the nineties and food plan again

It’s been a little while since I’ve written, but it’s not because I’m hiding.  I’m actually…well, living–abundantly.  I wrote that last sentence twice just now, deleting and re-typing and deleting and re-typing and tweaking and fretting.  Yeah, there was a little bit of fret there, just the tiniest bit of “well, let’s not sound too happy…this is a blog about disease…can’t make it too cheery…yep, I’m a bit ashamed of this joy I’m feeling…”  Uh, what?  This isn’t a blog about disease or eating disorders or sickness or suffering.  This is a blog about recovery.  About Experience, Strength, and Hope.  RECOVERY.  I’m recovering now!  It’s amazing!  Can you believe it?!

I reached 90 days of abstinence from bingeing this past weekend (imperfectly, of course, there were a couple frightening slips and some periods of unquestionable messiness–my sponsor says that’s how you have to start, that IS progress, these things take time, the Big Book says “relax and take it easy,” I say “how can I beat myself up about this some more??”  And that’s my dis-ease.) and.  And.  AND!

Day 89 was so hard.  So hard.  The urge to abandon ship was monstrous.  I was craving self-sabotage in any way, shape, or form.  I said, “That’s it.  It’s home with a pint of ice cream for me,” when none of my friends could hang out.  A Friday night alone.  But then I went home, did some work, and went to bed.  A miracle.

Day 90 was cool.  Went to a meeting.  Got a (green!) 90-day chip and a hug from a fellow.  Worked with my Sponsor in the Big Book.  Had a performance.  An impromptu dinner date.  Saw a movie with a friend.  I relaxed and took it easy.

And so it goes.  Yesterday, Day 93, was especially tough.  I was going to this event, a friend’s work event, and things got a little messy.  There was a cocktail hour with hors d’oeuvres and desserts.  I didn’t know there was going to be food there.  I had eaten my dinner–a small one, but still.  And dessert–not so small.  I ended up having some more food–a bit of salad, 3 tiny amuse bouches and some more sugar.  It wasn’t a perfect night.  But it didn’t end up with me alone on my couch eating even more.  It ended up with me, this morning, in a chair in a meeting.  And my sponsor says that’s abstinence.

***

I’m still, still, still trying to nail down a food plan that works for me.  But I’m realizing that maybe nailing it down isn’t the right way to go about it.  Planning out everything and following it to a T isn’t a healing food plan for me, it’s just not.  It’s what I did when I was restricting in my disease.  So that’s out.  But this morning, I was thinking about the word plan.  Food “plan.”  Planning doesn’t have to be so Upper-East-Side, so Type A, so anorectic.  Right?  Planning is part of any day.  And how often do I make my plans and see them turn out exactly the way I expect them to?  Actually, almost never.

I heard a friend in a meeting recently say, “Life is a beautiful combination of God’s plans for us and our own choices.”  It’s God’s plan, not ours.  But we make choices.

And obviously I choose what I eat and how I eat.  This is the food plan.  More like food guidelines, food choice.  Food structure.  And I have a general structure.  It keeps me from eating all my food for the day before 11 AM.  I have until 9 for breakfast, between 10 and 11 for a morning snack if I’m hungry or if I want it (can’t say I’m abstinent from compulsive eating, people.  I’m abstinent from bingeing, though, honest-to-goodnessly), between 11 and 3 for lunch, between 2 and 5 for an afternoon snack–yes, these times overlap.  But every day is different and this is what (I think) works for me–and anytime after 5 for dinner.  I eat sugar.  I eat flour.  For now, I am unwilling to risk the relapse I’ve seen happen to me after I put those things down.  I aim for about as much food as will fit in two pairs of cupped hands, which is something I learned from my Ayurvedic teacher.  When I buy desserts, I only buy as much as I am comfortable eating all at once.  I rarely eat chemicals but I try not to freak out if I do.  If I feel myself freaking out, I don’t omit it, because I know my disease is telling me to restrict.  I breathe and tell myself it will be okay.  I eat with self care in mind.  Actual self care.  Not bag-of-chips-in-front-of-the-TV kind of self care.  I try to pause before and after eating.  I don’t start washing my dishes if I’m still chewing.  I try to sit down to eat.  I try.  Trying is my food plan, and loving myself no matter what.  Not beating myself up afterward, no matter what.

Not beating myself up afterward, no matter what.