Since it's September still, and I've only written one post, I figured I should do another, and here it goes.
You may be familiar with my never ending struggle with food. I love it. I hate it. It loves me. It hates me. It's a problem, basically. I used to have this idea that if I ate one giant meal at the end of the day, it was okay, because since I hadn't eaten anything for the rest of the day, this would make up for it. This is not the case, friends. And then I said to myself, self, it's time to make a change.
And then I ate crackers and carrots for a whole day and nearly died trying to walk up some stairs. Friends, this is not the way to do it either. Unless you have super powers, saltines and carrots will not give you the power to survive.
During the week, I don't really have time to think about food. I wake up, I run to work (no breakfast, I'm super healthy), I see group after group of children with speech and language problems, I maybe have a meeting or two in there. Sometime around 11 I manage to shove some amalgamation of food in my mouth that I packed hurriedly (spell check doesn't think that's a word. Is it?) that morning, then more groups, and then I am off to a daycare, or to my office to see more kids. Around 6 or 6:30 I arrive at home, too tired to truly put effort into dinner, and I end up eat chips, or a can of soup. And then I am trying to go to bed. On the weekends, this is when I start to think about food, and I start to dislike it. Food makes me unhappy, because really, my relationship with food feels like the root of my problems. I am fat because I eat too much. I eat too much because I am unhappy. Eating doesn't make me feel good, so why do I eat when I am unhappy? Occasionally, of course, it swings the other way, and I am so unhappy that I never want to eat, and I decide that I will survive on lettuce and Chobani.
And this is where we get into the part where food hates me. If I eat anything that has too much fat, I may have a galbladder attack (which means no creamy pasta, which is the love of my life). If I eat too much food, I will inevitably feel sick and/or have a galbladder attack. If I eat too late, I will work myself up into feeling anxious and possibly either make myself sick or I will actually be sick. It's a fine line I walk.
I know, intellectually, that the way to eat healthy involves eating smaller meals, and eating snacks during the day. Eating plenty of protein, little fat, and moderate carbohydrates. I know these things. These are not things I need to be told (again).
Sometimes I think that I would do well on one of those diets where they say "here, eat this meal, and then no more for you until your next meal."It's unfortunate that they cost something like $300 a month.
I'm not sure where this post was meant to go. Probably it doesn't have any deeper meaning, but maybe it lets you know more about the me that I don't like to tell people about.
x-posted to Kirsten and Cari Lose It.