Fear and Loathing in The Land of Pie

I had some trepidations going into the Thanksgiving holiday.  For many people, Thanksgiving is all about eating and drinking.    I had experienced Thanksgiving three times sober and I knew what to expect, what to do, how to keep myself safe.

This was my first Thanksgiving, though, since the completion of Operation Get Healthy.   I had successfully maintained my sixty pound weight loss by sticking to a healthy diet and exercising moderately.

But I haven't really been tested yet.   Thanksgiving would be my first test.   

I realized recently that I'm still very fearful of food.    I'm fearful of the whole idea that I'm a healthy weight now, actually.   It still doesn't seem real to me yet... like I might wake up one morning and it will all have been a bizarre dream.   

There are a lot of parallels between an unhealthy relationship with food and an unhealthy relationship with alcohol.    In many respects, though, getting sober was more clear cut.   Not easier, but the Do Not Cross line was more obvious to me.  Every drink is a "bad" drink.   I can't even have one.  There is no such thing as moderate drinking for me, but I'm having to learn moderate eating.  It's hard.

Let's take pie, for example.   I love pie.   Thanksgiving is all about pie for me.    I was pondering a pie-less Thanksgiving and feeling sad. 

I really felt like if I ate a slice of pie that I would wake up the next morning right back where I was, sixty pounds heavier.  I know the thought is irrational, but the fear is real.   It's the same fear I have of drinking, but with recovery that fear keeps me sober.   I don't want to live my life fearful of food.

I talked to my Jenny Craig consultant about it, and she emphasized - yet again - that the idea is to live in a world full of good food and be able to make smart choices.   "One moderate slice of pie won't hurt you," she said.   "You need to start to trust yourself again, cultivate a healthy relationship to food.   If you deny yourself everything, it's going to make the cravings louder, and you'll be miserable.   The trick is healthy portions, and no seconds.   Just give that a try."

I have an addict's brain.   If one slice of pie is good, two is better.    I have to learn how to have one slice of pie.

At Thanksgiving I took small helpings of everything.    I wanted more when I was done, but I didn't have more.    When I scraped the kids' half-full plates into the disposal, I thought about how before I would have polished their leftovers off, too.

Pie was served about an hour after dinner.  I had one smallish slice with a dollop of whipped cream.   A voice in my head was screaming to me: this is WRONG!  WRONG!   You're going to FAIL!    And, sure enough, I immediately wanted more.

But getting sober has taught me that just because I want something doesn't mean I have to have it.  

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sipped that instead.   The craving for more pie passed in about three minutes, leaving me feeling satisfied and a little bit proud.  

The real test came for me at my weekly weigh-in.   I don't weigh myself every day, because I'll get obsessive.   So once a week I step on the scale, in order to track how I'm doing on my own.    The scale showed the same number it has been showing for six weeks now - my goal weight.

Thanksgiving dinner and the pie didn't ruin everything.  Of course they didn't.   But I'm having to prove to myself that I can do it - I can make smart choices and stop myself from eating more than I need, and that I don't have to live in full deprivation mode to be successful.

In order to successfully lose the weight, I had to get my faulty thinking out of the way; I was an expert at rationalizing myself into the wrong choice.     Now I'm having to slowly reintroduce my thinking back into the equation, but this time using my powers for good instead of evil.     I can hear my Food Voice talking to me all the time.  Sometimes she's trying to get me to eat more, like a second helping of pie.  Sometimes she's convincing me that if I have one slice of pie I may as well give up, because I've blown it.

I'm learning to acknowledge that she's there, forgive her for having those thoughts, and then ignoring her.   She can babble away all she wants, but it doesn't mean I have to listen.  

In recovery, if I have one drink I would consider it a relapse.   I would start again, from scratch, Day One.

With food it's different, and it has taken me a while to get my mind around that fact that there is no Relapse.   It used to be one of my favorite tricks to play on myself ... I'd diet for a while, then I'd cave and eat cake or cookies, and then that Food Voice would kick in and say, "Well, I guess you've blown it for this week.  Start again Monday."   And that Monday would never come.

There are no "bad" foods, just bad choices.   I want to feel pride from making a good choice, rather than give food the power to make me feel badly.  The best thing about choices?  You learn from each and every one of them, and that is the pathway to freedom from guilt and fear. 

Grateful

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.  It's not over commercialized (if you don't count the Christmas hype that seems to start right after Halloween) and it is a time to be with family and give thanks for all the gifts in life.

I try to do gratitude lists as often as I can; I find it is a good way to stay centered and focused on all the richness in my life.   When the holiday madness starts, it's all about wish lists - especially with young kids.  I see Thanksgiving as the calm before the storm; a time to reflect on all we DO have, instead of all we wish we had.

And so, here is my gratitude list for this year:

I'm grateful for my childrens' smiles and for their abundant laughter.
I'm grateful for my cozy house.
I'm grateful for my strong, loyal, loving husband.
I'm grateful for my little business, for the gift of creativity.
I'm grateful for blogging, and for all the amazing people it has brought into my life.
I'm grateful for my steadfast, funny, smart friends; they are as important to me as oxygen.
I'm grateful I live close to my family, that we can see each other often, and I'm so, so grateful for all their support during the bad times and the good times.
I'm grateful to be sober, to be present for all life has to offer.

I want to hear what you're grateful for, too.  Leave a comment with what you're grateful for!

Thanksgiving, like any holiday, can be difficult for people who are sober, or who are struggling to get or stay sober.   Actually, it can be difficult for many other reasons, too - if you're struggling with depression, anxiety or with food.  If there are strained relationships in your family, or you have suffered a loss of a loved one.   It can be hard to stay grateful in the face of adversity.

At Crying Out Now we put together a Thanksgiving Survival Guide, and although it is aimed at people who are sober or who are struggling to get sober, it applies to anyone facing challenges over this holiday season.

Please take a moment to stop by and offer your support or add additional suggestions on ways to cope.   You can click on the link above, or go here.    You can comment anonymously, if you wish.   Please come add your voice to the growing number of people who are speaking up and speaking out .  

Together?   Together we can do anything.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.   I'm so very grateful for you, too.

-Ellie

The Straight Line and The Scribble

I generally shy away from talking about marriage.   It's a sticky wicket (do people still say sticky wicket?) that I have steered clear of, for several good reasons.  

And who is an expert on marriage, really?    Certainly not me.  

We recently passed our 11th anniversary, so maybe that is why marriage has been on my mind.   

My husband and I are polar opposites in almost every way.   He's methodical, detail-oriented and pragmatic.   I'm impulsive, messy and emotional.

Imagine a straight line and a scribble falling in love, and you've just about got the picture.

We felt like a perfect fit; he likely thought he could straighten me out a bit, and I felt that I could loosen him up.

Since more than a decade has passed, I can look back and see our marital trajectory, at least how it has been so far.  It began with the shiny, sparkly years of early marriage - double income, no kids, lots of freedom and few arguments.    With money to spare and no children, what was there be to argue about?

The arrival of first child coincided with our entrance into the Coping Years.    Suddenly both of us were catapulted into Adulthood.   Sure, we thought we were adults, but in reality we were just playing house.    Down to one income and with a mortgage and a small mouth to feed, my husband realized the financial burden of keeping us afloat was up to him alone, at least for the foreseeable future.    Becoming a mother and not contributing financially created an identity crisis of epic proportions for me.

My husband coped with his additional responsibilities by buckling down, finding a job that had great upside earning potential, and settling into his career path.

I chose a less practical route.   By now the story is familiar, but suffice it to say that jumping into a bottle is not a recommended coping mechanism.

My alcoholism sky rocketed as our kids became toddlers, then preschoolers.   I now think of this time as the Dark Years.   My husband and I drifted further and further apart - not with a bang, but with a whisper.  As I retreated further and further into the bottle, he amped up his practicality and held everything together.   

We almost didn't make it.

Those differences that seemed so endearing when we were first married now threatened to tear us apart.  

I got sober when Greta was five and Finn was two.   Shaken, wobbly and scared, we entered the Year of Uncertainty.

We had to get to know each other all over again, but without the sheen of new love to be the mortar to our many cracks.   We both thought that ninety percent of our troubles would evaporate when I got sober.    This did not turn out to be true.

A scribble does not easily become a straight line, and a straight line does not easily become a scribble.  

Fundamentally, we were still very different people.    Without the distraction of active alcoholism looming over our heads, our day-to-day differences became louder, pointier.    I was sober, but I was still a disorganized, impulsive short-cut taker.   We fought about laundry, finances, housework, yard work, who goes to the dump, who mows the lawn.  

Still reeling from the wreckage of my drinking, he became hyper-critical and I became hyper-defensive.  We were score keeping - pawns in a game nobody can ever win.

When I received my medallion for one year of sobriety, we were as lost and distant as we had ever been, only this time without alcohol muddying the water.

We were going around and around the same track, having the same arguments again and again.   We were stuck.  

Luckily, we decided to get help, to find a neutral party to listen to our troubles.  We found a safe haven to air our differences, talk it through.   We couldn't fix anything on our own, since we were both so preoccupied with Being Right.

We entered the Rebuilding Years.   I hope they never end.   Marriage is work, despite what the fairy tales whisper in your ear.

Little by little, we rediscovered each other.   Instead of trying to change the other person, we re-learned how to appreciate our differences.    What we discovered, once we worked through all the noise, the petty arguments and arm-crossing, was a huge amount of respect for each other, and a core of love that we realized never really left, it had just been eclipsed by the daily petty grievances, constant negotiations, and the endless work of raising two kids. 

Mostly we learned to let go of expectations.   We had to let the other person be who they are, not who we wanted them to be.   

Things are good, now.  Stable, predictable, ordinary - just as they should be.   It is an astonishing amount of work to achieve ordinary, and we've learned to respect that.    We laugh about issues we used to fight about endlessly.    It's not perfect - no marriage is perfect, of course.   We're learning to embrace the ordinariness of everyday life, instead of pining for some ideal in the future.   "We'll be happy when  ..." has been removed from our vernacular.  

But I didn't become a straight line and he didn't become a scribble.    

Today we're both, well, wavy.  

They Aren't All Gems

I need to take a moment, pause, and breathe.

Writing helps me to slow down, right-size things that are looming large in my brain.   I have been feeling flat and uninspired these days when it comes to writing.    Life is sailing along at a hectic pace - each day is jam packed from start to finish with activities, play dates, appointments and the constant-ness of running a household.

It doesn't stop from the moment my toes hit the floor in the morning to the moment I fall into bed, exhausted, each night.  

It feels like there is never, ever enough time. 

Things that need to be a priority in my life start slipping; I manage to get everything done for everyone else, and put my needs last.   I don't feel resentful about this, not yet at least; it comes naturally to me to shuffle myself to the bottom of the deck.

I didn't go to a recovery meeting for two weeks; that is the longest I've gone since I got sober.    I skipped my Jenny Craig appointment for three weeks.    I'm not meditating, or taking any time to sit and reflect.   What scares me most is that I don't mind.    I love being too busy.   It makes me feel important, needed, but that's just me deriving my sense of self-worth from external forces.  I'm losing touch on how to find it from within.

Last night I had to force myself to go to a recovery meeting; that has never happened before.   But I feel so GOOD, I was thinking.   Everything is FINE.    I went because I felt guilty that I hadn't been in so long; people were starting to call and ask if everything was okay.    I went because I'm fearful of not going, of what could happen down the road. 

I don't like being motivated by guilt and fear, but sometimes it's all I've got.

At the meeting I slumped into my chair, wanting to fade into the background, listen for an hour and go home.   My list of things to-do last night was huge: homework, baths, jewelry orders, emails and phone calls to return.    I didn't want to be there.

So, of course, I was asked to chair the meeting.    I really didn't want to, but I couldn't say no, because I didn't have a viable excuse.  

Chairing a meeting isn't a big deal, but it forced me to open my mouth, speak my truth.   I admitted out loud that I hadn't been going to meetings, that I was feeling just fine, thank you.    Heads nodded all around the room, especially the people who have been going for a while.   They've been there before, too.

And, of course, I heard exactly what I needed to hear.   As people shared, told their own truths, spoke about their struggles and triumphs, I felt a peace come over me.    I've missed this, I thought.    I need this. 

Today I'm feeling overwhelmed.   I just need to get it out, speak my truth, right-size my troubles.   I have a lot on my plate, and not enough time to get it all done.   I spent half an hour this morning just pinging around my house; Finn is at school until noon, then Greta is picked up early for a doctor's appointment, then a play date later in the day.   Panicked, I started and stopped three different things - all of them important - and then froze in place.

Three hours of time alone is laughable, really.   I need about three days.  

I picked up my laptop and sat down to write this.   I can't always bring it,  but that doesn't matter.   I just need to write.   As I've heard many other bloggers say:  they aren't all gems. 

Wise words from a friend in recovery just surfaced.   He talks about what he does when he's overwhelmed, when the sheer volume of things that need to get done freeze him in place, make him want to curl up in a ball.    "I can only do one thing at a time," he says.   "So I do one thing, and let the rest of it go.   Then I do the next one thing."   

So, I'm doing this one thing.  I'm writing myself back into the moment.   Then I'll do the next thing.   It's all I can do.

Huge Sale and Some New Items!

Just taking a couple of minutes  for shameless self promotion to remind everyone that I'm having a big sale for the month of November.   Now is the perfect time to start holiday shopping - I have dozens of items under $20 -- perfect gifts for friends and teachers.   The sale ends November 30th, so order now to take advantage of the huge savings!   I'm not going to give the sale amount here --- you have to subscribe to the newsletter to find out!   Let's just say it is the biggest sale I've ever had during this time of year.....

To participate in the sale, all you have to do is subcribe to my FREE newsletter (please see the widget box in the lower right hand corner of my sidebar).    I only send emails out about every four weeks (unless I have a special announcement, like a sale) and I NEVER share your information with any third parties.

Simply enter in your email and I will forward you the newsletter, where you will find instructions on how to SAVE.   If you've had your eye on something for yourself, or for someone else, now is the perfect time to buy it!

If you are already a newletter subscriber -- check your email!  I just sent out an updated newletter reminding everyone about the sale. 

And now, a few pictures of some new items!  Click on the link below to picture to view the item in my Etsy shop.  Thanks for looking!

Winter Morning Necklace

Little Bunches Earrings

Ohm Necklace

My Little Bird Necklace

Ring of Garnet

Thank you to everyone who supports handmade!! 

How About Now?

I forget, sometimes, that I live with a Zen Master.   He's five.

Finn has no concept of time.   Several times a day we have a conversation that goes something like this:

"Momma, can I have some juice?"

"Yes, in a minute."

"How long is a minute?"

"It's not long; just let me finish typing this email and I'll get you some juice."

"But.. how long is a minute?"

"Sixty seconds."

Pause.  "Sixty is a big numbah, though.  Sixty is a long time."

"No, a second is short, and sixty seconds doesn't take long."

Pause.   "It feels like it's taking a long time."

"Every time you interrupt me, it takes longer.  Now just be patient, I'm almost done."

Slightly longer pause.  "Is it a minute now?"

I ignore him and type.

"How about now?  Is it a minute now?"

"Just WAIT, Finn."

Very slightly longer pause.    "I told you sixty seconds is a long time.   It's taking forevah."

The only time Finn understands is NOW.     It's not just that he's impatient, although that's part of it.   Mostly, he simply doesn't grasp the concept of more than a few seconds into the future.

The other day, as I was putting his coat on, he said, "Momma, I don't want to go to school."

"It's Wednesday, Finn," I replied.  "You don't have school today."

His face lit up.  "Oh GOOD!   I like Wednesday, then.   Wednesday is stay-with-Mom day."

I realized he gets up every morning not knowing what he'll do that day.  He just wakes up and exists.  If he's hungry, he'll ask for food.   If he's bored, he'll ask to play a game.   He waits for a thought, desire or need to arise before addressing it.    He's not thinking:  I hope I'm not bored today.

When he's looking forward to something, like his birthday party, he'll struggle with the concept of time.   

"How long until my pahty, Momma?"

"Five days, Finn.  On Saturday."

He furrows his brow.   "I just counted to five.  Is my pahty now?"

"No, five days means you go to sleep four times, and on the fifth morning it will be Saturday."

"Can I take five naps and then have my pahty today?"

If Finn has a thought, or a need, he wants it addressed immediately, because RIGHT NOW is all he understands.

It was starting to drive me crazy.    

But then I realized I read countless books, listen to hours of guided meditation and spend an inordinate amount of time prattling on about my own quest to live in the moment, and forget that the perfect tour guide of Now is right under my nose.  

I tried looking at the world through Finn's eyes.  When he's coloring or playing a game he's totally lost to the moment; he isn't painting a picture while worrying about the Next Thing.   In his world, there is only Now.

Greta, who is eight, has understood time for over a year now.   She's a clock and calender watcher; she lives in anticipation or fear of future events, like the arrival of the bus in the morning, bedtime or a doctor's appointment in two weeks.   

Since grasping the concept of time, Greta doesn't exist in the Now much anymore.   At first this was a relief, because it put an end to the instant-gratification-takes-too-long conversations.  It took me a while to understand that it is actually a kind of loss.   Along with the understanding of time comes anxiety, anticipation and nervousness.    She won't sleep well the night before a class presentation or a dentist appointment.   She gets herself into a panic most mornings, worried that she will miss the bus.

As I tucked the kids into bed last night, Greta said, "Mom, tomorrow I have Girl Scouts, so don't forget.  And Thursday is the school book fair, so you have to come visit my classroom.  Friday I have a doctor's appointment.  Did you write all that down in the calendar?"

Finn got his story and his back scratch and settled down to sleep.   He doesn't know if the next day is a stay-with-Mom day or a school day, but he's not thinking about it.   He'll deal with that when it comes.

It's sad, really, how one of the first grown-up lessons kids learn is to be a slave to time, schedules and obligations.   

When Saturday and Sunday roll around and we don't have much planned, it can be tough.   I get up feeling edgy and disjointed when there aren't places we have to be, only endless stretches of deciding where we want to be.   I get a little pit in my stomach thinking about one whole day of juggling household chores, jewelry orders and yard work with the endless demands of two young kids.

So this weekend I surrendered to time.   I did my best not to think about the next minute or the next hour.  When the kids asked what we were going to do, I replied, "I don't know ... what do you want to do?"

They wanted to go to the playground.   It was an unseasonably warm November day in New England; the perfect day to be outside.     I didn't want to go to the playground and sit uselessly while they played.  I had a list of things to do a mile long.     So I pretended I was Finn.  I told myself the only thing that mattered was now - the playground - and didn't let myself think about what came next.   

I spent about twenty minutes thinking:  here's me not thinking about my to-do list.   Gradually, though, I relaxed into the moment.    I listened to my kids' laughter as they played tag with a kid they had just met.   I felt the slight twinge of cold in the air, and inhaled its sweet wood-smoke scent.   I turned my face towards the bright, low-slanting autumnal rays of sunshine, and soaked in their warmth.      

When the kids - apple cheeked and beaming - tapped me on the arm and announced they were ready to go home, I surfaced from a deep reverie; my head was full of silence.   

I had no concept of how long we had been at the playground.  The clock in the car informed me more than two hours had passed.    Two hours of simply existing, instead of wringing my hands, glancing at the time, and hurrying the kids along so I could get to the Next Thing.

I understood why Finn smiles a lot.  

Now is the perfect slice of time, absent of obligation and worry, because you can't be anywhere but right where you are.

What is a moment?   It's a heartbeat, a single breath.    We do these things hundreds of times a day, and don't give them a second thought, but they are the building blocks of all life.  Without them we cease to exist.
 

Moments are like that, too.   We examine hours, days, weeks and months, and ignore the thousands of single moments that hold everything together.   

Neglecting moments is like spending life in the waiting room, living in anticipation of Next, waiting - always waiting - and never experiencing. 

We are all born hard wired to live in the moment, to experience life exactly as it is, not as we want it to be.    As we grow up, we get further and further away from our natural state of wonder and acceptance.

The other day Finn and I were running out the door, late for something - school, or an appointment - and I was rushing around, begging him to hurry up.   On the way to the car, a bright yellow leaf on the ground caught his eye, and he stopped to admire its beauty.

"Look, Momma," he said, holding it up for me to see.   "Isn't it amazing?"

Yes.  Yes, it is.

Becky's Bloggy Bridesmaid's Video - In Which I Live Out A Fantasy

So, Becky is getting married.

Who is Becky, you ask?    If you don't already know her, you should.    She's a bloggy friend of mine, and she is funny and smart and pretty and talented and ... well, you get the idea.  Becky is a bright light -- when I need a lift I go to her blog, or read her tweets, and she is always good for a laugh and a smile.

Ann, of Ann's Rants, got the idea to throw Becky a surprise Bloggy Bridesmaids' shower.   It wasn't a hard sell; this is not a group of introverts.  We jumped at the chance to do a post in honor of her upcoming nuptials.  

I don't know what my fellow bridesmaids are going to do, but I couldn't resist the urge to live out a fantasy of mine:  spend the day with Becky.  Wearing sequins.

C'mon, you can't tell me you don't have a fantasy involving sequins... I know you do.

And so, I bring you this:



** Special thanks to my daughter Greta and her friend Caroline, the best 8 year old videographers money can buy.   Also to Tamara and Steve; you find out who your friends are when you ask them to film you in sequins on a treadmill.  In public.

Congratulations, Becky.  I'm so grateful to call you a friend.  

And please be sure to check out her other Bloggy Bridesmaids' posts, listed below.  These are some of the funniest women on the internet ... so if you're not reading these blogs, you're not laughing enough.  Trust me:

Ann at Ann's Rants

Suzy at Hollywood: Where Hot Comes to Die

Wendi and Kelcey at The Mouthy Housewives

Jessica at BernThis

Amy at I Have More Rocks

Lisa at Smacksy