This is the fourth part in a series, CLICK HERE to start at Part 1
Over the years between 2000 and 2006, I gradually put on weight, lost weight, and then found it again to put it back on. We owned a catering business up until the end of 2004 but surprisingly, I didn't snack a lot when I worked. I was so into the zone of what I was doing that I forgot to eat most times. Quality control was usually left to David. I was on my feet all day, running back and forth between the cooler, the stove, and the counter.
At the end of the day, David would expect us to go on a walk and eventually added light jogging to the routine. This was his way of trying to get me to exercise. He thought he was encouraging me but I would put up a fuss every time he got the kids ready to go. It didn't matter what season it was, he wanted to be outside and exercising and he wanted me to be exercising right alongside him. I hated every minute of it. What I once loved to do as a 19-year old, I now couldn't stand. I hated being expected and prodded to go. I knew that if I insisted on staying behind, David would call off the whole outing and he would be miserable. He would never raise his voice, but the sullen moodiness and quietness was almost worse. I would finally put on my sneakers and go just so that I wouldn't have to put up with the pouting and silent treatment.
None of this was on my terms and that irritated me. I went along with it simply to keep the peace. Inside, though, I was seething. It felt like control was being ripped away from me. My family had always believed in comfort food. If you felt sad, you ate food that made you feel better. If you were mad, you ate to quell the anger. If you were heartbroken, food soothed the wound. If you felt guilty, hopefully food would give you peace. Food was a band-aid. Food once again became my default in times of trial.
A year or so after our second child was born, I started eating meat and dairy again but in very small amounts. My body had taken a toll from back-to-back pregnancies and the medications I had been put on to counteract a collapsed bladder and prolapsed uterus affected my body in horrible ways. I was put on a high dose birth control pill as my doctor had recommended that we not have any more children after the complications I encountered after baby #2 was born. My mom had had similar problems after my youngest brother was born and my doctor warned that we would be facing a highly complicated and dangerous pregnancy and birth if we conceived again. In spite of the high dose pill, I became pregnant in early 2003. We found out at around eight weeks. I went off the pill immediately and David and I found ourselves scared and confused. A few days after going off the pill, I realized that I was in the middle of a miscarriage. Between the birth control pill, the meds, the steroids, and the miscarriage, I started losing hair, my nails were cracking, and would have two periods each month. I knew my body could no longer take the medications/steroids and the mostly vegetarian diet I was following. I gave up all the meds and bulked up my meat and dairy intake.
There was an underlying guilt that came with completely giving up my vegetarian/vegan roots even though my body was thanking me for the extra nutrution I was feeding it. It really didn't matter what I was eating; good or bad, there was always guilt. I heaped guilt on myself and I would have guilt heaped on me by David asking what I was eating and if I should be eating it. I constantly felt watched. David wasn't the only one watching; I was policing myself, as well.
The secretive eating became more common. I would stay up late and work on scrapbooks and pop small candies the whole time, for hours on end. David and the kids were asleep and I didn't have to have anyone looking over my shoulder and critiquing what went into my mouth. Any remaining candies would be stashed away before I headed for bed and any wrappers were stuffed to the bottom of the trash bag. When I would go grocery shopping, I would pick out a donut from the case and eat it while I was walking the aisles and make sure to hand in the wrapper when I checked out so that I could pay for it (yes, our store allows us to do that here - end of story). This enabled me to dispose of any evidence. Even eating a tuna fish sandwich with light mayo on whole wheat bread with a side of red grapes became something that I would eat after David headed out on his delivery route, making sure to dispose of it quickly and get started on the catering dishes so that he wouldn't suspect anything when he got back. I made sure that I ate on napkins so that I wouldn't be washing a dish he might not recognize when he got back. Eating became rushed and emotionally painful. The more guilt I felt, the more I sought out comfort food and the more I would eat in secret. I thought I had control but didn't realize I was losing it.
Eating wasn't about hunger. Yes, it tasted good, but it was about trying to control something in my life that no one else could. I always picked something that tasted good but most all of the time, I didn't even want to eat it. As I was eating, I kept telling myself that I didn't want it, that I didn't need it, at the same time feeling a sort of balm all while feeling pain and guilt. It was confusing and there was a compulsion and urgency to it that I didn't understand.
In Part 5, I attempt a change.