I Can’t Eat Like Normal People

I tried.  I tried to eat like normal-ish people, and I’ve been trying for a little while now.  I went to NY and had pizza – and then had more.  I went to Christmas Eve dinner and had lobster mac n cheese – and then had more.  And after a series of “more” over the last several weeks and not being able to move in a way that makes me feel good about myself, it became increasingly obvious that I had forgotten the sacred truth about Alison: I cannot eat like normal people.

It’s not that I started binging and purging again, or changing my food based on how I felt.  It’s not like I made Mike go to the grocery store and buy stuff to eat.  It’s not like I didn’t stop eating or went on a rampage and couldn’t button my pants the next day.

But I couldn’t detach.  I couldn’t leave it on the plate.  I carried it with me and let it hold me hostage, shaming me and reminding me that I was not in the middle.  I let it almost convince me that I should not eat a few meals to try and compensate for overeating.  I let it almost convince me that I was disgusting and unworthy of wearing normal clothes and unworthy of having sex because I am too gross to be with.  I let it almost convince me that I am the problem; not that I have a disease.

And then I remembered: it’s not my fault.  It’s not my fault that I can’t eat like normal people.  It’s not my fault that when I’m emotionally and spiritually vulnerable, I have a propensity to eat in a way that doesn’t always serve me.  It’s not my fault that I can’t always stop when I want to and that certain foods make me feel differently about myself than others.  It’s not my fault that moderation is not a part of my recovery from an eating disorder, despite society’s message that it should be.

Should – the demonic word that wreaks havoc on most of us.  I “should” be able to handle these foods.  I “should” be able to go to NY and have NY pizza and not more than is comfortable for me.  I “should” be able to have a single serving of food at a Holiday event and pay attention to the people in the room instead of the food around the corner.  I “should” have my shit together, because I’ve been doing this for years and know better.  I “should” know better, therefore I “should” be better.

The narrative says: I am not better.  I am not worthy.  I am not enough.  I am a failure because I can’t fix it.  I am a burden because I talk about food a lot because I think about food even more.  I am alone because nobody gets it (except the people surrounding me).  I am a loser because … see?  The narrative sucks.  And I believe it if I don’t catch it.  I then act in a way that places me in a position to be hurt and forget that I have choices today.

I don’t have to subscribe to the false belief that I am not better – I just wrote a book that proves I am a lot better.  I don’t have to believe that I am not worthy – look at my life.  There is no mistake I get a new phone call several times a week from people seeking relief that can’t find any.  I am enough – I am the only one who has ever thought that I wasn’t, and I am the only one responsible for my actions that I have taken to prove that bullshit true.

And by acknowledging the truth about Alison again, it changed.  I stopped subscribing and I just started crying instead.  I let Mike sit down next to me and just listen, instead of pretending I could handle another day full of food.  I cried and cried and shared my truth – how I felt – instead of stating that I had it and it would be OK and wanting to not share to appear to be different than I am.  I let myself be vulnerable.  I let myself be where I was.  I let other people know where I was and was immediately validated and reminded that it is OK, and I am OK.

 And as a result, I had an easier day with food.  I ate normally, for a Holiday.  I went to bed and got sleep and have had normal meals today.  I have a new nutrition coach who is already more supportive than I’ve had in many years.  It is important for me to have people in my life that understand me and what I am dealing with with regard to food and body, and not just be there for me as a friend.  This is not for everyone.  It’s not supposed to be.  I am not hiding a part of myself for taking my food shit to a professional.  I am not unable to share because I am ashamed, but because there is a solution and my boyfriend isn’t it and neither is my mother.  This is not theirs, just like their problems are not mine.

Food is hard.  You have to eat it every day.  People encourage you to eat in ways that often are not serving you, especially this time of year.  It is not personal.  People offer me cookies and gift me chocolate and I am allowed to say no and gift it to someone else.  Food is the most acceptable form of abused substance I know.  Look around – diets, clubs, pills, gyms – it’s at the core of almost every ad and every topic.  We are not alone.

I am here to take a stand against the societal norm.  I am here to support those who feel unsupported.  I am here to remind myself that we are all worth it, and we are all enough, and we can all do this.

One meal at a time, together, no matter what time of year it is.