(photos from patio on a sunny September morning)
I wake and eventually get up thinking, today I will be a real person. Such thoughts. But it is more than a thought. I grew up since the first attack feeling as if I wasn’t real or worthy of the things others naturally were worthy of, like eating.
Others eat out of hunger and enjoy it. Hunger? That became so twisted at age 8. I ate to escape. I still eat to escape. To eat from hunger is a delight, slowly, intentionally, tasting the flavors and textures. Also providing a meal that is sustaining and made with care.
People actually eat and enjoy it. Others eat food and don’t get fat. How is that? I don’t eat out of enjoyment. I eat to feel full fast, feel bad about myself so I don’t feel other pain, and to fill holes that deeply hunger for other things that I don’t know how to provide for; self-esteem, self-love, self-caring.
This is a new journey and not one I would make if I didn’t have to due to complications from the stomach stapling done over 30 years ago. My body cannot tolerate eating out of emotion. My body gives me cues but I have to be in it to listen, hear and feel them.
That is the dilemma. I run from body unconsciously. I didn’t realize how much. I leave it in the most benign of circumstances. Even having a dinner here for my son and family, I lose touch with my body and how it feels as a mouthful goes down. There is too much stimulation around me or I pay too attention to others and not enough to myself.
It is no wonder I find peace and solace in solitude and at home. The stimuli is less and also known so alarm bells are quiet most of the time. I am glad I have given myself permission to live the life I’ve worked for and now have. That I don’t have to do or be anything more than what I decide is right for me. I can live life slowly with ease in-between the endless upheavals.