Here’s the raw truth about why I overate…
Despite loathing over the growing mounds of fat on my body and the loneliness I felt as strangers walked by me as if I was invisible, I ate those bowls of Moose Track ice-cream because I was miserable in my marriage, powerless over what I could do to improve it and ashamed that I allowed such rage to be expressed between my ex and I in front of my son.
I ate those bag of tortilla chips with the container of salsa as I watched Desperate Housewives because I was so deeply angry and blaming of everyone who I believed to have done me wrong – my father for abusing me; my mother for abandoning me; all the guys in my past who had “used” me, my ex-husband for demeaning me and my God for creating the whole damn mess.
I inhaled Cheetos, Chips A-Hoy cookies and my kids Halloween, Christmas and Easter candies, as I lay in bed drinking a few glasses of wine and reading my 127th self-help book, because I was terrified of being on my own. I knew I was hiding behind my role as a mom to avoid having to get back into the work world. I even wanted to adopt a little girl so I could give my son a sibling but also (mainly) to allow me more time to remain within the secure walls of my home. I was so deeply terrified that I would fail in anything outside of being a mom.
And so day after day, year after year, I hid behind food and found safety in the sweets, the crunchiness, the saltiness, the creaminess, the forbiddingness of it all. I hated my life but was too afraid to take a step.
This is the nitty gritty of why I overate. How about you?
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