Dinner as Relapse

Sigh. Sugar is like crack to me.

I wrote here about the challenge of social situations, and one of them was my weekly Monday night dinner at the halfway house for addicts in recovery. Tonight it was just impossible to eat like I’d want to. First off, these guys are just not salad dudes. We always end up with some meaty entrée and a big starchy side dish. Often I can just take some meat and a bit of the starchy whatever, take a little taste of it and then push it around on my plate.

Tonight, though, two problems. The first was that the main dish was sloppy joes. For anyone outside of the US who is not familiar with the sloppy joe phenomenon, they are sandwiches with ground beef cooked in a tomato-y sauce that usually has a fair amount of sugar in it. You eat them on hamburger buns, and they’re pretty darn tasty. So, no way to avoid the sugar there, though I did eat mine open-faced, on a slice of whole-wheat bread rather than a white-bread bun.

The second problem was the GIANT BOWL OF POTATO SALAD that accompanied the main course. And the gentleman who made the potato salad and was quite proud of his first attempt at doing so was sitting right next to me. So I put a smallish glop of it on my plate, and he said “Oh, here, it’s really good, you’re going to want more!” He reached over and PLOP—fixed me up with a big hefty pile of it.

Well, I took my time and nibbled a bit of it and ate my semi-virtuous open-faced sandwich. I could just feel my palate tingling with sugar-love and potato-lust. Oh, white minions of Satan! Vile, carby temptresses! I will not succumb to your siren song!

The potato thing I’ve kind of gotten over in the couple of hours since dinner’s been over, but I’m sitting here craving something sugary like you wouldn’t believe. After I left the dinner/meeeting I went shopping to distract myself, and now I’m sitting here writing and sipping tea in an effort to tell my body to just chill out. Yes, crack may make us feel good in the short term, but we really don’t like all of the collateral effects—the weight gain, the shame, the loss of control. Not to mention the crappy sugar-hangover the next day. Who needs that? I got me some tea, some will-power and some words to write, and I shall ride out the craving until it turns into something else. Sleepiness, probably.

Just out of curiosity, what do you all do when the cravings hit? I could use some new weapons in my arsenal.

Weekly weigh-in

Starting weight: 240
Current weight: 235
Change this week: -5
Total change: -5

One week, and 5 lbs gone! It’s mostly water-weight, I have no doubt, but I’ll take it. The challenges this week were social ones, as I posted about here. Yesterday I had both lunch and dinner out, which was tough. I think it would work best to declare a moratorium on dining out during this early phase of trying to lose weight and re-adopt some healthier eating, but I can’t bring myself to do that. I have a wonderful bunch of friends, and we tend to enjoy meeting after work or on the weekends to eat and then go do something. It’s kind of a cornerstone of my social life. And besides, I guess I feel like I need to learn to eat out in the world, not only in my own kitchen.

As I think I’ve mentioned, the plan I’m sticking to for now is low-carb and relatively high protein. I’ve been eating a lot of lean meat this week, and LOADS of broccoli, which I detest raw but really like when it’s steamed. Last weekend I steamed up a big bunch and took it for lunch all week, which I think I’ll do again this week. This way of eating works really well for me, especially once I’ve liberalized it a bit to include some fruits. I’m always surprised at how much energy I have when I’m avoiding bread, potatoes, rice, sugar, etc. I’ve always been prone to hypoglycemia, and often if I have a big, carby lunch, by dinnertime I’m weak, lightheaded, ravenous and absolutely unable to make a healthy choice about what to eat for dinner. When I’m doing the low-carb thing, though, by dinnertime I’m usually hungry, but in a pleasant rather than desperate way.

It also feels good emotionally to have a sense of being back in control. That’s a welcome contrast to the way I was feeling a couple of weeks ago, and one I hope I’ll be able to maintain.

So—my goals for last week were to bring my lunch to work and to avoid the fast food trap that I have so often fallen into after work. I am happy to say that I accomplished both! Yay me. I did eat in the food court at the mall yesterday with a friend, but they had a fast food Chinese place where I got chicken and broccoli with minimal sauce. Still, I’m counting this as a success.

My goal for this week is a simple one, but it’s going to bug me. I need to start measuring things. I don’t do that and I don’t like doing it, but I know that I have no sense any longer of what a serving size is. I’m not going to bother for things like my dinner serving of meat and veggies—for that I figure I can eat as much as I like, as it’s not much of a temptation. Where I get into trouble is with snack things, like ¼ cup of nuts or a tablespoon of peanut butter. When I attempt to eyeball it, I go way over what I mean to have, and that’s a source of a lot of ‘hidden’ calories and carbs for me.

So, there you have it. My past week and plans for the coming week in a big, wordy nutshell.

Happy Sunday!

Meet & Eat

Social events are hard. When I’m eating by myself, I can usually make good choices about foods that fit into my eating plan. Whether I DO make those choices is another matter sometimes, but I’m aware even when I eat poorly that the pressures to do so are coming only from within me.

But being with other people—that gets complicated for me. Like yesterday. I was invited to give a talk over the lunch hour for one of the treatment teams where I work. Lovely, warm people all, and they had informed me that they do a lunch potluck, so I could come and be part of that before my talk. So nice! But such a minefield too. People always want you to try their stuff, and there’s such social interaction around tasting this and that and asking for recipes, etc. I find that I do pretty well on a controlled-carbohydrate diet a la South Beach or Atkins, so I’ve been restricting the carbs pretty severely this week. And let me tell you, it was Fiesta Carb-o-rama around that table. Pasta salads, chips and dip, rice salads, cookies…all stuff that just did not work for me. It’s not like I was hungry—I knew this was coming up and had pre-eaten my own lunch (cheese, hard-boiled eggs and steamed broccoli) before coming over. But I just don’t deal with the social pressure that well. I came out of it pretty unscathed, overall; I had some sugar snap peas that someone brought and a few tablespoons of tabbouleh (made with whole grains, so not as bad as it could be). I’m glad that I was the one talking for the hour, so I had an excuse to not dive in headfirst.

That was just a one-time deal. The tougher thing I do is a weekly dinner I go to at a halfway house that’s part of the mental health program where I work. I’m the staff psychotherapist for the residents of the house, and we meet weekly for dinner and a house meeting/therapy group. Each week one of the residents cooks the meal that we all share, and it’s quite a point of pride for them to do a good job. And there are some fine cooks in this house, let me tell you. You wouldn’t think a bunch of addicts early in their recovery would have found the time to discover and embrace their inner kitchen magicians, but damn. I’m thinking maybe they need their own show on the Food Network. (Having written that, I’m now having fun making up names for that show in my head—heh.)

So the general yummy-ness of the food is an issue, but the harder part is that pressure to ooh and ahh over the food and to eat lots of it, and to be sure I’m equally complimentary to everyone’s culinary efforts. I just haven’t figured out a good way to negotiate this situation, and I basically end up eating a lot of stuff that tastes great and keeps me fat.

Part of the issue is that I just hate talking about my attempts to change my eating habits. It would probably solve the problem were I just to say, “Oh, thanks, but I’m on a diet.” But I feel like making any kind of a public proclamation of my intent renders me and my obesity (as well as my attempts to address that obesity) too damn public. I’d rather have people think that I am just too busy and cool and interested in deep and important things to give my fat a thought.

Le sigh.

That said, though, I’ve been doing pretty well this week. I’ve met my goals thus far: I’ve brought lunch every day so far, and I’ve not had any fast food. I’ve also felt in control of my eating, for the most part. No binges, and I’ve been keeping the carbs to a minimum for the moment.

Hope everyone’s week is going well!

Vanities

I love my teeth. I come from a family of smokers—folks who puffed until their teeth were yellow like corn niblets and their gums were in need of several painful tune-ups from the local periodontist. Me, I smoked, but only for a short time (I needed to bolster my image as a tortured intellectual in college and the turtleneck and black beret just didn’t quite do it), and I’ve never been a huge coffee drinker.

So, my teeth are pearly, pearly white. Two other relevant facts about my parents is that they were relatively wealthy and relatively status conscious, so they paid to have my naturally, uh… exuberant teeth corralled by the local orthodontist into some semblance of unremarkable straightness. Believe me, I’m not complaining—I looked like a beaver until Dr. K got his hands on me. I can no longer chew the paint off a wall, but I’ve learned to forgo that particular activity in favor of teeth that allow me to close my mouth all the way.

Like I said, I love ‘em. Actually, I’m crazy vain about them. I like to look at them in mirrors, just to remind myself that there’s a part of me that’s pretty. There’s not much about my appearance that I take pleasure in these days, but the teeth have stayed with me, through thick and thin, through bad hair days and bad outfit days… and God bless ‘em, they look exactly the same no matter what I weigh.

So, what about you? What are your secret (or not so secret) vanities?

Cease-fire

It took the kind words of AHappyWife to remind me how important it is to be gentle with yourself. Her comment got me thinking about how adversarial my relationship with myself has gotten over this whole weight loss thing. I feel as if there are two of me: the timid, wishful person who gosh, if it’s not too much trouble, thinks she might like to lose some weight at some point, and the out-of-control, demanding, childish me, who tantrums and binges JUST BECAUSE SHE FEELS LIKE IT, DAMNIT!!! The timid, dare-not-be-hopeful Luna walks on eggshells around the tyrannical, demanding Luna, secretly afraid of what she might be capable of. Eating until our stomach bursts? Just watch me. Willfully getting so fat that the only thing we can wear is the living room curtains? Heh. Step aside, missy, and let me at that fridge.

So I got to thinking that it’s time to end the madness. It’s time for a cease-fire in this weird internal war over what I choose to put in my mouth and how I choose to feel about my body. I’m uniting this timid, hopeless, powerless part of myself with this other part—the part that wants what I want NOW—and realizing that kindness toward myself can only be a good thing.

Today I did something I’ve never done before, though I’ve recommended it to clients countless times. It feels cheesy and silly, but I think it kind of works. I printed off some little saying for myself, incredibly basic things like You can do it! and Calm, calm, calm… and I put them around the house. Very simple, yet it makes me feel as if we’re all on the same side here, which is a nice way to feel. If AHappyWife can say kind and supportive things to me, I can do the same for myself. Group hug!

The other thing I got to thinking today was that I think too damn much sometimes. Looking back on these posts, they’re things I need to sort out for myself, and if they elicit some comments from someone who feels inspired to tell me “Me too!” so much the better. But I need to make some active, concrete changes as well. I’m still off the Mountain Dew (whoo-hoo!), still eating more salads, etc, but it’s time for a few more Baby Steps.

So, goals for the coming week:

1. Take my lunch to work every day.I got myself organized today and boiled a bunch of eggs and steamed a few heads of broccoli.I made myself dinner tonight (grilled some lean beef) and have leftovers ready to go for tomorrow.
2. Lay off the fast food for dinner.This is a hard one for me.I work long days, and by the end of the day I’m shot and I’m hungry.I’m going to take some string cheese with my lunch as kind of a late afternoon snack to gobble between clients, and then when I leave I won’t be ready to eat my own shoes.I’ve got some chicken breasts thawed for an easy dinner thing, which should help with the need for something easy.

Good enough for one week, I think.

Finally, accountability. I have avoided doing the weekly weigh-in thing here, out of fear that I just won’t be able to get it together enough to actually lose some weight, and I’ll have nothing good to report. Well, I resolve to report the numbers weekly, whether they’re good, bad or ugly. It may be that I’ll end up with a fairly unique beast in the blog-o-verse: a weight gain blog. But I don’t think so.

So here’s the big bad number for today: 240 lbs.

OK. That wasn’t so hard. I’ll have to look at how some of the rest of you report your progress to find a format I like, but it’s a start.

Have a good week!

One Big Hunger

I can’t stop eating. I’m ashamed to even write that, but it’s the truth, and the one thing I need to face and fix above all else. I’ve had this multi-day binge going, culminating today in two (yes, TWO) meals from McDonald’s, complete with a cinnamon melt at each meal.

I know the cause—like many of us, I eat when I feel sad or bereft somehow. It’s a reliable and easily obtained source of comfort, and it does exactly what I expect it to do. And I know why this week has been such a chow-fest; it’s because the anniversary of my mom’s death was yesterday, and though it’s been several years now, that date predictably makes me feel disconnected and sad. So I get it.

Even so. I know, rationally, that anything I can put in my mouth is not going to fill that hole, and bingeing just makes me feel more disconnected and out of control. It increases my feelings of shame and isolation—like if anyone knew the ‘real’ me, they’d be shocked and disgusted.

Did I mention that I’m a psychologist? And worse yet, I’m a psychologist who works with people in residential treatment for drug/alcohol addiction. I spend my days talking with people about addictive behaviors, about finding better ways to address problems and healthier strategies for managing their emotions. And then I go home and sit on the couch with my awful fast-food meal and my sad heart and disregard all of it.

I remember when the connection between food and nurturing became clear to me. I was driving down to visit my maternal grandmother and grandfather once, probably a year or so after my mother died. My grandmother (who is still alive at 99) has never been the warmest, most nurturing grandma, and with my mother gone such a short time, I knew that it was going to be a difficult trip. I began to be obsessed about going hungry while I was there. Now, there’s a wee grain of truth to this concern…as my grandparents aged, they began to make tinier and tinier meals for themselves, until at some point they were each having half of a steamed apple for dinner (no kidding). They’d cook a little more when they had grandkids visiting, and we’d always offer to make dinner, but there literally just wasn’t enough to make a real dinner with. We’d always each end up with about a tablespoon of chicken salad and some canned green beans or something. It wasn’t the kind of grandma’s house one dreams of. So, OK--I was driving down to visit, and all I could think about was how I was going to get enough food while I was there. I considered stopping at a grocery store, or just buying a stash of granola bars to hide in my suitcase or something… and then it just hit me how it was so not about the food. It was about the feeling lonely and sad and missing my mom and wanting a different kind of a grandmother…

Sigh.

So, here I sit, no better for that insight, apparently, and not knowing how on earth I’m going to stomp out this nasty habit I have. Because if I don’t, I’m just going to get bigger and bigger, and I am so afraid of that.

Words of wisdom, anyone? Books to recommend? Mantras, meditations, healing imagery…I’m open to hearing all of it.

Who's that Girl?

There was a time, not that long ago, where I spent about a year eating in a way that felt controlled, calm and principled. I cooked a lot and enjoyed it. I walked about 3 miles a day and LOVED that in a way that I never thought I could. During that year, I lost about 40 lbs. There were certainly many benefits to that--snazzier clothes, more energy, fewer aches and pains, many compliments from others. But the coolest part, to me, was that for once I felt as if I were in control. I keep coming back to the word calm. I felt calm, unharried, optimistic...and I began to enjoy being in my own skin for the first time since maybe ever. I started paying more attention to makeup, started getting my eyebrows done and wearing toenail polish...all these little things that just made me feel female. Feminine.

And that was really, really cool.

Me and the whole femininity thing…we have kind of a troubled relationship. When I was in kindergarten at age 5, I remember trying to get the little boys to play with me by telling then that my name was really Tiger. (Somehow, they didn't buy it.) I have this absurdly traumatic memory from around the same time of this little Springtime pageant we had to put on, where all the kids had to pair up, and the boys got to be vegetables and the girls got to be flowers. You and your partner decided what kind of flower/vegetable to be and then you (and your mom and dad) made costumes for the show. No other little girl would pair up with me, and the teachers wouldn’t let me be a vegetable with the boys, so some adult had to intervene on my behalf and talk two other happily paired up little flowers into letting me crash their twosome. I was a poppy, and the tallest flower on the stage. It sucked.

I was always tall, always chubby, always more into shorts and sneakers than dresses and barrettes (though, sadly, I was not athletic). I was also one of the earliest girls in elementary school to hit puberty, and oh! The agony. Tall, curvy, bezitted me, with the braces and glasses everyone else got two years later. Odd how my premature female-ness made me feel even more at odds with femininity.

By high school I was dressing so androgynously that I got in trouble once for not responding when the assistant principal addressed me as “young man.” It was the early 1980s, which meant I could and did take refuge in polo shirts, Shetland sweaters, loafers—what all the preppy girls and boys were wearing.

Finally in college I started steppin’ out a little…a jazzy new wave haircut, makeup, even daring to experiment with the clothes a little. But I still wanted to feel girly, and I didn’t. I didn’t, in fact, until my mid-thirties, when I lost the weight mentioned in the first paragraph. Suddenly it began to work for me…and I began to claim it and nurture it. But then, I got into a relationship and started to gain again. I think, much as I enjoyed feeling feminine for once, there was some pressure there too. I felt conspicuous and public. People commented on my weight loss, looked at my body, began to expect things from me. Like more weight loss, for one. And I wasn’t prepared. This time, however, I know what to expect. I hope that knowledge will be enough to keep me from retreating to the comfort of my fat and my invisibility.