September 4, 2012 by Lindsey
I always thought that I’ve been sabotaging myself since I started to put on weight quickly last August (ugh, I mean, 2011, so- I’ve been gaining weight for a year).
Now I’ve got confirmation. I just read a ThoughtCatalog article about self-sabotage, basically describing how each of us sabotage ourselves at our own weakest points. We know we do it. But we keep doing it! That’s me all right! In the area of eating.
I know what I need to do better with eating. Diet is my main problem–I’ve come to love working out! (For the most part…) Seven years ago, yes, exercise AND diet were equal issues. But now? And for the past 4 or so years? It’s all FOOD.
“You can’t out train a bad diet,” says my favorite group fitness instructor.
“Eat less, move more,” says..everyone.
“Everything in moderation.”
“The food isn’t going anywhere–you can have it tomorrow.”
“Less sugar, more vegetables.”
I know. I know. I know.
And when I feel myself approaching what I call Binge Territory, meaning the location or time of day or emotional state in which I usually go overboard, I can hear all these “reminders” ringing in my head.
It doesn’t stop me.
At times, lately, I can step outside myself mid-overeating-episode, and think, “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
But, I don’t know a better way to deal with what’s going on in my head: the stressful day, the taxing task list of to do’s, the job hunt, feeling fat.
It is so ridiculous to soothe my fat feelings by overeating.
But it doesn’t stop me!
Eating is too useful. It’s a tool. I almost feel like a smoker.
I feel better able to think about difficult topics when I am eating.
I enjoy putting off loathsome tasks by eating.
I can escape–at last–the stresses, disappointments, and headaches of my day by eating.
I don’t just mean eating dinner.
I mean the way I relish polishing off multiple bowls of cereal, with furtive glaces toward the kitchen door, hoping no one discovers my Dirty Little Secret. It’s a rush of adrenaline and relaxation all in one.
The capacity of a human stomach is about a quart. I can pack that quart pretty full.
That quart of food (or more) accomplishes a lot for me. I’m not proud of it– at this moment in time and for years in the past it has just been a fact.
I need a new “stomach” (well, yes, I would like one, literally) but, what I mean figuratively is that I need to find something to do to think, relieve stress, and escape that doesn’t involve eating.
It’s scary to try to find something else. But isn’t shooting myself in the foot for the rest of my life scarier?