my power shuts down or isn't adequate. I accept this about myself and am seeking help from a power greater than my own.

What's In My Pocket????

Walking around, waiting to depart town for my workshop last Wednesday (see previous post), I happened to meet a member of my local OA group. We stopped to chat and I remarked that I was worried about my OA abstinence and food program in the days ahead.

What serendipity! He gave me a remarkable suggestion, saying that in situations like that he likes to carry a talisman in his pocket... something he can touch and hold to remind and help him with sobriety. Ah-ha! Instantly I knew that would work for me too.

With yet another half hour before my ferry departed, I went to a little souvenir shop by the ferry dock to see what talisman-angel I could find. My hands touched rocks, shells, a little glass ladybug and a ceramic frog. None of these things seemed to have any positive energy for me. Finally, I spied a basket of carved stones (probably from China) on the bottom shelf in the back of the store. My hand immediately went to a reddish stone with a primitive carving of a shore bird. My bird. My workshop helper-talisman!


It totally worked! I made commitments to my husband, readers, another person in the workshop and myself that I would stick with my program. But the talisman in my pocket is the most important reason I was able to do it. When the going got rough, I put my hand in my pocket and fondled my little bird rock. It comforted me and enabled me to resist the many temptations... the chocolate cookies passed around, the bowl of red licorice, the spread of deserts at lunch time and the urge to snack at night in my room. Yay!

Two Challenges Ahead

The first challenge will begin on Wednesday when I depart for a 3-day felt-dying-book-binding workshop. I'll be sharing a room in B&B-type of place with another student. I've corresponded with her via email a bit, but have never met her. The organizer has planned snacks and fancy lunches. I'm guessing there will be looooong days/evenings and not much sleep. There will be many food temptations and I'll be out of my comfort zone in lots of ways.

So I need a plan. Well, I have a food plan. Three meals a day. No snacks. No binge foods. Only one plate or bowl per meal. I can do this at home. I can even factor in eating out once in a while. Can I maintain my plan at the workshop? Will I maintain my plan at the workshop?

With 57 days invested in abstinence so far, I certainly don't want to re-set the counter... nor do I want to slide again into the binge foods abyss. Ten things that might help me stay on course:

1. take sugar-free gum... several flavors
2. take a good supply of bottled water and a few cans of diet soda
3. don't worry (or even think) about the second challenge until this one is behind me
4. pray (something I rarely do; hardly know how to do)
5. walk rather than eat; when temptation strikes, take a quick walk around the building or down the street and back
6. tell the student(s) next to me what I am doing; make a verbal commitment to them about my food plan each day
7. make a commitment about sticking to my food plan here on my blog and report at the end of the workshop (probably no access to Internet while there)
8. remember that I'm there to PLAY and learn; my work does not have to be good or perfect or pretty or remarkable in any way
9. make a verbal commitment about sticking to my food plan to my husband and call him every night to report
10. ask if any readers have other suggestions... maybe things that have worked for them

Hey! That's a decent list... think I'll print it out, keep it visible for the next two days and take it with me.

To my readers... Yes, I do commit to sticking to my food plan and will report when I return. And yes, I do welcome any suggestions you have.

No, thanks to the above list, I'm not going to write about the second challenge happening one week later... Time for that when I return from the workshop. Posting will probably be sparse, but I'll be baaaack!

What to Fix ~ What Not to Fix

Been a troubled week for Peacefulbird...

A friend "closed the door" on me. She's not the female confidant type, but has always been friendly and as warm with me as she seems to get with anybody. Several months ago, we started a little business sewing a line of beaded kitchen angels, tea towels and potholders to sell at our local farmers market. We had a number of fun sewing days and started selling our line in April. She's not much for phone calls, so mostly we made arrangements in person or by email.

All seemed to be going well with both friendship and business relationship until two weeks ago, when she declined to come to my studio of a pre-arranged sew-day and ceased to respond to my emails. I tried the telephone... she didn't return my call. Today was our 4th scheduled farmer's market and I didn't even know if she would be there.

All week this troubled me. I wondered, "Did I do/say something to offend her and if so, what? Is she ill?" I called a mutual quilting friend to ask about that. No, she didn't think so.

So, this morning I went to my OA meeting (prior to the market) full of anxiety. When it was my turn, I spoke of the situation and told how it made me want to eat sweets all week (my old way of dealing with things like this). Then I heard myself saying (from some rarely heard wise-woman place inside), "The child in me has been abandoned again. She feels frightened and anxious and sad and angry and confused and most of all she feels lost. I need to help her."

Thus it's NOT about fixing the friendship... NOT about fixing whatever is amiss between me and my friend. It IS about fixing what is amiss between me and the child within (Little PB). On the way to the market, I reassured her that my husband will not abandon her, that my best friend (L) will not abandon her, that my quilting and beading buddies will not abandon her and most of all, that I will not abandon her. I told her I understand how she feels, especially given her loss of Daddy and Mommy.

I had been concerned about eating pastries at the market, but after talking with Little PB, a weight was lifted and there was no significant challenge to avoid food.

My friend/business partner did show up. We were business-like and cordial, but did not discuss our relationship at all. Without the insight about abandonment, I would have been trying to fix it and pushing her to discuss what went wrong between us. Who knows, I don't close that door... maybe someday we'll fix our friendship.... maybe not. In the meantime, I feel a whole lot better!

I'm Proud of Myself ~ 10 Things List

Cammy, at Tippy Toes Diet, posted this quote today by Martha Beck (author of The Joy Diet, which I haven't read...yet):

Right now, say it out loud: “I’m so proud of myself.” The rush of strength and expansiveness that comes from declaring this honestly is the antidote to paralysis and the beginning of wonderful adventures, and each time you choose that, instead of shame, you really should be proud.

Ring of truth here... false modesty be darned, I might as well give it a try.

Ten I'm-Proud-of-Myself Things:

1. I am proud of myself for passing up the free samples of funnel cake and cinnamon rolls at the grocery store again today.
2. I am proud of myself for 52 days of abstaining from cake, cookies, ice cream, chocolate, pastries, pie and candy.
3. I am proud of myself for 52 days of abstaining from overeating until I am beyond full.
4. I am proud of myself for walking 2.2 miles on most of the 52 days since joining OA.
5. I am proud of myself for starting a daily arm exercise program.
6. I am proud of myself for my efforts at staying honest and true in writing this blog.
7. I am proud of myself for attempting to feel my feeling and for telling my best friend she didn't need to fix my sadness yesterday.
8. I am proud of myself for asking my husband for help with this list.
9. I am proud of myself for making an "excellent dinner and then doing the dishes on top of that." (My husband's suggestion...)
10. I'm so proud of (and shocked at) myself for writing this list and posting it.

I guess there's wisdom in this, because I am smiling ear to ear right now. Thank you Martha and Cammy!

Surrender

To surrender is to accept
life as it is:
winter today, spring tomorrow;
cruelty with beauty;
aloneness after love.

These are words by Marion Woodman from Coming Home to Myself, a gift from a friend who understands the mysteries of change better than I.

I do not easily surrender, nor often. I want control. My mind knows when I use my determination to stop a leak in the wall of control surrounding me, another leak will soon begin at my back. My mind knows my thin wall of control can easily crumble allowing a flood to rush over me. I am afraid I won't be able to swim. So, despite what my mind knows, I white-knuckle to maintain control.... over what I eat, over my surroundings, sometimes over my friends and family.

I don't want to admit that last week I tried to control a friend. I wanted her to come to my studio for a "sewing day." She said she didn't feel well. I wheedled and whined. She said, "You're twisting my arm." I said, "Yes, but I really want you to come." She didn't. And she hasn't replied to my email messages, including one where I acknowledged my fault and apologized.

I also don't want to admit that last week I tried to influence my sister to do something. She said she was tired. I pushed. She didn't do it.

Ten Things I Can't Control

1. my genetic makeup
2. my past experiences
3. my eating
4. the weather
5. the world's population growth
6. my husband
7. my sister
8. my friends
9. truth
10. everything else

Is to surrender to have no influence? To surrender must I allow the flood and the dark to push me down? What if I cannot surface again? Nature knows all about control and surrender. The dog rolls over and shows his belly. The flooded river recedes. Must I then surrender my will? And if so, how?

Let go. Breathe. Stay in the moment. Someone said, "Be where your hands are." Breathe. Let go. Trust. Forgive. Breathe.

Dance ~ Part 3 (the end, for now)

Yes, my childhood/youth dance card was tarnished and bleak. But later, in my 40s and 50s, the dancer in me left hibernation and found a pathway through folk dance and later recreational ballroom dancing.

It wasn't always easy... I recall taking workshops where the teachers rotated the dancers. It seemed that each time I rotated to a new partner, I saw on his face a look that said, "Oh no, here we go... She's a big one... She won't be a good partner... She must weigh twice as much as me... Maybe I should take a break right now..." Some did take a break. Some discovered that I can dance. Some even sought me out later as a partner. I learned to take the bad with the good, stick with it, keep smiling and above all, enjoy the dance.

For several years, I performed with a Hungarian folk dance group, eventually becoming one of the group's primary choreographers. Performing was tough. The first time on stage, my knees were shaking so much that my dear partner literally had to hold me up. Eventually, I came to enjoy performing very much.

During those two decades, I formed romantic attachments to two different men who were dancers, one which lasted 13 years. He was a big guy, overweight like me. He was/is a great dancer and always in demand as a partner. Guys can be overweight, sweaty, choreography-impaired, humorless, you name it... If they're willing to try, they will always have a dance partner. For us gals, it's a bit more difficult. When I started ballroom dancing, I got used to asking men to dance with me, which was a bit tough on the ego, but which got me on the dance floor.

I look back on those 20 years of dance as a primary focus in my life and am thankful for the courage and serendipitous circumstances that helped me to take baby steps out of hibernation. That phase of my life ended when I met my husband (who will not/does not dance) and moved to an island where there really isn't any venue for dancing. It's OK. I'm willing to trade dance for my marriage... and I still dance by myself sometimes, especially in my studio.

Going back to the start of Part 1, I wrote: "I guess if I'm ever going to recover (as they put it in OA), I have to face the D word... Dance." I've told the stories. Now what is it I need to face?

I think it's my bitterness and anger about what happened and about being overweight and large. Perhaps a 10-things list is in order. OK... Ten Things I'm Willing to Forgive and Leave Behind:

1. I forgive you, Mr. Andahazi, Mr. Russian ballet master. You taught me body carriage and how to move in time to music. I'm sure you did not intend to harm me when you told my parents I was not suited to ballet. You were right... I am not.
2. I forgive you, Mom and Dad. You did not understand how important it was to me that you see our modern dance performance. You tried to make it up to me later by traveling all the way across the country to see me perform folk dance on several occasions. You were kind and attentive to my needs in countless ways.
3. I forgive you, stage helpers, for the mix-up about our costumes.
4. I forgive you, Mrs. Kane, for pushing me back on stage. Although I was humiliated at the time, it was the right thing to do. Maybe it's partly the reason why I was able to perform later in life. So thank you!
5. I forgive myself for holding this anger and shame inside for all these years.
6. I forgive myself for all the years I overate and binged, especially for how doing so continually hampered me from blossoming as a dancer.
7. I forgive myself for any erroneous assumptions I may have made regarding male dance teachers, choreographers and partners. I assumed the worst, that they all dreaded working with me. I admit it's possible that some of them didn't have any negative feelings at all.
8. I forgive those men who have a preference for dancing with small, attractive women even if they aren't really very good dancers.
9. I forgive myself for hibernating, shyness and holding back.
10. I forgive myself for limiting my own potential in dance by holding onto shame, fear and resentments from the past.

Ooooh, that felt good!!!! Now I can let the subject of dance rest for a while. The only other thing to do is to put my word-arms around Little Peacefulbird, hug her tightly, rock her gently and tell her I understand how wounded she was and how proud I am of her for allowing dance to emerge again and even flourish after many years of hiding.

Dance ~ Part 2

Dance turned a dark corner for me when my ballet teacher told me and my parents that I was too big to be a ballet dancer (previous post). So, when the next school year began, my parents enrolled me in a modern dance class.

Oh joy, I was dancing again. Toward the end of the year, our teacher choreographed "Alice in Wonderland" for us to perform. Oh ecstacy, I got a part in a duet! I was Tweedle Dum and my neighbor, Kathy, was Tweedle Dee. She was very short and pole thin. I was quite a bit taller and much rounder. We had circle skirt costumes.

Performance day came and two things went very wrong. My parents had some sort of concert tickets that evening and so declined to come to my performance. (Baaaaaad Mommy and Daddy!) At least they didn't see our embarassing duet....

For our duet, Kathy and I were to enter from opposite sides of the stage. But somebody had mixed up our costumes. On her side, a helper wrapped my too long skirt around her tiny waist twice and safety pinned it in place. On my side, a helper broke the zipper trying to get her skirt over my shoulders and then tied it around my waist with a cord, which made it so short that it barely covered my crotch.

When we entered, the audience broke into laughter at the sight of our odd, bedraggled-looking costumes. Kathy stood and waited for the laughter to subside. I fled the stage in humiliation. Our dance teacher pushed me back on. The audience laughter increased and again I fled. Meanwhile the music started and Kathy began to dance her part. When Mrs. Kane pushed me on the stage again, I finally figured out where in the choreography we were supposed to be and began to dance.

Although the audience clapped for us, that was the end of dancing for me for a very long time. After that third grade fiasco, I knew, 100%, absolutely I could not be a dancer. I avoided dances and dancing all through my school years. In high school and college, if I went to a dance at all, it was always hugely terrifying and stressful. I'd act out, gossip with the girls, drink (college) and leave early.

I wanted (more than anything!) to dance. I envied the slender, pretty girls dancing close with their boyfriends. I loved the music. My inner body would move, in a way I hoped nobody would notice, to the music. I was trapped in a mind that constantly trumped with one old ballet card and two old modern dance cards.

There's more to discover about me and dance.... next post.

Dance - Part 1

I guess if I'm ever going to recover (as they put it in OA), I have to face the D word... Dance.

At 67 years old and somewhere around 190 pounds, I still have a dancer inside me... All my life... a dancer in me with no outlet, an inner dancer who has only rarely been public, an overweight, sometimes obese, girl/woman hiding a lithe and passionate dancer inside.

I just watched episode 2 of So You Think You Can Dance, which makes me feel my feelings, with tears of joy. I've loved this program and watched every episode since it began. Even my husband, who does not dance and has not ever danced, has developed an interest in seeing young dancers working with excellent choreographers to learn and perform different styles of dance.

What is it about dance? Movement... the body speaking the heart's truth when the mouth is only mute?

As a child my parents took me to The Ballet Russes. Seeing the beautiful grace and electric energy of these dancers at about 4+ years old is still a vivid memory. I felt myself transported into their bodies, my heart into theirs. I wanted to be a dancer, a ballet dancer.

I poured over the performance program and a ballet picture book, practicing the positions in my bedroom with the door closed. My brother and I made crepe paper ballet costumes for the kids in our neighborhood. We showed them how to dance and staged a show for our families on the sidewalk in front of our house.

When I was 8, I finally persuaded my parents to enroll me in ballet lessons. Here is a poem I wrote 15 years ago about those lessons...

You Were Wrong, Mr. Andahazi

I call you back, Mr. Andahazi,
Mr. Russian ballet master,
with spindly legs
and equally spindly heart.
I call you back and place you
in front of a child
who will speak to you now.

You talked to my parents
in my presence
as though I wasn’t there
as though I were
the family puppy –
Look at those feet!
She’s gonna be a big one!
Well, maybe you’re a hot-shot
Russian ballet master, but
you were dead wrong about me.
It wasn’t a waste, Mr. Andahazi,
of my parent’s money
to pay for my dance lessons.

You could see only
the future, the lights,
the stage, the barely fleshed
skeletons of delicate women
held high over the heads
of small men, like you.
Paying money today
to realize an outcome
so many years down the road.
She’s going to be too big
and too tall, you said,
a waste of your money,
no man will be able
to dance with her, you said,
take her away,
off with her head.

I pity you, Mr. Andahazi.
You did not see the pure joy
in my heart. You did not
notice or feel or enjoy
the radiance of my love
for those weekly lessons
right there in your studio.

Little girls, you know,
take words like yours
to heart and turn them
into demons which can
prevent us from knowing
our worth and following our bliss.
I wonder if you care?
It doesn’t matter anymore.
You were wrong.
I have always been a dancer.
That is all I have to say.

I call you back, Mr. Andahazi,
Mr. Russian ballet master
with spindly legs
and equally spindly heart.
I call you back and place you
over there, against the wall
to witness the dancer
you tried to squelch
to watch her twirl gracefully
around the dance floor
like Isadora’s scarves
floating and waving in the breeze.
I call you back to notice,
to comprehend your lack of power
over us, the child and me.
You will stand there
and watch me dancing,
behold my pleasure, my delight,
time after time after time.
But I do not see you.
I do not recognize you.
I do not even remember you.
You are not here anymore.

At that time, I thought I'd banished the demons. But tonight, watching my favorite dance show, I felt them tugging on me again. There's more... more dance and self-image and weight stuff... I hope to deal with it in another post or two...

Little Temptations

Today the deli department of our grocery store offered platters laden with samples of three different kinds of cookies!

Forty-six days ago I would have had one or two samples of each type on my way into the store (rear entrance from the parking lot). Then, I would have done some of my shopping and wandered by the deli again for seconds. If they were especially good cookies, I might have returned again for thirds. After paying for my groceries (at the front of the store), I would have swung past the deli again for a final handful of cookie samples on my way out of Dodge.

Did the deli clerks recognize me each time? Did they make judgments about me? I always wondered about that... But it didn't stop me.

In fact, the beginning of the end of my recent Weight Watchers victory began with eating those tasty little temptations. Late last fall, our newly-remodeled grocery store was being very generous with samples. Every day the bakery and deli featured at three or more sample platters. Nearly every day I'd find some excuse to hit the platters.

I'm just having a few little bites. It won't matter. I'll eat a little less at dinner. I don't know how to count the points, so I'll just ignore them. Chocolate too... there were samples of chocolate decadence cake, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate biscotti...

I'd been chocolate-abstinent for two years, but eating little chocolate samples was all it took to start bingeing on it again. Eating little everything samples was all it took to start buying bakery treats, eating deserts at restaurants and a return to the whole crazy, food-dependent, weight-gaining way of life again.

Today, thank the universe, I walked right by the platters. Yes, I noticed them. Yes, the samples looked as tasty as always. Yes, there was a moment of temptation when the voice in my head said, Shall we? Just one?

Something is much different now. No tricky point or calorie-count manipulations. No arguing with the voice in my head. No exceptions. There is comfort in abstinence. I feel joy and satisfaction knowing that, one day at a time, I do not eat food samples in the grocery store.