The summer before I moved to Australia, was a brilliant summer. I was fit, happy, eating well. More though, I was shinning! I happened into a small circle of friends, there was a cute boy and a new adventure waiting for me.
I was full of spirit.
Part of this years commitment to myself, is to do the work to undo what has triggered an abusive relationship with food. My relationship is getting better…and once daily binges is now down to weekly or even less. That’s taken a hell of a lot of effort.
What happens when you stop eating…is you have to fess up and start dealing with your shit. The manifestos in the back of your mind. The subconscious patterns that are yours and the mirror images of those around you. The thinking patterns.
For me…that means crying a lot…most recently in the drive through at ChickenTreat. Poor Andrew thinks I’ve lost my damn mind, but he’s there with me along this whole journey. The most amazing support.
Somewhere four years ago, a 43 year old man showed me the ways of the world. Carted around in a vintage swanky car, drowned in expensive red wine and dinners out. Intellectual conversations and new sexual experiences. It’s what I craved. I wanted to caretake and he wanted a young thing.
I was full of spirit when I met him.
The subsequent unravelling of our relationship was his desire for me to lose weight and my inability to tell him no. I did it. I lost the weight. I got skinny. He approved. Then we broke up.
I wasn’t full of spirit anymore.
The joy was sucked out of the room, and that was my own doing as well as his complete lack of tact and respect for me. I’m not pointing fingers. What I still hear are the pasting words of our relationship.
“My biggest fear is that you’ll gain all the weight you’ve lost back.”
For some reason, I have held onto that fear of his and made it happen. I’ve lost who I am in the way of joy…and have found solace in food. I don’t know if its a re-hashing of old habits as a young child trying to navigate divorce…but that’s what I struggle with. For me it’s never just been about food. From the moment of that, something changed in me. My ability to harness and perceive joy has lessened.
I write this, because I have to acknowledge it. No career move, engagement ring, baby, new hose, or even weight loss with cure the notion of rediscovering joy. Being able to feel pure happiness, to be comfortable with it. I’m a happy person, this stuff is beyond the external front that I show people. I’m not depressed, I’m just trying to find how joy, spirit-filled life feels like again.
I’ve wandered around this notion for four years now. This isn’t easy to admit, and I have to acknowledge that comparing where my soul is now to that of the girl six summers ago…is useless. What I think it begs, is the much larger life lesson…to never loose sight of what gives your soul grace, beauty and spirit. Most importantly to never give that to someone who will not be a good custodian for it.
So, I’m here. I’ll keep digging through my shit…because I remember being so joy-filled and it was fabulous. I also remember a girl who fulfilled her own prophecies, not negative ones from others.
So I may cry again at a drive through, but I’m getting there.