It’s not easy writing in a hammock. I’ve noticed that the crave has returned. I really felt that she was gone, that I was cured, food was not really calling to me. And then slowly, as more flour and sugar crept in, I was consumed again. And I am so tired of this story. It’s a story that whispers – make some time alone for yourself. Get some food in. Give it all you’ve got. Make it worth it. Keep going until you really can’t take any more.
And the crave’s best friend, her faithful companion, is the rejection of the body. This body, it can’t be this way, as it is. It is certainly unacceptable like this. Action must be taken, to STOP EATING, yet this is highly unlikely as the crave is screaming START EATING and it’s only because of the healing I’ve done so far that I’m able to be present, here, in the hammock, writing this, and not locked in a hole somewhere consuming my substance of oblivion.
And my travelling partner, he has NO FRICKIN CLUE what it feels like to be chained liked a dog to an abusive owner who tells you to sit and then beats you up when you sit and then tells you to stand and beats you up when you do that too. There’s no way to win the game. If your motivation for eating is to satisfy your craving, you’ve gone down the old neural pathway, reinforced your addictive feedback loop. And if your motivation to stop eating is driven by fear of fat, you’re in a cortisol-induced frenzy that makes your body believe you’re starving to death.
The only way to win is to stop playing.
I stop playing by rejecting any self attacking or hurtful thought. I reassert my right to exist, to be the size I am now, to eat adequately and regularly. I reassert my right to hunger, fullness, and the confusion that lies in between. I reassert my right to be an imperfect eater, a sensitive eater, an eater who needs support to feel well.
The support is not always available from anyone else except me. I am my own support, I tell myself that I am worthy, that I am loved, that I am more than crave, more than body rejection, more than the next intense mouthful of sensory pleasure.
And I watch the horizon, waiting for the ship of contentment to return. She will come again, and crave and contentment cannot coexist, crave must leave. Crave clings on, filling the pools of my consciousness with tempting thoughts of food restriction, exercise regimes, fasting and juice regimes. I fall for a second, but I know her game so well these days, that she doesn’t fool me for long. I take my gaze back to the horizon, offer my crave and body rejection up to the Goddess, wait for the storm to pass. It will. It will. It will.