Posted by: Judy | March 10, 2014

To fight or not to fight…

All my life I’ve fought with food issues… how civilized and reasonable that sounds.

I read books where the characters share the experience of sneaking food. It’s fun. It’s naughty but not. It’s actually okay. It might not be appreciated that they’re sneaking it into bed and leaving crumbs, but it isn’t worth being made screamed at or spanked or told you’re stealing food from your siblings. It’s an innocent part of childhood. Learning boundaries.

My memories crash in, and there is no innocence, no humor, no safety.

I know I’m overweight.

I look back at pictures in high school and my early twenties. I was slim except that my shoulders were as broad as my hips. Perfect hourglass figure. I remember being able to see my ribs.

I was fat.

I was fed food that made me sick, because they didn’t want me to like it too much or I’d become fat. If I liked food too much I’d become fat. I wasn’t allowed to have food I could eat because I’d become fat. I wasn’t allowed to eat too much of anything because I’d become fat. Food would rot in the fridge, but I wasn’t allowed to touch it because I’d become fat. Recipes I loved would be tweaked until I didn’t like it because otherwise I’d become fat.

I stole crackers and marshmallows because it was more difficult to keep track of how much was there and notice how much was missing. I had to be careful to not steal too much. I drank a lot of milk. I was scolded for that. But it filled the emptiness.

Year. After year. After year. After year…

I started buying my own food, in my 20s. I gained 10 lb.

I was fat.

If I didn’t lose weight, no man would want to marry me.

I gained 20 lb.

I was hounded, harassed, humiliated.

I gained 10 lb more and 10 lb more and 10 lb and 10 lb more and 10 lb more and 10 lb more.

My body fell apart.

I lost 10 lb.

I started taking care of me.

I lost 10 lb and 10 lb more.

“See, you look great. Keep losing the weight.” From NM.

I gained 10 lb in a week and another 10 lb in less than a month.

I’ve been fighting ever since within a 5 lb range. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down…

I’m tired of fighting.

What was it Albert Einstein said? “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”

“Concessions” are made. “You can have the kitchen now.” After I’ve finished eating the crackers and cheese or peanut butter and jelly sandwich they saw me grab. I start making a meal, and NM decides she must be in the kitchen doing dishes or making a meal, too, crowding, never more than a few inches away, apologizing for being in my way even as she steps in my path and she acts surprised I’m there. When I choose odd times to eat in an effort to avoid “making her feel like she’s in the way,” she must immediately be in the kitchen for this, that, or the other thing. Or clutter and garbage cover every surface so I can’t do anything, so I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or crackers and cheese.

The insanity doesn’t change. Doesn’t improve.

Who says people hate change?

Some of us beg and plead for change.

I don’t know how to fight this. So what’s the point?


  1. The point is you are worth fighting for. Hugs.

    • ((Ruth))

  2. someone told me once that to keep fighting keeps us locked in a perpetual war in which there are no victors, and that the better plan might be to try to quit seeing it as a struggle, and to envision whatever our own particular struggle might be as a rung in a ladder, and that if we just keep climbing, we will eventually reach the place we want to be …. I try to remember that on those days when I feel like I can’t possibly take another moment of the ongoing battle … I envision that ladder, and try to reach for the next rung

    sorry you’re going through a rough time … being a survivor means hanging on through all the different chapters of the journey … hard to envision it today, but there will be a day at some point when this day won’t even be a blip on your radar screen, and the battles being fought today will only be a memory

    • I’ve tried a lot of other things without success. Visualizing the ladder, and giving myself a month to see how it goes. ((ntexas99))

  3. I grew up with a mother who was weird about food too. It created a feeling of being deprived in me, one that made me have some strange issues around food. What really strange is that my mother makes a big show of picking at her food and never finishing a meal. Yet she was always overweight (and now firmly obese). She must sneak food or something. I don’t really understand her behavior. Then again, my mother doesn’t make sense regarding most things in my view.

    • With NM, it was all about control… it still is. She brags about how healthy she is, even as she complains about all her ailments… wow… just reading that… messed up. Funny, but not, she brags about never eating sugar, and yet I’ve watched her gobble down cake, cookies, ice cream… yeah. The lies are deep and frankly disturbing. ((PV))

      • That’s weird. In her mind, she must not be having sugar because it’s not from the sugar bowl?

        • That would make sense if she didn’t insult me about any treat I eat. Cake, cookie, donut, ice cream, doesn’t matter. She’ll tell anyone willing to listen she doesn’t touch sugar of any kind. Someone will offer her some treat, and she will virtuously declare she doesn’t eat sugar. What she says and what she does aren’t even in the same reality.

          • It must be nice to live in that headspace where everything you say is perfect and true. Not.

            • šŸ˜€

  4. feel ya, food was used to control in my household. we are worth it; worth is not defined in pounds.

    • ((TR))

      • ((Judy))

  5. “Who says people hate change?

    Some of us beg and plead for change.”

    For several years, I’ve thought that the next time someone says, “Change is good,” I’d counter with, “Change is a myth!”

    At least it sure as hell seems that way, when no matter how hard you try, everything always drifts back to the status quo.

    • Yes, it does seem that way. I remind myself that it doesn’t drift quite as far back into status quo. Others measure change by miles. I measure change by centimeters.

      • You’re right. No matter how it seems from the outside, we _know_ more, and we’re willing to keep learning. Unlike other people we know. (((((Judy)))))

        • Yep. (((((Cassandra)))))

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