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Tag: mental health

IN TRUTH

I consider myself very honest. I fibbed a lot as a child – and I’ve read children who lie are often very intelligent. So I’ll accept that for now! However, there came a time (at least 20 years ago) when I decided it just wasn’t worth the hassle, the energy and the guilt, to lie. So now I don’t. Ever.

A STEP FORWARD

I’ve been farting around in recovery land for years now – and I’m still lost. I know I’ve made progress – and this is a jolly good thing – but change is minimal when it comes to the movement of fork to lips. My progress is more in emotional regulation than eating behaviours.

THAT FINE LINE BETWEEN BRAVERY & STUPIDITY

I keep receiving lovely messages of support for my blog posts – thank you 🙂 I am very touched by every message, and moreso with the knowledge my innermost waffle is read and appreciated by others. It really is very comforting. I also keep receiving lovely messages saying how brave I am for sharing so openly and honestly. For revealing so many of my ugly truths and personal struggles. Again – I thank you all for the support, but I’m also left wondering, am I doing the right thing?

FAILURE

There is a magnificent quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson titled, Success. I found it many moons ago, had it printed and laminated, then stuck on the toilet wall for my children to read and absorb. Now the mirror to success is failure. And it is so easy to fear failure.

BANDED

In April 2012 I was 46 years old. I’d battled weight my entire life and I was tired. All the weight I’d previously lost was back on – again. All the tricks I’d used before were failing. I tried eating less, exercising more, eating more, exercising less. Shakes and weird shit and anything I could think of. I was still fat and getting fatter. So in tears and desperation, I made an appointment to see an obesity surgeon on a Thursday. He had a cancellation the following Monday. I booked in, had a gastric lap band fitted, and changed my life.

MOMENTS IN TIME

As I entered into the big wide world of adulthood, I blossomed as best I could with my strengths and pretended as only I knew how I had no problems. I was blissfully ignorant of the depression, anxiety and eating disorder I was developing.

FINE

How often do we say it? How often does someone ask, “How are you?” Barely a day goes past without these social niceties. The attendant at the service station, the telemarketer on the telephone, colleagues at work, friends on Facebook, my kids, husband, father.

RESTRICTED

At a support group last year, however, one lovely lady mentioned something I’d never been told before. Something I’d never considered. You’re bingeing because you restrict, she said. I thought that was hilarious.

WHAT DID YOU SAY?

Me? I was born with a chubby foot in my mouth. And it seems I’m a slow learner. The reason I journal and blog, and became increasingly shy, quiet and retiring over the decades, is I really suck at the spoken word. It takes me ages to formulate what to say. I’m not quick off the mark with rapid repartee, then can’t process conversations and respond appropriately in a timely and intelligent fashion.

THE BODYGUARD

I believe my bodyguard is Coco. He is a cat. A beautiful, loving, devoted cat who considers himself human. He is intelligent and devoted and loyal. He loves without condition and demonstrates self-care without an ounce of regret or indecision.

IN MY OWN TIME

It is absolutely true that many people who commence recovery – from anything – progress at a faster rate. They make changes and those changes stick, perhaps with some small relapses, but a fairly linear recovery process. That’s awesome – I wish I was one of those people! But I’m not…