Eating to Live Vs. Living to Eat...

It's no big secret that I've had an unhealthy relationship with food most of my life.  Food was the friend when I was lonely.  Food never disapproved of me or made fun.  Food was sometimes in abundance and at other times scarce, but always it was available in some form.  Food couldn't abandon me.  It provided comfort and solace.  It accompanied me on the long bus ride home each day, or while I read before dinner. While it appeared to be my best friend, it was slowly killing me.  

On my best days I am mindful of what I put in my body and I try to remind myself that food is fuel.  On my worst days, I fall back into old patterns where my mood plummets even lower if something comforting (ie, carb-filled) isn't available.  Even Kyle can tell when chocolate is essential for the well-being of the household.  


In all honesty, I hate food. I hate my relationship with food.  I hate how I am controlled by cravings and how many times I've deemed myself worthless based on the reading on the scale.  Unlike so many bad habits that can be eliminated entirely from one's life if one abuses them, food cannot.  Unfortunately, a food addict must eat, whereas an alcoholic is not reliant on alcohol for sustenance.  When I write out my weekly menu plan, I wish I just never had to eat again. I wish there I could take a magical tablet along with my vitamins each day that would provide all the nutrition I need.  

When I had my gastric bypass three years ago, I was very excited at the prospect of getting to a more normal weight.  I was pre-diabetic, had high blood pressure, constant acid reflux and was in poor physical condition.  I had absolutely no idea how very hard those first few weeks on a liquid diet would be.  The difficulty was compounded by the fact that it was the Christmas season and an abundance of food commercials and parties with sugary treats were at every turn.  A liquid diet, followed by a pureed diet is all very bleak in the shadow of Christmas dinner Prime Rib.  Time passed, though, and the scale showed quick transformation, even when I could not see it. 


It takes the mind a lot longer to catch up with the weight loss.  I still don't see it sometimes.  I was almost 300 pounds when I had surgery.  I couldn't sit in a booth at some restaurants without the table digging into my stomach.  I couldn't fit in some bathroom stalls.  I dreaded flying, feeling deep embarrassment at the extra space my body would take up, crowding out the persons next to me.  I can't count the number of dressing rooms I cried in and the deep shame I felt when I had to shop in the men's section of the store to find a shirt that fit.  

Now 100 pounds lighter, I am thankful on a daily basis that my life is much improved from what it was when I was "morbidly obese".  Ouch.  Just typing those words hurts.  When I see my reflection in the mirror, I often have to look twice.  Is it really me?  I touch my collarbone as if to make sure it's still there.  The collarbone was, to me, the very image of femininity.  I couldn't see it before surgery.  Now I get such contentment at the sight of my necklace chain resting on it.  I can't get used to shopping in the Misses section rather than the Women's or Plus sized sections.  Unfathomably, a pair of Juniors jeans fit quite nicely the other day.  I look at them and hold them up, trying to discern whether they will fit, but again, my mind hasn't quite figured out what size I am, so it's a great deal of trial and error.  

The list of positives that comes with losing 100 pounds is quite long.  The way that size 10-12 feels compared to 24-26 or 3x is indescribable.  And yet, none of those wonderful feelings are enough to keep me away from the sugars and carbs.  This is how I know that food addiction is a reality.  So many times I've heard "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels".  If this were true, no one who has a sweet tooth would be overweight.  The amazing way that I feel about weighing what I do now, while incredible, is not enough to keep me from making poor decisions when it comes to food.  It's not enough to get me to the gym daily. It's not enough to keep sugar out of my kitchen.  


Food is still a very present issue in my life.  Certain events are tied to food - especially holidays.  Certain excursions are tied to food.  I will attend the Colorado Rockies game next month, and I will enjoy baseball.  But I will also enjoy some treats that are only found at the game - a hot dog, a lemonade, or perhaps some cotton candy.  I will see someone guzzling beer and eating nachos dripping in cheese, and I will instantly think of a savory soft pretzel.


Many bypass patients gain back all or more of their excess weight. Food will be an issue for me for the rest of my life.   On a daily basis I will battle cravings.  What I know intellectually to be right will spar with what I want in the moment.  I will refrain from bad choices some days, and I will give into them on others.  I will have to make conscious decisions about whether I choose to eat to live or whether I live to eat.  

Sometimes I can make the right decision for this moment only.  It will be one moment at a time, instead of one day at a time.  I will hear myself say, "Just get through this moment without overeating.  You can make it through this moment."  And I can!  Like most of the things I've set my mind to over the years, I can do this.  The difference this time is that it really is life or death, and it really is a matter of me choosing ME and my health over the taste of that chocolate.  I am the only one who can decide whether my worth is more than a bar of chocolate or a bowl of crackers.  And I'm thinking I just might be.