I Eat Because Something Is Missing
It began not as a decision but as a single acknowledgment.
I’m eating because I’m emotional.
The thought didn’t stop me. I still ate. But it did give me pause.
The next time it happened, I thought: I’m eating because I’m bored.
That time, it did stop me. I acknowledged that I wasn’t hungry, just bored. So I didn’t eat. Again, I didn’t think about it much past the acknowledgment and action.
What started out as such a small event has now snowballed into something I think about nearly every time I consider putting something in my mouth. Sometimes the thought stops me from eating, sometimes it doesn’t. The thoughts vary.
I’m eating because I want comfort.
I’m eating to punish myself. (I really dislike feeling full.)
I’m eating because it tears me up when The Bloke is feeling down and I can’t make him feel better.
I’m eating because I’m afraid.
More often than not lately, all of these thoughts have come together in a jelly mass of:
I’m eating because something is missing.
I live in a new country where I am safe, have a home, have enough to eat, have an amazing husband I love with every ounce of me, get to work doing what I love even though I don’t always make much…
What could possibly be missing?
That’s the question I am stuck with as I try to get past all the triggers that make me want to eat. It’s something I’ve had on my mind nearly constantly, sometimes depressing me and sometimes inspiring to get ‘out there’ and ‘do more’.
The more I have been thinking about it, the more I know that fear is what is keeping me from discovering what it is that I need to do to shake my dependence on food to try to fill that gap.
Perhaps I need to get out in the world and take some classes to meet new people.
Perhaps I need to join a club, day-travel more, get lost or do other things that make me nervous.
Or perhaps I need to stop worrying about whether people will believe me or whether I’ll cause trouble and finally do what I have been aching to do ever since I moved to Australia:
Stand on the rooftops and scream, “I left because I was being abused!”
Perhaps.
All I have at the moment is the knowledge that I eat because something is missing – and that missing part is clouded by a whole lotta fear.
Sometimes it amazes me that we can be told things hundreds of times over, but we will only truly *get* things in our own time.
I’ve started reading the book
Have you ever been going along just fine, things have been going well and suddenly you just lose the plot?