Posts Tagged ‘sugar addiction’

Untag That Photo!

March 18, 2015

Sweet Jesus.

I have a double chin in that one.

Take it down now!

Ah.

Social media.

How I do love to hate you.

I mean, everyone else in the photo looks amazing, but I look huge, huge I tell ya.

I also have body dysmorphia, but don’t let that sway you, it was a yuck picture.

There are a few reasons for that.

One, the person taking the photo was not a professional photographer, not everybody knows my best angle after all.

Two, I was wearing a really busy dress, big floral pattern, it’s a pretty dress, but when I wear it without anything else, which is what I was doing since it was warm, it can come off as too busy against all my tattoos.

In the photograph I lost my shape, there’s not femininity there, I just sort of all blur together.

Now.

I doubt any one is paying any kind of attention to it.

I mean.

Please.

You all have facecrack profiles to obsess over, nobody’s looking that hard at mine, that I am aware of anyway.

I untagged the photographs and I let the feelings happen.

And I had a little bit of a come to Jesus moment.

I have been seeing some changes in my body and doing what I can, in small quiet ways to rectify those things.

I started taking an iron supplement again.

I was finding myself more tired than usual, muscle fatigue, some dizziness and light headedness at certain times of the day, and that means, for me, that I’m getting anemic again.

I also know that at 42, my body is slowing down its metabolism and that is just the way it goes.

I am exiting the fertility goddess stage of my life, I don’t think baby is in my future, unless it’s one I am watching, and entering into a different phase.

My body, whether or not I wish to acknowledge it, is breaking down.

I still have more than half my life to go, but I was pretty rough on myself for the first part of my life.

I wasn’t brought up with the greatest food or nutrition either and when I look back I can see that I also had a pretty bad sugar addiction when it could be sustained I was going at it.

I checked out.

That was something that I can trace back all the way.

My first sneak of a food.

My rationalization, as a child, as a five-year old who had just been through a lot of trauma, when my mother slapped my hand away from the sugar bowl on the table.

“That’s enough,” she said with a smart rap on my hand.

She turned back to get coffee and light her cigarette and I calm as you please, took the top off the sugar and dumped a heaping spoonful over the top of my cereal.

I remember, quite distinctly, thinking to myself, “after last night I get to eat as much sugar as I want, you would too, if it had happened to you.”

I mean, verbatim.

The other thing.

I remember that it was too much sugar, it, the cereal had gone from something appetizing and sweet, to too sweet and nauseating, the sugar at the bottom of the bowl so thick it wasn’t dissolving into the milk any longer.

But I ate it anyway and I remember the feel of the sugar granules on my tongue still.

I was five.

And it wasn’t the first time I had checked out with sugar, but it was the first time I remember doing it deliberately.

The photographs brought up a few things for me.

I have no control over how I look and I have no control over my body and sometimes I leave the house thinking I look magnificent, then five minutes later I can see an unflattering reflection in a store front window and my whole idea of my outfit is shat on.

I left Saturday feeling pretty fucking cute.

But when I saw those photos I was horrified at my outfit and my hair and my total appearance.

Again, perception, but it did throw down a gauntlet of sorts for me.

As I finally got honest with my person around one thing in my food routine, that though abstinent, the behavior I have is not so much.

Mainly that I am checking out with my last snack of the day.

I get home, I do my little get home routine, I roll out my back on the yoga roller, light up my candles, put away my stuff, refill my water bottle, boot up the lap top, make some tea, check my e-mails, and then start blogging.

After I sign off on my blog I make another cup of tea and I have my snack and watch a video.

Sounds innocuous, no?

But it’s not.

I’m checking out and I know I’m checking out and that’s not what I want to be doing with my food.

I don’t do it at breakfast and lunch and usually not at dinner either, but that last snack of the day, I’m hiding out from the world.

And I am loath to miss it and I like to do it a certain way, and it’s almost always the same thing.

1 apple.

3 oz of berries, whatever’s in season.

1/2 c plain, non fat yogurt.

Yeah.

Sounds crazy doesn’t it.

But it’s a little more than I need at the end of the night and upon reviewing my food diary I am seeing I need to eat a little less fruit, I’m having four servings a day, and little more protein.

Last night and this morning I was going to throw my snack away, not have it, nope, I am done, no more.

But I realized when I got home tonight and even on my bicycle ride home, that I was hungry, dinner was actually light.

I’m taking some suggestions and pausing tonight around changing anything up, except writing about it and praying, because that’s what I do, because the efficacy of prayer cannot be argued, so I will, and then letting go of the idea, again, and again, and again, that my self-worth is tied up in how I look.

I am an attractive woman and I aware that I was when I was heavier and I was when I was lighter and I am now.

It really comes down to the behavior.

And also knowing that I have been told before, less fruit, more protein.

I will be switching up my snack to a piece of string cheese.

I won’t really check out with string cheese and I will get the little something I need and fewer calories as well.

Because when I was asked did I want to drop my snack because of the photos or because I was not actually hungry, to really be truthful and see where I was at.

A little hungry.

Not enough to do the big snack I have been doing.

But a little guy won’t hurt and I think is the thing I can try.

It’s a small things, but sometimes the small stuff will muck with my mind more than the big stuff.

Really.

I mean.

I just wrote a whole blog on string cheese.

 

Get Yer Pink Hat On

May 28, 2014

I got me a fedora.

I have been wanting one for a bit and when I saw this one, I had to stop and grab it.

Pink.

Sequined.

Jaunty.

Yes.

I said jaunty.

And it works with my hair and my eyeglasses.

Best of all.

The cost.

$4.49.

Courtesy of your local Good Will.

I nanny in Cole Valley Monday through Wednesdays and I walk by the Good Will probably once, perhaps twice a week, depending on what park I am headed to.  It is a great Good Will and it has big windows for “La Leche Vitrine”.

Literal translation from the French: “window licking”.

Now, I am not a typical window licker, I don’t often purchase what I see, I window shop a lot, I am good at it and it’s a harmless, cheap habit.  Today especially.  A girl can’t go wrong with a hat for under five dollars and it’s pink and it’s sequined.

It now also has a pink rose attached to it and a pink feather that I got last year around this time to make hats and all things haberdashery for the playa, from the arts and crafts store on Haight.

I was house sitting in Cole Valley, just off the Haight Street neighborhood, last year about this time and I had decided I wanted to make all my little hair pieces myself, instead of laying out forty, fifty bucks for the pieces that I was drawn to.

Hell I saw some cute ones at Lightening in a Bottle too, but all were quite expensive and I recalled again, with a smidgen of guilt for not having done anything with all the gear I got for this project.

Buttons, bows, ribbons, flowers, glitter, feathers, netting, little metal charms, embroidery floss, hair clips to pin everything to.

I got all the right stuff to make some fascinators and some other pieces.

And I never did it.

I remember taking it all back to Grace Land with me after the house sitting gig had ended and spreading it all over the gigantic table in the dining room, then getting out needle, thread, scissors, the fabric glue and sorting everything into piles and sighing and sitting down to go to it.

And not being able to go to it.

In hindsight, I was pretty depressed and not certain what was happening with my life, having just returned from France and it being a difficult transition from the 9th arrondisement to East Oakland, 51st and International was a bit of culture shock to me.

Granted my dear friend who was letting me stay, was a dear friend, and had all the comforts of a well stocked home, kittens to snorgle with, Netflix on the tv, internet, a big cushy bed, so much nicer than the lumpy futon I had spent the majority of my nights on in Paris, and a big huge vat of popcorn that he had gotten special for making kettle corn.

Thus began my slippery slope that led soon to my relapse on all things sugary and floury and donutty and icecreamy and basically way bad for me and my health.

I picked up all the flowers and ribbons that I had planned to bedeck myself with, shoved them in a hat box and went to the kitchen.

I got out the air popper and poured the kernels in.

I just started with butter and salt, a big glass of sparkling water, and I cued up the first season of the West Wing, which I had never seen before, and proceeded to check the fuck out.

That’s not a solution for me today.

Thank God.

I was reminded of that today and I am grateful to have the way of life I have now.

And also a degree of humility about it, I could have checked out with some booze, there was a fully stocked bar.

I could have checked out with some crack cocaine.

There was East Oakland right outside my doors.

And I did not.

And for that I am ok with the fact that I checked out with the popcorn, then the ice cream, then the donuts and macaroons, and Arizimendi pizza, the hamburger and french fries from Burger Joint, the boxes of cereal and more Netflix, and then lots of self-loathing and hatred.

I got through it with a lot of help from some dear friends who reminded me that this too shall pass and I went to work to get out of the clutches of my historical reliance on food as a means of self-soothing.

It didn’t work for me then, it never had, and it was the place that I went to.

I pray I don’t have to have the experience again.

I lost the weight I put on with that binge that ended up being about three weekends of self-destruction.

And for the first time, for me, it was not about losing the weight (in fact, I have only weighed myself twice in the past year so I don’t even know what it is), it was not about checking out to solace myself.

Buying that pink fedora at the Good Will store when I was window shopping on the way to the park was like waiving a flag of victory.

I wore it all day long.

I even rode my bicycle home with it perched on my head.

Which was a great test for Burning Man.

The brim shielded my eyes and did not get in the way of my glasses and best yet, though it was windy, it stayed put.

That is important.

And when I got home I was happy to deck it out with the feather and the pink fabric rose that I had bought this time last year.

In fact, I am so pleased with the results that I am thinking I may host a little playa prep party at my place and see if anyone wants to sit out in the back yard with me and enjoy the sunshine, drink tea, and make some fascinators and hats and clips.

It would be fun, I have the gear, and so many of my girlfriends are going this year, it might be just the thing to do.

Celebrate my 8th year returning to Burning Man by putting another feather in my cap.

Literally.


%d bloggers like this: