Let's Get Grateful

Hello, my name is Anna. And, I am a compulsive overeater.

And, what kind of food junkie would I be if I didn't write on THANKSGIVING! The most EPIC FOOD FEASTING HOLIDAY OF THE YEAR!

Ehem.

What I mean, of course, is the holiday that's filled with all those darling messages about giving thanks and being grateful and counting our blessings. The holiday where we hold hands with family and friends around the dinner table, bow our heads, and say grace. The holiday where we ooo and ahh at the elaborately decorated floats and gigantic balloons of the Macy Day Parade.

Wait, what's that you say? You don't know that holiday? That description doesn't ring a bell?

Well, how about the holiday were we eat until stuffing comes out our ears and drink until wine dribbles out our nose. The holiday where we can barely keep our eyelids open while watching the football game because we're in a turkey-filled comatose. The holiday where when grandma asks, “Do you want a slice of Pumpkin or Pecan?” we promptly unbutton our pants, grab a second fork in the other hand and declare “BOTH! And don't forget the whipped cream!”

Oh, you know that one? Ahh, yes. Now THAT sounds like Thanksgiving!

All sarcasm aside, Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. And, to be quite frank, it's because most of my Thanksgivings of the past have included every single one of the above descriptions. I've always looked forward to visiting with family, filling my plate during the Thanksgiving feast, reflecting on blessings of the past year, playing cards, and digging into the leftovers even before the day is through. It's the entire Thanksgiving Experience that gets me looking forward to that special Thursday in November even before the first snowflake hits the ground.

And yet, with a deeper awareness of my disease, it's most important for me to continue to make positive strides during my recovery. I struggle on days that don't include a table piled high with heaping platters of my favorite foods. And, with that knowledge, I am more aware. I am more mindful of my choices and have conscientiously focused my day on more than just the eating.

And even today, Thanksgiving is still my favorite holiday.

I give thanks for my delightful community of yoga students who joined me this morning for a special holiday practice to fill their hearts and souls with some extra gratitude, love, and kindness.

I give thanks for a strong and healthy body, an insightful mind and a gentle spirit that are often much kinder to me than I am to them.

I give thanks for my incredible family and close friends. For the support I've received thus far from birth until now – especially during the past year.

I give thanks to my Creator, for having endless patience with me. For never once leaving my side, even when I did my very best to hide. The ultimate Master of Hide-and-Seek. (You always win.)

And, I give thanks for the food. For nourishing every part of my human-being. And for being so damn delicious.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Tug-O-War

Hello, my name is Anna. And, I am a compulsive overeater.

9:03PM – I'm hungry. At least, I think I am hungry. As a compulsive eater, I can't always decipher my body's true needs in conjunction with my mind's psychological trickery. At times, my brain becomes trapped, a slimy Lochnest beast, screeching and pawing from the depths of my bottomless pit of a belly - greedy and noisy and totally insatiable.

Within a matter of seconds, my body and mind begin a serious game of tug-o-war – each side fighting to be the strongest to yank the rope in a valiant attempt to make a seemingly simple decision: To eat or not to eat. Yes, that IS the question. But, for a compulsive eater, it's not always so simple. I am not able, sometimes, to decipher when eating food will satisfy appropriately or trigger a binge. Depending on the quantity of food consumed (even normal, healthy portions) or a specific type of food (or certain food groups), I may be risking an eating binge. Sometimes, making even the “simplest” of food decisions has the potential to put me in a frightful state, literally activating my fight or flight response. My mind erupts in a Civil War. My heart begins to race and my jaw tightens as I grind my teeth. Unconsciously, I chew the insides of my mouth, ripping and tearing the soft pink edges of my tongue. I have difficulty concentrating as I frantically try to distract myself (“Think, think, THINK!”) and potentially dispel the powerful urge to find food immediately.

Photo Credit: The Daily Caller

But, perhaps I really AM hungry? I notice a slight gnawing feeling in my belly and hear a quiet rumble. Not giving in to a craving is one thing, but depriving my body is another. When was the last time I ate? Did I eat too little for dinner? How about that piece of fruit I had an hour ago? My belly monster should not be shouting this loud. It's cries reverberating within my skull like echoes bouncing throughout a drafty, cavernous cathedral. No brain, no focus. I'm a ravenous Scarecrow from the Wizard of freaking Oz – if I only had a brain...

Sane thoughts do pop up, here and there, as I try one last attempt to quiet the belly beast. “It's late, you'll be going to bed in a couple of hours. You can hold out at least that long, right?” I run through a mental list. Try meditating? (Not again...) Pray? (*sigh*) Write? (I am writing, damn it.) Go for a walk, breath in the fresh air? (Hells no. It's colder than a packet of frozen peas outside!)

I think I really am hungry.

The soldiers slowly begin to ceasefire as my mind begins to contemplate food options. My brain quickly calculates just what and how much I should eat - it is nearing bedtime, after all. It's important for me to consider this carefully. It's easy to overindulge after the stress-filled battle my mind has just put me through. For normal eaters and overeaters alike, stress often activates the desire to eat. When we eat, we automatically take deeper, more satisfying breaths. Take note of that the next time you eat in an anxious state. It's no wonder so many people often feel physically calmer after a meal.

This whole scenario doesn't last for more than 5-10 minutes. On other days, it may be longer depending on how many distraction tactics I can talk myself into doing. Regardless, it complicates my food decisions - nearly every single one.

In our modern culture, how many times a day are we faced with food related decisions? The office potluck, our friend's birthday party, weekly grocery shopping, and, of course, the ultimate food holiday coming up right around the corner, Thanksgiving. Do you feel as though your hunger cues get spun up like a cycle of whirling laundry, twirling until the feelings blur together, and you can't clearly detect want over need?

Photo Credit: Silver Circle Art Center

Though I still continue to feel this way sometimes (especially as night falls...), I am actively training my mind and body to find deeper alignment so I can better understand my feelings towards food and make decisions out of love for myself and the recovery I have dedicated myself to. I want to turn my mental battles into a field of daisy's and whispering winds – gimme the unicorns and fluffy pick clouds. Is that too much to ask?

Bad Days

Hello, my name is Anna. And, I am a compulsive overeater.

Just last week, I had someone ask me, “Anna, do you ever have a bad day?” Ironically enough, this someone happens to be a woman that I see nearly ever week in my Overeaters Anonymous meeting. “Well, of COURSE I have bad days!” I professed. I have frustrating days, joyous days, sick days, Mondays, I'm-feeling-blue days, and lots of yesterdays. Everyday, is a being human day. Just recently, in fact, the Universe reminded me repeatedly of just how “human” I really am. Three weeks ago, I washed my deodorant doing laundry. On Monday, I scorched not one, but two pots when cooking oatmeal for breakfast and steaming broccoli for supper. And, last weekend, I passed through the drive-through at Culvers, feeling particularly sorry for myself as I mentally crossed my fingers that a concrete mixer would make me feel just a tiny smidgen better. In my foggy, sad state, I ate the entire damn thing. And, I most certainly justified it all the way up until the plastic cup was scraped clean. (Tell me, what woman doesn't crave ice cream during that time of the month??) Then, I chased it with kettle chips, nearly half a bag, as I watched a spiritually uplifting documentary on Netflix.  The "spiritually uplifting" part being specifically chosen in an attempt to balance out all the ugly, woe-is-me mind chatter.

Photo Credit: Unoriginal Mom

Odd. I wasn't feeling any better.  Nope, natta. In fact, I felt bloated, lazy, and even sorrier for myself. This was clearly a bad day gone badder.

Dang. As much as I wish I didn't have those days, they still find me. Not everyday, but certainly more often than I ever care to admit to myself. In my recovery, I pray the worry and anxiety would be lifted from me and from anyone else who suffers with those triggering feelings. Our vices may manifest in differing ways, but they creep upon us like a burglar lurking in the night – ready to steal our joy, our faith, our hope for recovery and a better, brighter future.

And yet, even though I have bad days, I also have tomorrows. Tomorrows are not a guarantee, but when I am greeted by the sunrise, I see the start of a new day, a fresh beginning to continue to live one day at a time as best as I know how.

Photo Credit: Anna Lucas

It wasn't the first time I had ever been asked if I have bad days. I am generally a very happy, smiley person, so it's no wonder that people might think bad days for me are seemingly non-existent. But, I have them – oh boy, do I have them. And, when they do appear, I do my best. I try to be realistic and optimistic (though every ounce of my being feels ridden with humbuggery). I might journal (cursing like a sailor into the pages) or pray (pissing and moaning and whining and sighing) or just curl up on my futon to watch the latest RedBox chick flick, with a box of tissues and a glass of vino. Sometimes, I think, you just have to just get through the bad days and wait it out until the next sunrise.

Circles

Hello, my name is Anna. And, I am a compulsive overeater.

I returned from my travels abroad in the spring of 2011 with a renewed enthusiasm to immerse myself back into the health and wellness field, both in my career aspirations and for my own personal health reasons. I soon found employment at a local health club (See “BackgroundCheck”) and within the bubble of the fitness center, surrounded by gym junkies, and other “health nuts,” I felt hopeful that I could refill my empty tank through focused attention on my nutrition and fitness.

And yet, despite my growing love and passion for all things wellness-related, I never felt completely convinced that what I was doing to achieve my health and fitness goals was sustainable. I felt desperate – putting faith into fitness and nutrition tips from “Shape” or “Health” magazine. The scale became my god as I religiously weighed-in several times a week, sometimes multiple times a day. And, though I saw what I conceived as weight loss “success” during those initial few months, I was no where near satisfied. I scrutinized my body in the shower and in the mirror and thought, “I must do better.”

At the same time, I was falling into a self-sabotaging cycle. Monday through Friday, I planned my meals, scheduled my exercise, and, frankly, worked my ass off doing what I thought I should be doing to see results at my next weigh-in. But, when the weekend hit, all bets were off. I drank, I binged, I slept. Saturday and Sunday meant coming up for air from the depths of the Certainty Sea, gulping and consuming for 48 hours, before submerging myself back into it's quiet, seemingly more peaceful, routine waters.

Photo Credit: Forty-Second Chance

Monday became my Restart Day. Every week. My frustration with myself and my obvious lack of willpower began to build, higher and higher, until it became as rickety as a Jenga tower. I had this strong sense that my relationship with food and exercise at that point was very precarious. And despite my deep desire to WANT to be loving and kind to my body, I felt as though the weekends were a constant and regular reminder that I was weak and destined for failure. I loathed the extra fat on my body, as it was a tangible reminder to me that I could not control my cravings or my excessive eating. I had an impossible time forgiving myself when I felt I was the only one to blame.

My eating was out of control. So, that spring I tried a 7-day juice fast. No solid food, only juice, for one full week. I had recently watched “Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead” and thought, “Dang, I can do that!” For the first 3-4 days, the liquid cleanse actually felt freeing. I didn't need to fret about eating too much because I literally drank ever single one of my meals. Yet, despite the book's claim to feel energized and practically euphoric at the conclusion of the cleanse, by day 6 & 7, I found myself completely drained, extraordinarily grumpy, and wholly pissed off at the world. At that point, the weight I had “lost” didn't even matter. I couldn't wait to eat - chew something! But, I was determined not to quit, and completed the 7-day juice fast in its entirety. That's the thing about compulsive eaters. We actually have an enormous amount of willpower when we set our minds to something. But, it rarely lasts, especially when extreme diets are involved. I began the 7-day juice fast with the intention of doing something healthy and loving for my body, and I came out with a lesson learned – I started to suspect that my relationship with eating and consuming certain foods was not normal. And that really freaked me out.

At that point, I didn't really know what to do. So, I just reverted back to my weekday ON and weekends OFF cycle for a couple months. Then summer hit. And, with another serge of renewed motivation after a weekend binge, I came up with a brilliant plan. I created my own challenge, my own program for accountability. I set up the “Final 20 Challenge” with a goal to lose 20 lbs in 3 months and reach my ultimate goal of 155lbs. I created a blog, drafted an email to family and friends, and requested their support and participation in my journey. I saw this set up as failproof. As a weight loss coach who outwardly lived and breathed health, fitness, and wellness, it would be a momentous embarrassment to not reach this very attainable goal. Plus, I invited friends and family to sponsor me financially. If I reached my goal, they would pay me the amount they pledged. If I didn't, I would pay them the same amount. And, if they picked a fitness or weight loss goal and achieved it along with me, it would cancel out the pledge, thus being a win-win for both of us.

The Final 20 Challenge blog, posts and pictures are still viewable today. But, it's not a source of major pride for me, even though I did, in fact, end up reaching my goal. The truth was, I didn't get truly serious about the challenge until about 6 weeks prior to the deadline. So, what I had initially intended to be a healthy, gradual weight loss over the course of 12 weeks, turned into a frantic and hugely stressful period of taking my weight loss tactics to even greater extremes. I consumed diet pills, took Epsom salt baths and long saunas, committed to twice daily workouts and even tapered my water intake during the final 2 weeks. These were all “health tips” I learned from friends or found on websites devoted to cutting weight for body builders and/or wrestlers. With three days left before my challenge end date, I hit my goal.

I still remember the shower I took that morning. I was shocked and saddened to notice how my breasts sagged, no longer round and plump for lack of hydration and fat. Seeing “155” on the scale had given me this overwhelming sense of relief when I finally gave myself permission to stop the crazy obsessiveness from continuing to consume me. I had taken my body to an extreme that I knew was a far cry from loving and healthy. I had reached a point of severe desperation, clinging to a challenge and the stress of a deadline to force my body to become what I thought I really wanted; what I thought would make me truly happy. I was seeking fulfillment in something that, in the end, still left me feeling empty and wholly depleted.

I was, slowly but surely, realizing that no amount of food was going to satisfy the hunger I continued to feel. I felt really lost. I was beginning to wonder if this terrifying cycle of self-destruction was an inevitable part of my future. But, even as the thoughts passed through my mind, I couldn't seem to believe that to be true. We are all destined for greatness, in some way, shape or form. That I truly believed. And, with that glimmer of hope, I went looking for the road home.

Photo Credit: Kinja

#freequote

“I shouldn’t have freely and compassionately worked on my spiritual wellness, happiness and health in my late 20s,” said nobody ever.

Quote Credit: Matilda Juliette

Free Falling My Way

Hello, my name is Anna. And, I am a compulsive overeater.

I grew up in a traditional, Catholic family. My parents had me baptized, placed me in Catholic school, and brought me to church every Sunday morning. I went to church because, truthfully, I didn't have much choice in the matter. In 5^th grade, I read the New Testament because my dad offered to pay me $100 if I did. Though I was an avid reader growing up, consuming books like a boa constrictor devours dinner, I recall sitting in my favorite recliner and barely making it through two pages before my eyelids began to droop, and I'd literally have to smack myself in the face to stay alert. In the five months it took me to read that half of the Bible, I can't tell you the number of times I was tempted to pretend-read while systematically turning pages at the appropriate time increments. And yet, somehow I felt as though the Bible contained the very eyes of God, and He'd undoubtably notice if I cheated my way through reading His book. What a glorious day it was when I finally read the last chapter, the final verse and collected my $100 reward. From a small child to young adult, I grew up singing to God, praying to God, loving, and fearing God. Then, I began questioning God.

Photo Credit: Jewels of Judaism

"Who is God, really?” I wondered. I started calling God “She” because what right did the Bible have to personify God as masculine? Then, even the name “God” didn't feel right. I started experimenting with a variety of titles - Higher Power & Great Creator. The word “God” felt too constricting, a cell of solitary confinement that I feared would bring separation and alienation from people as I worked to expand my friendships and connections in college and in the “real-world.” My Sunday church going rapidly dwindled from every Sunday to every other week to “I'll just go when it's convenient.” From the age of 18 to 25, convenient came to mean Christmas and Easter – maybe. And, that was simply because it was a family affair and part of the holiday tradition, not because I had a real desire to attend.

Around my junior and senior year of university, I began to sense a void. Something seemed to be missing and no amount of focus on schoolwork, dating, travel or social activities seemed to fill the empty space that I felt in my very soul. Intuitively, I knew I was missing the spiritual component to my life, and yet, the thought of dragging myself to another Catholic Sunday service was disheartening, to say the least. I had so many questions surrounding God (or, could it be gods?) and my life's purpose. I feared that no faith community existed which would welcome my doubting and inquisitive mind. I wasn't even entirely sure that I believed in a god anymore. Yet, the universal belief that something bigger, more beautiful, and more powerful than I could possibly fathom existed was something I felt I could trust in. So, I simply chose to start there.

During my senior year, I tested out a few church services in my college community, dappled in a couple Bible studies, and trusted my gut. I left some churches feeling like I had just gotten a touch of food poisoning, so I left those alone and moved on. I had a whole slew of churchy folk shove pamphlets and booklets into my hands and attempt to cram Bible verses and teachings past my tightly zipped lips and down my throat, as though shear force would *POOF!* turn me Christian. My curiosity in religion was a magnet for well meaning, God-happy people. It didn't repel me completely from my spiritual quest, but I certainly could not authentically mirror their enthusiasm. Eventually, with graduation approaching and a hunger for world travel, I placed my church-hopping on the back burner and, instead, set my sights on international exploration in attempts to continue my soul searching.

Ignoring the majority of church doctrine, I simply tried to live life in the best way I knew how with the tools I had been given and lessoned I had learned. During my travel abroad, I relied much on instant gratification and finding short-lived pleasure through food, adrenaline rush activities, quick friendships, sex, and being gloriously independent. I felt very much in control of my own happiness. I was living life my way and getting a lot of satisfaction from it. So, I felt like I was happy. Thus, I acted like I was happy. And therefore, I looked like I was happy. My travel blogs and Facebook albums showed an enviable life of a fearless woman who wasn't afraid to take life by the balls and LIVE IT UP.

A favorite quote by Lawrence K. Fish became my daily mantra - “Exhaust {myself} in the glorious pursuit of life.”

Photo Credit: Susan's Books and Gifts

I was succeeding. I was exhausted. And I desperately needed my tank refilled.