Confessions of a Food Addict

A painstakingly honest look into the past, present, and future of a food addict as she struggles to reclaim her life, her weight, and her relationship with food.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Rewriting Your Narrative

I am deeply resentful for having a food addiction and body issues. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been preoccupied with food, either withholding or binging. I’ve tried every single diet/meal plan/gimmick under the sun. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they worked short term, but always the weight came back on.

I was an athlete nearly my entire life, so I also used exercise as a way to control my weight. I can remember being a small child, maybe six or so, and telling my best friend’s sister, “I can eat whatever I want and still be skinny.” I was six! Why was that even on my mind?

I also know that I have a complicated relationship with food. First of all, I like it, a lot! I love to cook, I love to entertain. I love to show my love with food.

But I also “use” it. I use it to celebrate. I use it punish myself and others. I use it as fuck-you food. I use it console myself. I use, use, use.

I also know I do best with whole foods, more plant-based, less sugar and flour and dairy. I know my ideal meal plan…I know I don’t follow it. I lean toward convenience, boredom, reward, not wanting to be left out or call attention to myself, habit, etc. as my excuses for not following my meal plan.

I HATE that I have this addiction. I am so pissed off that I have this. I hate that I think about food all the time.

Then, of course, the food ties in so closely to body image. Growing up, there was a strong focus on being thin. My self-worth was definitely tied to my weight/size. Thin=good; overweight=bad.

So it’s no shock that I hate the relationship I have with my body. This love/hate thing. I hate that my excess weight is starting to cause physical issues, like high cholesterol and back issues. I hate that it is so hard to get dressed in anything other than sweatshirts and yoga pants. I hate that I cannot just go to my closet, pull out whatever, and have it look great, like it used to when I was thinner.

I hate that I hate my body. I know that this self-loathing effects me at a sometimes conscious, but mostly subconscious level. I know it affects my pride, my self-esteem, my relationships, my sex life, and my sense of security. I allow it to affect my confidence, which in turn affects my ambition.

And, of course, I know my HUGE part in this. After all, I’m the one and the ONLY one actually putting the food in my mouth. I know that I allow my self-flagellation, my constant comparing, my people pleasing, and then shutting down and rebelling to keep me shoveling the food in rather than committing to abstinence.

I am putting everyone else first (convenience, people pleasing, staying stuck in past trauma) rather than putting myself and my health and abstinence and program first. And I am choosing that, yet I point to all the other stuff and say — but THAT’S why… it’s THEIR fault.

It may be their “fault”, but I am the one who still chooses to listen and react. And I don’t need to. 

I can choose to rewrite this narrative and realize that I have a perfectly nice body. I have the tools to improve my health, and I can feed myself the food and emotions and energy it needs to heal.

I can choose me.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

You Find What You Look For

Our country is in turmoil. I would argue, that’s because we as Americans are in personal turmoil. We have opiod addiction rates out of control, obesity (and I would argue food addiction) is at an all-time high, and we spend more quality time with our electronics than we do with actual people.

We get our “facts” from ratings-driven “news” stations and take things we read on social media as gospel truth.

We are so wrapped up in being right, that we rarely stop to question if what we think, believe, or spout is even truthful. We convince ourselves of positions based on what is trendy or of the moment often without even understanding the whole issue.

We suffer righteous indignation and constantly see and note situations that prove our point. We focus on those things we agree with and somehow manage to skip over anything that may call our point of view into question.

In short, we look for things to support what we already believe. We look and we find.

If you see fear and tragedy and hate all around, chances are that you are either consciously or subconsciously looking for it. We may say, “What a shame! I wish it wasn’t this way,” all while pointing it out over and over and over.

You find what you look for. You send out the energy and the energy finds you in return. It’s like a boomerang. You receive what you send out.

So just imagine the world you would personally live in if you looked only for love and support and acceptance and understanding. What if you looked for examples of people helping each other and loving each other and stepping up to care for one another. You’d find that, wouldn’t you?

Now imagine if everyone in your family and circle of friends did that. How different would your conversations be? Instead of being filled with conflict and controversy, you’d be sharing stories of love and support.

Now imagine if everyone on your social media feeds did that. How joyful and inspiring would it be to log onto Facebook or Twitter? How much would you look forward to the next post or story to fill your heart?

Now imagine—just imagine—if everyone in your city and state did that. They focused on the 95% of love and support instead of the 5% of hate and anger. Can you even imagine?

Stretch it further and imagine if everyone in our country did that. What a different America we would be! Can you even imagine it!?!?!

But here’s the trick. In order to be a country who focuses on love and support and understanding, we have to first be individual’s with that focus. With that mindset.

Individuals who look for the good first so they can see it.

Because it is around us, all of us, every day. Look for it. Trust me, you’ll see it.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

My 19 COVID Quarantine Lessons

As I lay in bed, Kennedy playing on my phone and me writing this blog, I realized that today marks exactly 53 days since Kennedy’s last day of school. Fifty of those days have been spent in quarantine, and 43 in lockdown quarantine.

As with most people, those first couple of weeks were almost fun. We scheduled art time and family Zooms and played lots of games. I added home ec to Kennedy’s school schedule and we bought her a bike with hopes that she’d roll out of quarantine on two wheels.

Then the reality slowly started to set in. And suddenly I had lots and lots and LOTS of time to think. To reflect on the life I had been living. The life I am living now. And the life I hope to live when COVID becomes a memory and not a current event.

During these past few weeks of reflection, several realizations became clear. While this quarantine is far from ideal, it has brought calm and clarity when I needed it most. And the lessons I’ll take from this time are profound in their simplicity.

1. Teachers don’t make enough money. Seriously. 

2. I don’t need four trips to Starbucks a week. That’s $10 easy every week. $40 a month. $480 a year. And that’s just coffee.

3. When you don’t have a Diet Coke in weeks, it doesn’t taste as good and is surprisingly easy to give up. I’ll miss you DC but not enough to reengage.

4. Carole Baskin definitely killed her husband.

5. Need is not the same as want. Not even close. 

6. I realized that, over the years, like a frog in water, my values started to shift. I was buying into the labels and designer game. The exterior and materialism was suddenly important and it distorted what was truly real and important. I now see that the only labels that truly matter are family, friends, health, and love. 

7. I need alone time much more than I thought. As an extrovert, this shocked me. But when you spend 24 hours a day in your house with the same two people, even 30 minutes alone to yourself can mean the difference between patience and exasperation. 

8. Nothing soothes the soul like drawing or painting with your seven-year-old while listening to the Descendents’ soundtrack. 

9. Exercise is so much more about the mind than the body. While my body benefits, my mind and my emotions are dependent on movement.

10. You quickly learn the difference between friends and acquaintances. Friends check in. They schedule FaceTimes and text to check up on you. They make masks for your family and ask how it is going. They schedule “drive bys” or masked play dates. 

11. I am blessed with really amazing friends. Truly. Some since second grade and others in the past 3-4 years. My tribe is strong and they make me stronger with their unconditional love and support.

12. Spending two hours on Saturday nights with your best girls from high school is pure gold. They know you. YOU. And they accept you. And knowing they have you and you have them is a gift that has no price tag.

13. I am not a corporate person. Buttoned up dress codes and title hierarchy are not for me. My soul is that of a reformer, a nurturer, and healer. I need to know that what I do every day has improved at least one person’s life. 

14. I do better with structure. I NEED a plan for the day. 

15. Making your bed every morning truly does set the tone for the day.

16. Your past is just that... past. Be thankful for the lesson, forgive yourself for the transgressions, forgive others for their transgressions, and live each day as if it is the last one. You never know when will be the last anything -- hug, phone call, snuggle, laugh, cry, fight, anything. So treat each day as the gift it is.

17. Whoever invented yoga pants and dry shampoo should be given the Nobel Prize for Perfection.

18. You get what you give. If you give love and support, you’ll have it returned to you in spades. If you sow the seeds of positivity and hope, you reap the same. Know what you want in your life then BE that for everyone around you. It WILL come back to you.

19. Reading is a better escape than food or alcohol. 

When this current reality moves to a new reality, I too will have a new outlook and renewed set of values. And for that, I am grateful.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Be the Bamboo

A couple of months ago, I was done. It seemed like everything in my life was in chaos. My marriage was a mess, work was toxic, my home was in total disarray, and my physical health was at an all-time low.

My emotional, mental, and spiritual life weren’t much better. I was stressed, exhausted, resentful, and anxious. In short, everything in my life was upside down and inside out. My surroundings reflected my inner world and my inner world was impacted by my surroundings.

I wasn’t the mom, friend, daughter, PERSON I not only wanted to be, but knew that I was. I wasn’t ME...

But I couldn’t see a way out. I just wanted to quit it all -- quit my marriage, quit my job, quit my house, quit my responsibilities. I wanted to pack it ALL in, move out, move on.

But, of course, when you pack it up, you pack it ALL up. I knew I’d just be moving the same shit to a different location. Clearly something needed to change, but what?

And just like that, the answer arrived. A dear friend I work(ed) with was able to pull up OLD blogs I had written from back in 2009 and I saw this story, exactly when I needed it:

ONE DAY I WANTED TO QUIT MY LIFE. I WENT TO THE WOODS TO HAVE ONE LAST TALK WITH GOD.

“God”, I said. ”Can you give me one good reason not to quit?” His answer surprised me.

“Look around”, He said. “Do you see the fern and the bamboo?”

“Yes”, I replied.

“When I planted the fern and the bamboo seeds, I took very good care of them. I gave them light. I gave them water. The fern quickly grew from the earth. Its brilliant green covered the floor. Yet nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did NOT quit on the bamboo.

“In the second year the fern grew more vibrant and plentiful. And again, nothing came from the bamboo seed. But I did NOT quit on the bamboo.

“In year three there was still nothing from the bamboo seed. But I would NOT quit. The same in year four.

“Then in the fifth year, a tiny sprout emerged from the earth. Compared to the fern, it was seemingly small and insignificant.

“But just six months later, the bamboo rose to over 100 feet tall.

“It had spent the five years growing roots. Those roots made it strong and gave it what it needed to survive. I would not give any of my creations a challenge it could not handle.

“Did you know, my child, that all this time you have been struggling, you have actually been growing roots? I would NOT quit on the bamboo.. I will NEVER quit on you.

“Don’t compare yourself to others.” He said. “The bamboo had a different purpose than the fern. Yet they both make the forest beautiful.

“Your time will come”, God said to me.. ”You will rise high.”

“How high should I rise?” I asked.

“How high will the bamboo rise?” He asked in return.

“As high as it can?” I questioned.

“Yes.” He said, “Give me glory by rising as high as you can.”

I left the forest, realizing that God will NEVER give up on me.

And He will NEVER give up on you.

In that moment, my decision was clear. NEVER quit. NEVER give up. Change, yes. Decide, yes. But don’t QUIT.

I immediately made a list of the things that needed to change. I prioritized them. My physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health were obviously the most important. I met with a nutrition group and started back in earnest with my 12-step program. I added exercise back in and am restarting yoga.

I took an active role in Kennedy’s confession and communion prep and we are going to start going to church more regularly.

I then realized that, to truly support my mental and emotional health, I needed to make a really BIG change. I resigned from my job. Without another job.

I realized my mental health and emotional well-being were more important. And guess what? My physical health has benefited as well. As has my house (more organized and much less chaotic), Kennedy (calmer, happier, and I’m more present with her), and even my marriage.

Only when I chose NOT to quit my life was I able to regain it. I needed the message, I needed the guidance, I needed the PERMISSION to rise in order to not fall.

I decided to value me... value my time, my health, my sanity.

I decided to be strong, resilient, tall, and unapologetic.

I decided to be the bamboo.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Choose Happy

“Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.” – Abraham Lincoln

Wow, no wonder they called him Honest Abe. Because, let’s be honest, happy is a choice. I know that I spent far too many years with pockets of happy, but more time telling myself I’d be happy when:

I wore a size 6.

I hit a certain number on the scale.

I made 6-figures.

I got married.

I had children.

I worked for myself.

I traveled overseas.

And even as I hit goal after goal, the “happy” was often still an arms-length away. It took 12-step for me to realize that happy isn’t a destination, it’s a choice. It’s something that rides with you on the journey, but only if you remember to pack it first.

I also realized that I wasn’t allowing myself to be happy. Why? Fear, plain and simple.

I was afraid that if I admitted I was happy, then the happy would slip away like water through a sieve. And, deep down, I thought all I deserved WAS a sieve.

Now I see that my life, my happy, is a bucket that I choose every day. I choose what I put in there and I choose what needs to go.

I choose to fill the bucket up every day, all day if I have to, no matter what is going on around me. And, best of all, the bucket can expand as needed, so there is no way for there not to be enough room for all the happy that can fit in it.

Last year, I forgot all this. I forgot that the bucket in the corner wasn’t going to fill itself. I had to do the work. I had to reach for it every day and I had to actively put things in it.

I had to allow things to go into it. And I had to have the courage to say, “Sorry, you don’t get to be in the bucket.”

I had the courage to choose my happy… and to wake up every day and choose it all ALL OVER AGAIN… EVERY… DAY.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Who Do YOU Go to Bed With?

I recently saw and posted a fantastic video from Lady Gaga about how shallow and disconnected we have become as a society. She goes on to talk about being authentic and learning who you are and starting to say no.

The clip ends with her saying “Now that’s someone I can go to bed with every night.”

The entire thing – particularly the ending – really resonated with me for a variety of reasons. First, I am ashamed to admit how much of my day I spend on my phone or computer, not working or connecting with others, but just wasting time surfing the internet, scrolling through social media, playing games, etc.

Every minute, every second I spend doing this is time I am NOT working, engaging with Kennedy, engaging with Trip, engaging with friends or family, taking time for me, or doing something (anything!) productive. Then, to top it all off, I have the nerve to say that I don’t have enough time in my day. I am sure that if I added up all that time I’ve wasted, I’d be mortified to see how much time I actually had.

And the shallow… Lord but how shallow we HAVE become. Just look at TV, at ads, at everything. Looks, material things, the exterior and the persona has eclipsed the substance. Hell, it even crept into politics, with the coolness or brashness or persona of a person holding more weight than that person’s substance.

I know that once I really worked on who I was and who I wasn’t and how I wanted to be in the world, this sense of authenticity became huge in my world. Like the ex-smoker who cannot tolerate cigarette smoke anywhere them or the sinner turned born-again Christian, I suddenly developed an overwhelming aversion to people who pretended to be something they weren’t.

It reminds me of the saying “we can smell our own.” Having been there, I am almost pathologically turned off now by people who put on airs, overexaggerate, make claims that they think make them seem better or more impressive than they really are, put forth a persona of living a perfect life when we all know that NO life is perfect (FB is famous for this!), or basically pretend to be, have, seem to be something they are not.

It’s judgemental, yes, I know. Maybe that’s why I was so relieved to hear Gaga say it out loud, this idea of shallowness. This idea of a growing lack of authenticity. I call it the Real Housewives effect… we all want the flashy car, the designer clothes, the big house, the perfectly coifed hair and model children. And we want our interactions to be dramatic! Our vacations to be epic! Our love lives to be exciting and complicated!

We want and portray our lives to be something that aren’t even real on “reality” TV!

The next part of the clip then talks about saying no. Lord but I’ve struggled with this. No. Two little letters that form one of the most difficult words in the English language.

But here’s the thing. To truly be able to say “no”, you have to stand for something. You have to know who you are and what you want and don’t want out of life and what you stand for and what you simply cannot stand for.

You have to value yourself and your integrity and your beliefs so that your NO stands on solid ground. I know this because I didn’t say NO for far too many years.

I didn’t say NO to men because I thought the “yes” validated me in some way. I didn’t say NO to an abusive boyfriend because I thought I deserved it. I didn’t say NO to people who wanted my time and talents for themselves, draining me but enriching themselves. I didn’t say NO to ghostwriting a book for someone with no acknowledgement of my input because I didn’t have the “credentials” to demand a co-authorship. I didn’t say NO to request after request for help or time or even money because I thought I’d lose of the friendship or the relationship if I did.

I didn’t say NO to all this and more simply because I hadn’t yet learned my VALUE. I didn’t yet know my worth, my talents, my desires, and what I stood for and what I would refuse to stand for.

Finally, because I hadn’t learned to say no, I took way too many of the wrong kinds of people to bed way too many times. Then, for a long time, I took the WORST person to bed every night.

I took a complete stranger to bed… every night. I laid down with a woman who was lost and unknown to me, a persona I was trying desperately to be rather than facing the truth of me and dealing with it.

I was in bed with a woman who hid her fears, her secrets, her abuse. Who hid her addiction, her defects, her insecurities. The woman who had often had to squelch her light so others wouldn’t feel outshone.

The woman who had to remember who was dad based not on the person but rather what state she was in or who was talking to on the phone. The woman who felt like she belonged nowhere so she desperately tried to fit in everywhere.

The woman who felt like she had to be everything in order to avoid being nothing.

It took a breaking point for me to realize those are things I’ve been through. Those are experiences from my life and fears I have… they are NOT who I AM. Better yet, they’ve shaped me to be the real me. The authentic me.

In fact, the real me, as I’ve discovered, is pretty amazing now that I really know her. She is bold. She is sassy. She is loving and generous and beautiful. She is talented and big-hearted. She is a great cook, an amazing wife, and a proud and blessed mother. She loves to entertain, is a great gift buyer, and it fiercely loyal.

And she has flaws too. She is a food addict. She can be crabby and she doesn’t shower every day. Often she is lucky if she remembers to brush her teeth! She procrastinates and is prone to anxiety. She can be righteous and struggles with things being definitely right or wrong. She can let her fear manifest as resentment or gossip.

She is, in short, beautifully flawed. But most importantly, she is someone that I am  proud to take to bed every night. Because I know her like I’ve never known anyone before… and I love her.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Accidental Inheritance

A few years ago, my high school friend Heather forwarded me a video she thought I’d like. Every so often I come across it and I’m as struck and moved by it in the moment as I was the very first time I watched it.

It so perfectly encapsulates the subtle—and not so subtle—messages we not only learn from the women in our lives, but from the men as well.

Messages about what it means to be a woman, a wife, a mother, a female walking through this world.

Messages about what it means to consciously and subconsciously take a back seat to the men in your life.

Messages that tell you that you are somehow less important, less of a priority, less worthy, and have a lesser viewpoint than the men.

Here are a few pearls that particularly struck home with me:

“She shrinks the space around her.”

“She wanes while my father waxes.”

“I wonder if my lineage is one of women shrinking, making space for the entrance of men into their lives, not knowing how to fill it back up once they leave.”

“I have been taught accommodation.”

“You [her brother] have been taught to grow out…I have been taught to grow in.”

“I learned to absorb.”

“Picking up all the habits my mother has unwittingly dropped.”

“How much space she deserves to occupy.”

“I asked five questions in genetics class today and all of them started with the word ‘Sorry.‘”

“Inheritance is accidental.”

I’ve spent way too much of my life taking a back seat, while never really realizing until now that I gladly sat there in an effort to be included. I’ve spent much too long accepting coming last while everyone around me comes first, and that I only deserves last or even second best.

I do not—and I’ll be damned if I allow Kennedy to ever feel that way.

I’ll be damned if I allow Kennedy to think she has to apologize before speaking her truth, her opinion, her thoughts, her feelings. I don’t ever want her to think she doesn’t deserve the space she occupies.

I don’t want her to think she has to shrink so someone else can grow.

I don’t want her to wane so someone else can wax.

I want to change the course, the dialogue that I’ve allowed to be so ingrained in me. I want her be strong and confident, while also being loving and compassionate.

And, as the poetry slam shows us, I will teach her more through example than words.

If I tell her that she is worthy, but act in an unworthy or undeserving way myself, which message do you think she’ll actually pick up?

If I tell her that girls, that women, have every right to do, say, be…but don’t do, say, or be myself, which message will actually sink in?

This is exactly why I need to think and act in the way I would want my daughter to emulate in her adult, mature life. I have to be the woman I want her to become…because in all likelihood, that’s what will happen.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Receiving Love

I’ve recently started working with an energy healer and as part of our discussion, she mentioned the creation of a heart wall. As she explained, when you experience different traumas or intense emotions throughout your life, they can manifest in your body as blockages.

The blockage may affect your immunity, leading to frequent colds and illness or even digestive issues. The blockage may affect your brain, stifling creativity or productivity and even how you think and process information.

And then the blockage can affect your heart. Not necessarily from a health/cardiac standpoint, but from a giving and receiving love. And, as it turns out, that’s a big issue for me.

Not only do I have trouble being “all in” when it comes to romantic relationships, often keeping one foot out the door, but it seems that, energetically, I’ve created a “heart wall” that makes it virtually impossible for me to receive love. Worse, my treatment found that I actually send out energetic messages to others, giving them permission—in fact damn near asking them—to take me for granted.

Now, while that all may seem “whoo whoo” to some, let me tell you a bit about the truth behind this session.

First, for as long as I can remember, I have felt taken for granted. I felt like that with parents. I felt like that mostly with partners. I often acted out in order to prove to myself that they didn’t take me for granted…behavior that often backfired and made me feel even MORE taken for granted.

More than anything in this world, I have longed to feel loved… deeply, truly, passionately, and unconditionally. I have longed to be wanted… something I confused from a sexual point of view. For far too many years, I confused being wanted with being wanted, sexually, only to realize (painfully) that they are not the same thing. I thought that being desirable was the same thing as being loved and adored.

They could not be further apart.

One is pure lust, the other is pure romance and love.

But apparently this is where my problem lies. I fear the latter. As much as I crave it, the fear wins over. Which leads me to choose people (over and over and over) who want me versus want me. Because apparently I can handle the short-term rush of being desired, but run in terror (and sabotage) the prospect of being loved.

And it comes down to that damn wall. A wall that apparently started construction when I was five, continued when I was 10, and went into full-force, steel-enforced at 20.

Now here’s why those ages freaked me out when my therapist noted them. At five and at 10 I experienced trauma from two known and trusted people. The 20 though floored me. It was about heartbreak and conflict and failure and blaming and anger.

It had been the first time in my life I had ever jumped in headfirst and given my entire heart and soul to another person. I turned over my whole heart and it ended up shattered. I went into such a deep despair that I became physically sick, even necessitating a trip to the hospital to figure out why I couldn’t keep food down. I curled into a ball for weeks, just crying and “zombie-ing” my way through life.

And I remember vowing to never, ever let that happen to me again. [cue HUGE wall]

The result? That painful pull between what you crave most in life and the sheer terror of doing what it takes to experience it. And the terror wins every time.

Instead, I chose being desired, keeping one foot out the door, pulling people in but keeping them at arms length yet wanted THEM to want more. In some cases, being an incredible girlfriend/wife; making good money, keeping a beautiful house, being fun, great sex, amazing mother, etc., yet allowing myself to be taken for granted at the same, then wondering what happened.

And here’s what happened. I did all that, but with clear unconscious messages of being unworthy of love and respect. I showed them how incredible I was/am, but also showed them that it was okay to take it all for granted. Why? Because at the end of the day, giving ALL of me wasn’t going to happen. And receiving all of them wasn’t going to happen either.

Instead, I created a self-fulfilling prophecy: I didn’t want to be devastated by love again, so I chose people I knew, at some level, weren’t capable of 100%. I chose my mirror… people as flawed as I was to giving and receiving love. That way, as much as my head wanted love, my heart was “safe” with my choice.

From this lens, it makes sense that, often, the very things we desperately, painfully crave in our lives are more than likely the very things we fear the most. And if we don’t work to address it and overcome it, the fear will win out every time.

So what’s the answer? I don’t know… but I am working on it… every day.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Crushing Motherhood

I’ve been self-conscious about more things in my life than there are spots on a cheetah. My weight, my bank account, my clothes, my intelligence, my sex life, my marriage, my moles, my accomplishments, my failures, my personality, my grades, my career, my life basically.

But one thing I never was self-conscious about, not for one single solitary second, was being a mom.

I chastised myself for unwashed hair, for not losing the baby weight (and I didn’t even give birth to Kennedy!), for not getting sleep or exercising or having a clean a house. But actually being a mom?

Not for one second.

And, trust me, it’s not because I’m a perfect mom.

I let Kennedy eat Cheetos and drink root beer. I didn’t take one single “Kennedy at xx months.” There are times when I’m putting her down for bed that she asks me if she had dinner that night. In a two-week period of time, I dressed her in her gym uniform instead of her school uniform for a field trip, forgot to give her money for the book fair, and (God save me) didn’t give her money for the bake sale. I bought insanely cheap, non-candy Valentines for her Valentine’s Day party. I am not a room mom and cannot even fathom being one. I let Kennedy watch TV sometimes for 4-5 straight hours not because I have important things to do but because I want to nap and veg out. I’ve screamed at her, then cried afterwards with shame. I let Kennedy swear... yep, when she’s mad, I let her belt out her favorite string of curses, namely “shit”. Kennedy sleeps in my bed 28 out of 30 days a month. Sometimes she’s lucky if she takes one bath once a week. (I cringe to even admit that!) Nope... not winning the perfect mom award.

So basically I have an orange-stained fingers, belching, dirty, sometimes hungry, wrong uniformed, no money for activities, shitty Valentines, screamed at, TV-watching child.

Yet, I truly believe in the very depths of my soul that I am crushing motherhood.

Because today in CVS, as Kennedy was being silly and sassy, some random stranger said, “We could all use more of her in our lives.”

Because her teachers comment that she is one of the most compassionate children they’ve seen, that when someone is sad or hurt, she’s the first one there to make them feel better.

Because when I told the cashier at MOM’s tonight, as she rang up both grape juice and grape soda, that clearly someone in our house likes grape, my ever witty and sarcastic 6-yr-old immediately responded with “and my mom likes wine”, which sent everyone within earshot into hysterics and sent the color rushing to my face, ears, head, and basically out of my body.

Because Kennedy will correct you if you say “Oh my God” and ask you to say instead “Oh my gosh.”

Because Kennedy has said please and thank you and nice to meet you since she was 2 years old.

Because Kennedy will hug people that genuinely touch her soul, even if she’s only known them for 5 minutes, and more often than not, the person will say “you have no idea how much I needed that.”

Because Kennedy possesses a self-confidence that I actually envy and am fiercely proud of all at the same time.

Because I’ve always felt deep in my marrow that the true definition of crushing motherhood isn’t what’s reflected back in perfectly poised social media posts or the awe-filled responses at your homemade, glitter-crusted Valentines or perfect Pinterest-worthy hair styles every morning or the homemade quinoa salad with homemade kale chips for lunch.

To me, crushing motherhood is about what is reflected in your child. Are they loving? Are they kind? Are they inclusive and caring? Do people want to be around them? Do they have good manners? Are they confident in themselves and in you?

That, to me, is crushing motherhood.

Now don’t get wrong. I’ve very much team “glitter Valentines, room mom, coordinated Halloween costumes, perfectly coifed kids” mom. They amaze me. But I don’t feel like I have to BE them. And I don’t think they are crushing motherhood because they do those things. They are crushing motherhood because their kids are amazing.

Because here’s the thing... motherhood isn’t about YOU. It isn’t about what other people think of you as a mother. It’s about your child/children.

I’ve had friends tell me I’m a good mom and it’s nice to hear. But you know what really makes me think I’ve won an Oscar, Grammy, Tony, and Emmy (basically I feel like Lady Gaga)? When Kennedy tells me out of nowhere, “You’re a good mama... I love you.”

THAT is crushing motherhood.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

(part 2) In fact, I think we might be so similar that sometimes I read your posts in my own voice. You are a wonderful writer (did I already say that? I don't remember) and you seem so pure. I'll be lurking, definitely. Maybe you'll even end up inspiring me to join tumblr and start writing again. - M

I am so sorry! I am just seeing your message. I am so glad my blog speaks to you... thank you! And know you are not alone...

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

I’m Sorry Kimberly (and Kimmie and Kym and Kim...)

I’ve been working on step 9 (amends) for several months now. I’ve been held up by three that I need to make, one of which is to myself.

The reason I’ve been held up by this is because I realized that many of the things I’d be making my amends for I was still doing to myself. And that the crux of step 9 after all.

It isn’t enough to simply say “I’m sorry” for behavior (or a lack of action)... you then have to do the most important next step—stop DOING the behavior!

And I just wasn’t there yet. I knew that I could say sorry, but i wasn’t in a place mentally, emotionally, or spiritually to STOP the behavior.

When I finally mustered the courage and humility to write my amends to myself and send to my sponsor, I was shocked at what I realized.

Many of the things I have held resentment over I actually played a large part in. It’s not that the person who did those things gets a pass... it’s that I allowed it much of the time. I either led them to believe they COULD do those things or didn’t stop them when they happened.

And in realizing that, I felt suddenly freed and cleansed. If allowed it in the past (both long ago and recent past), then I could NOT allow it in the future. I can have a say.

It reminded me of something I recently posted to IG... what you allow is what will continue. And I realized that I have allowed an awful lot of crap in my life... so I shouldn’t be surprised that it continued.

Given this, my living amends, the amends that happens now that I’ve said my “I’m sorry” to myself is that I vow to no longer allow those behaviors that have harmed me in the past, be it behaviors of others or those I do to myself.

While I won’t share my entire amends list, there are several that I think others can benefit from... and ones that I need to see daily (if not hourly) to remind myself of my vow.

Dear Kimberly...

I’m sorry that I allowed you to believe that what you looked like was your largest currency—the idea that your weight, your appearance was what determined your worth.

I’m sorry that I allowed you to think that you had to be a super achiever to be loved, noticed, wanted. I’m sorry that, no matter how much you did and how much you achieved, you never thought it was enough.

I’m sorry that I allowed you to give your body away to boys and men just so you could feel wanted and loved, only to have you end up confused, feeling dirty and often used.

I’m sorry I allowed you to deal with emotional traumas and hurts with truly destructive coping mechanisms, including promiscuity, alcohol, and excess food.

I’m sorry I taught you to never ask for help because you never trusted you’d get it.

I’m sorry I allowed you to second guess your feelings, your intuition, your “gut”, and your heart.

I’m sorry I allowed you to believe that anger and fear and sadness were emotions that were unhealthy and not allowed and something to hide, ignore, rationalize, or simply sweep under the rug, as if they’d magically go away.

I’m sorry you always thought you had to put others’ needs before your own.

I’m sorry I allowed you to treat your body like it somehow didn’t belong to you… I allowed you to do it with food, with purging, with self-mutilation, and with men. I’m sorry I didn’t make you see that your body is, truly, a temple and that you can treat it as such… that it is your right and your goal to treat it gently and lovingly, and that anyone you grant access to it should also treat it that way.

I’m sorry I allowed you (and even lead you) to believe that, when it came to romantic relationships, that you weren’t good enough for good people. That I led you to be attracted to the men who would hurt you. Instead, I allowed you to believe that that WAS what you deserved. You didn’t.

I’m sorry I never helped you know, deep in your marrow, that YOU are the whole package and to hold yourself and conduct yourself and respect yourself in a way that showed you knew that about yourself.

I’m sorry I allowed men to push you, violently threaten you, disrespect you, mentally and emotionally abuse you, to place their hands on your face and throat, to drug you, to assault you… and mostly that I allowed you to accept it by staying in those relationships instead of leaving.

I’m sorry I never taught you healthy coping mechanisms… ways to feel the feelings and to learn to work through them, rather than around them or not at all. I’m sorry you felt you had to numb out the pain rather than deal with it.

I’m sure there are many, many other specific things, but at the heart of all of them, it boils down to my deep sorrow and regret for not showing you (teaching you… allowing you) to love yourself… to respect yourself… to know your worth.

My vow is to work every hour of every day to replace these old ways of thinking with thoughts and beliefs that you are amazing, you are loved, you are loving, that you deserve love and respect, and to show that every day by respecting and loving yourself.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Hero Lessons From Rob Lowe

On May 11th, I had the great pleasure of having a date with Rob Lowe. Actually, I was one of a couple of hundred people who also had a date with him as he spoke at the Strathmore Theater.

I read his book Stories I Only Tell My Friends several years ago, and was even able to talk my tough-guy, “men don’t read about other men” husband into reading it too. After all, we both grew up with Rob, from the Outsiders and St. Elmo’s Fire to Class and Youngblood. Though, truthfully, Masquerade is my favorite of his movies.

And, little known fact, he is the voice of Simba on Kennedy’s favorite show, The Lion Guard on Disney Jr.

I knew from reading his book that Rob (because we are on a first-name basis, having had a date and all...) is very open about his past struggles with addiction. As someone who also deals with addiction, I love that fact that not only does he NOT skirt around the issue, but it is a part of the fabric of his story and one he is happy, willing, and arguably even grateful to share.

A bit more than halfway through the talk, Rob told a few stories about his friendship with Chris Farley, who suffered from drug and alcohol addiction, and I would argue food addiction as well.

As he shared stories about Chris, he also talked about heroes and how important it was to have the “right” heroes. How his heroes were Robert Redford and Paul Newman, while Chris’ hero was (not surprisingly) John Belushi.

I felt an immediate pang and deep, deep understanding as I realized the impact my hero has had on my life.

Marilyn Monroe.

A woman who was idolized and objectified and appeared to be valued primarily for her sex appeal.

A woman who battled with being taken seriously and also meeting expectations as a sex idol.

A woman who every man wanted and every woman wanted to be, yet who was deeply conflicted with who she was, who people thought she was, and who she desperately wanted to be.

A woman who was constantly looking for love outside of herself because her self-love was so limited.

A woman who could easily flit between two personas, dependent upon whom she was with.

A woman who wanted so much to be a mother, arguably to “fix” her disjointed upbringing.

A woman who battled addiction, self-esteem, and self-worth issues.

Wow. Me, me, me, me, me, me, and me... well, maybe not the wanted bit, but definitely the deeply conflicted part.

It made me wonder, do we choose heroes we want to emulate, or do we choose heroes that feel familiar?

I think it’s a bit of both.

Given my love of Marilyn, it’s little surprise that I have been conflicted for much of my life with thinking being desired is the same thing as being loved. That you simply take “it” because that’s how you are wanted and included. That being alone is the worst thing that can happen to you.

That food (or drugs or alcohol or sex) can numb the pain so you can go on living.

Yes, it’s little surprise that Marilyn has been my hero. And it’s even less of a surprise that as I work my recovery, I see the two faces Marilyn had to present and find myself drawn to the quiet Marilyn.

The book reading, romping on the beach, introspective Marilyn.

The Marilyn with the amazing insights like “Fear is stupid. So are regrets.” And “Hollywood is a place where they’ll pay you $1,000 for a kiss and 50 cents for your soul.”

Yes, my heart still resides with Marilyn, but so does my sympathy and understanding. She will always be a hero to me, but one that comes with a caution sign.

Thank you Rob for the incredible lesson.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Grooming Kids, Not Dogs, in #ShowDogsMovie

My five-year-old is obsessed with all things animal. While her clear preference is cats, any furry, four-legged thing will do.

Which is why I was so excited to see a preview a couple of weeks back for kids’ movie called Show Dogs. The premise is that there is a tough guy Rottweiler police dog named Max (voiced by Ludacris) that has to infiltrate a dog show with his handler (Will Arnett).

While the plot sounds eerily like a canine version of Miss Congeniality, I thought Kennedy would love it nonetheless. Thankfully, we’ve never made it to the movie. And here’s why I say thankfully.

According to others who have seen the movie, the plot is much as you’d expect, with Max begrudgingly making his way through the ranks of the dog show in an effort to make it to the finals so he can get the bad guy.

But what you likely wouldn’t expect is the pedophile-like grooming that takes place.

Yes, you read that right…

As Max makes it to the finals, the other show dogs explain to him that, as part of the evaluation, the judges need to fondle, er, inspect, his genitalia. Max is naturally shocked and refuses.

At this point, both Arnell and the other show dogs insist is has to be done, no matter how “awkward” it may seem. And, despite Max’s protests and lashing out, Arnell continues to fondle the dog in an effort to “help” him get used to it. The other dogs even so far as to suggest that Max just let it happen and simply go to his “zen place” while the fondling is going on.

WHAT?!?!?!

So, in a children’s movie, you have a person in authority (Arnell) convincing “someone” that it’s okay for someone else to touch his privates, no matter how uncomfortable and unnatural it may seem. And, worse yet, just close off your mind while it’s happening and try to find your happy place.

I… can’t… even….

As a person who experienced unwanted touching as a child, I find this beyond disturbing.

As a mother, aunt, cousin, and friend, I find this beyond disturbing.

As a citizen of this country, where 1 in 5 girls (20%!!!) and 1 in 20 boys is a victim of sexual abuse, I find this beyond disturbing.

How the hell the writer, director, producer(s), and actors in this movie DIDN’T find this disturbing is beyond me.

It is well documented that nearly 1/3 of all people with eating disorders have experienced abuse in their past… often sexual abuse. And that doesn’t even count those with depression, anxiety, PTSD, and more.

What are we setting our children up for, if we cannot even trust a PG movie (for children in their oh-so tender and vulnerable early teen years) to present integrity and boundaries, rather than a how-to guide for pedophiles.

If you haven’t yet seen this movie, don’t. And if you can make your reasons known for NOT seeing the movie, please do. Hollywood needs to know that this is NOT okay.

And if you have already taken your children to this movie, I beg of you to discuss it with them and explain how Max should have trusted his instincts and not allowed the touching.

No child should ever be made to believe that unwanted touching is something they must endure, whether it’s for laughs in the movie theater or in tears in their bedroom.

Never.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

My 18-Month Labor

On this, my sixth Mother’s Day, I am reminded of the journey I took to become a mother. Of all the times I cringed when I read something about the joys of motherhood that focused on the pregnancy as much as (if not more than) the precious first few days, weeks, and months.

It was as if you had to actually give birth to a child to be a “real” mother.

Now, as anyone who has adopted will tell you, screw that. No... fuck that.

And if I were to have (or when I have had) this conversation with someone, they naturally say, “Oh, of course! Being a mom is about parenting and love” ... and blah blah blah.

Yet the vast majority of endearing blogs and articles on motherhood stress the pregnancy part. The feeling of the baby kick, the months of waiting, the fear and anticipation when your water breaks.

So, for all my fellow mothers who had a baby through adoption, here’s OUR story.  Here’s our kicks, our months (and years!) of waiting, our anticipation when the day arrives that you finally become a mother, and most importantly, our testament to the determination to takes to have a baby.

Happy Mother’s Day fellow adoptive moms! Here’s our blog...

Poking and Prodding. The joy and anticipation of holding that bundle of joy is preceded by the most invasive list of conditions known to man. First there are the exams…physical, mental/emotional, and even financial. Next comes the fingerprints (local, state, and federal) and FBI background checks. After that comes the home visits from the social worker, then child services—who wants to check that you have (of all things) the right kind of locks on your doors—and finally the fire department, who wants to see your fire escape plan from every room in the house, as well as the 50,000 fire extinguishers and escape ladder that are mandatory.

A Picture is Worth... As you present your life story in one 20-page picture book, all you can do is hope you picked the right pictures, the right vacation photo, the right snappy caption for every snapshot. Then the worry sets in—do we seem fun? Do we seem like too much fun? Do we seem excited or desperate? Does our house and lifestyle seem comfortable or do we come across of pretentious and trying too hard? Does my hair look funny in that picture? Oh crap, she will hate my hair!

Excitement and Devastation. Once you finally let go of the profile and it is sent around to agencies and birth mothers across the country, you get phone call after phone call with opportunities…which are then followed by phone call after phone call that they chose someone else or that the adoption fell through. And suddenly you are right back where you were when you were trying to conceive, with loss after loss and failure after failure. All you can do is try, hope, and cry.

Sheer Joy. The Day. The day you learned you were going to be a mother. (Mine was July 12.) You got the call that they chose you. YOU! Of all the profiles in all the world, they chose yours. And, in three, five, seven months, you are going to be a mother. Once again, all you can do is hope and cry.

Holy Shit! Oh…My…God! I’m going to be a mother…in three months. All that prep. All that planning and prodding and poking and here it is. In just three short months, your child will be in your arms. Crap! Do I tell anyone? Do I have a shower? What if it falls through? Do I not have a shower, and just buy the essentials myself—the crib and car seat? What if something goes wrong and I have to walk by that crib day after day. Okay, car seat yes, crib no.

The Call. Of all the moments in my life, be it having my husband propose, getting married, being offered my dream job, or even getting the call my dad died suddenly, nothing will ever compare to our birth mom calling me to tell me Kennedy was here. Please come to Philly. From one simple picture, I was in love like never before.

The First Kiss. The nervousness of walking into that hospital room after a frantic 2 hour drive, preceded by an even more insane packing session (what does one wear to meet their daughter!) when you have no idea how long you will be gone and what the weather is like where you are going! Then the conflicted emotions of meeting your birth mother for the first time (unbelievable gratitude and heartache for her all at the same time), which is quickly overwhelmed by tears that simply will not stop streaming down your face as you hold your daughter in your arms and kiss her sweet face.

And you know, for the first time, why you didn’t get pregnant. Because your child hadn’t been born yet. She just needed you to be a little bit patient because, after all, perfection takes time.

Thank you, Kennedy, for making me a mom. You were so so worth the wait.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Don’t Think You Are a Bully? Hmmm....

There is no question that Kennedy picks up so many nuances from me every day. She has many of my inflections, and many of my little sayings, things I don’t even realize I say until I hear them coming out of her mouth.

And from talking to friends and family, clearly she is no different from any other child…whatever they see us do or say, they are likely to pick up, repeat, and likely adopt into their own little framework of life.

Which is why I am so shocked to see good, God-fearing adults—Parents!—posting images on their Facebook walls that mock or make fun of a person based on how they look. And, more often than not, that person is overweight.

First, what is godly in this behavior? Doesn’t Matthew 25, verse 40 tell us, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” And, doesn’t that apply in the reverse, that whatever you do TO the least of my brothers and sisters, you do to Me.”

Second, and arguably more importantly, what behavior are you modeling for your child? That it’s okay to make fun of people who are different from you. Who may look funny, be overweight, etc. And, worse of all, you are teaching cyber bullying—the most cowardly form, in my opinion.

According to U.S. Legal Definitions, cyber-bullying can be defined as posting rumors or gossip about a person online, with an intent to bring about hatred in others minds. Additionally, they go on to say that cyber bulling may go to the extent of personally identifying victims and publishing materials severely defaming and humiliating them.

Clearly posting pictures of someone that intentionally shows them in a humiliating way and then taking the extra step of mocking the picture in your comments is cyber bulling. And you are putting it out there publicly…and if your children (or nieces or nephews, etc.) are old enough to have Facebook accounts, then they can see your posts.

Then, voila! They have just witnessed you model bullying behavior.

If we are meant to live life in a way that not only honors us, but to model behavior for our children, then that simple post making fun of the fat girl isn’t so simple, is it?

The comment about the person’s skin color or “weird” hairdo or mental disability that we mean to be funny and off-handed is now overheard and likely taken in and possibly repeated by our child. After all, if mommy or daddy said or did it, it must be OK, right?

No…it’s not okay.

As parents, it’s our job is to do our best to mold our children into strong, caring people. People with integrity. And that starts with modeling those very same attributes at home -- and online.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

Accidental Inheritance

A few years ago, my high school friend Heather forwarded me a video she thought I’d like. Every so often I come across it and I’m as struck and moved by it in the moment as I was the very first time I watched it.

It so perfectly encapsulates the subtle—and not so subtle—messages we not only learn from the women in our lives, but from the men as well.

Messages about what it means to be a woman, a wife, a mother, a female walking through this world.

Messages about what it means to consciously and subconsciously take a back seat to the men in your life.

Messages that tell you that you are somehow less important, less of a priority, less worthy, and have a lesser viewpoint than the men.

Here are a few pearls that particularly struck home with me:

“She shrinks the space around her.”

“She wanes while my father waxes.”

“I wonder if my lineage is one of women shrinking, making space for the entrance of men into their lives, not knowing how to fill it back up once they leave.”

“I have been taught accommodation.”

“You [her brother] have been taught to grow out…I have been taught to grow in.”

“I learned to absorb.”

“Picking up all the habits my mother has unwittingly dropped.”

“How much space she deserves to occupy.”

“I asked five questions in genetics class today and all of them started with the word ‘Sorry.'”

“Inheritance is accidental.”

I’ve spent way too much of my life taking a back seat, while never really realizing until now that I gladly sat there in an effort to be included. I’ve spent much too long accepting coming last while everyone around me comes first, and that I only deserves last or even second best.

I do not—and I’ll be damned if I allow Kennedy to ever feel that way.

I’ll be damned if I allow Kennedy to think she has to apologize before speaking her truth, her opinion, her thoughts, her feelings. I don’t ever want her to think she doesn’t deserve the space she occupies.

I don’t want her to think she has to shrink so someone else can grow.

I don’t want her to wane so someone else can wax.

I want to change the course, the dialogue that I’ve allowed to be so ingrained in me. I want her be strong and confident, while also being loving and compassionate.

And, as the poetry slam shows us, I will teach her more through example than words.

If I tell her that she is worthy, but act in an unworthy or undeserving way myself, which message do you think she’ll actually pick up?

If I tell her that girls, that women, have every right to do, say, be…but don’t do, say, or be myself, which message will actually sink in?

This is exactly why I need to think and act in the way I would want my daughter to emulate in her adult, mature life. I have to be the woman I want her to become…because in all likelihood, that’s what will happen.

[confessionsofafoodaddict]

What Are You Prepared to See?

My OA For Today quote is from Ralph Waldo Emerson and reads: “People only see what they are prepared to see.”

It reminds me of step 7 and the lessons on humility. You cannot truly deal with any challenges in your life until you can accept your problems, your struggles, and your role.

All too often we think we see the issue clearly, but we find the answer is beyond us. We aren’t getting ahead at work because our boss is a jerk. We are resentful of our spouse because they are selfish. We are panicked about money because we have too many bills and not enough cash.

We look in the mirror and don’t like what we see because our thighs are too big, our boobs are too small, our wrinkles are too deep, our nose is too wide.

And then comes the “deserving.” We deserve to buy that new purse even though we should save or pay a bill. We deserve to make ourselves feel better with ice cream because we’ve had a tough day.

In all of these areas, we think we are identifying the problem—career, marriage, money, weight—and we think we are also identifying the cause or roadblock to the solution.

But we aren’t. We are not prepared to see the truth.

And the truth is that your boss likely isn’t the reason you aren’t getting ahead at work. And your spouse’s selfishness isn’t the reason you are unhappy in your marriage. and your cash flow isn’t the reason you are panicked about money. And the reflection in the mirror isn’t about weight.

And don’t get me started on the causes or roadblocks.

With career, are you doing what you love or doing what is easy or “necessary”? Are you working hard or just putting in your time?

With your marriage, is there anything you are doing or not doing that is telling your partner that either they don’t matter to you, or worse yet, that YOU don’t matter to you. Are you giving them permission to BE selfish?

With money, have you taken an honest look at your monthly bills and debt to determine if you need to make any adjustments?

With your looks, do you struggle with your actual looks or with how you feel? All too often, we confuse the two. We are really not happy with US, and we project that onto our poor bodies.

And, more importantly, do you need to consider if your life, your job, your marriage, your physicality is unmanageable or if YOU are. Are you, potentially, powerless over food or some other substance?

These are the questions you can only ask if you are prepared to see the real issues. And only then can you truly find the REAL solutions.