I had my third session with my nutritionist today. I've found the sessions to be super helpful and we discuss topics and issues that go far beyond my initial issue. We often have really interesting discussions about body image as well.
My nutritionist is like a therapist for food and body issues. She asks prompts and lets me vent and just talk about food issues, body issues, and anything else slightly related. I never thought that just talking about these issues would be helpful and, even if talking doesn't result in any physical changes, it's been a really good experience. Just being able to open up freely without holding back or worrying about judgment has been so immensely freeing.
Today, my nutritionist shared this wonderful youtube video from the lady who wrote the Vagina Monologues. I must have been in a vulnerable and emotional place because as I watched this during my session, I became all teary-eyed at the beauty and message behind the sentiment.
In case the embedded video doesn't work, google "Love Your Tree."
I've really been trying to focus on loving my body for what it can do rather than what it looks like. This is really hard and I continue to struggle every day. But... baby steps.
On top of letting me talk through my issues, my nutritionist gives me good advice about what I should be putting in my body and how to make myself more healthy.
Today she did a test on me involving a machine that sends a pulse of some magic invisible substance through my body and then spits out my results on a little piece of paper. From this paper, my nutritionist was able to determine the health of my cells, my body fat, and my metabolism. This machine was so freaking cool.
So, the results: because I live off of relatively low amount of calories, my cells are not getting the nutrition that I need. As a result, I have the cells of a 40 year old lady. My cells are ten years older than me! My nutritionist encouraged me to eat more essential fats which will make my cells "younger" and healthier.
I only have 11% body fat. This isn't just "stored body fat" that most people measure, this is TOTAL fat and includes the healthy fat that is needed to protect vital organs and important stuff like that. Apparently, a healthy range of body fat for me would be 18-22 percent. Ooops. While this sounds really awesome to me, it is not healthy. This is entirely my problem. Where I want to be body-wise is not necessarily healthy. It's going to be really hard for me to balance being healthy and happy with my body. Right now, these two things are at odds.
Finally, my metabolism is 1600. This means that, if I do nothing, my body will burn 1600 calories per day. This is how many calories I need for my body to function. Apparently this is a little on the low side but not too bad.
One of the other benefits to nutritional therapy is being able to get a good, objective sense of where I am in terms of health and weight. Women are so harsh and critical of ourselves and I am no exception. Getting an educated, honest opinion is so refreshing and helpful. She's so positive and friendly and caring. I wish I had the courage to do this ten years ago.
Showing posts with label ED. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ED. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Nutritionista
I finally saw a nutritionist for my eating "issue." It felt so good to finally talk about it with someone. And, for the first time in ten years, I feel like I'm on the right path.
We sat down and discussed my issue from all angles and then we went over what I typically eat on a normal day. I told her that while I don't necessarily want to see the number on my scale go down, I feel like I have a pocket of fat in my lower abdomen that never goes away, no matter how much ab work I do and no matter how much I cut back on junk food. I'm not seeking perfection, it's just frustrating to me that all my exercise (5 mile runs four times a week, 4 mile commute walks three days a week, and abdominal circuits) and cutting back on snacks and junk food, has absolutely no effect on my body. I work so hard to eat modestly. Where are my results?!
A little pocket of fat. Big deal right? It's just part of being a mom, isn't it? Permanent residuals from my body doing incredible, amazing things (growing two people). I think I'm ready to chalk it up to "Things I Cannot Change About My Body," specifically in the category of "Gifts From My Children." You know, like my stretch marks, C-section scars,"outie" belly button, and complete lack of boobs. Yay, kids are fun!
Then my nutritionist asked me one question, "when was the last time you felt hungry?" That's a weird question, I thought. But then I really thought about it. When WAS the last time I felt hungry? I couldn't even remember. That answer, my nutritionist said, was the key to unlocking my physiological mystery.
The advice from my nutritionist kind of shocked me. She said that if I wanted to lose fat, I needed to..... EAT MORE. What?! After going through my daily food routine, she said that I was simply not getting enough calories. My body isn't getting enough calories so it is in "starvation" mode and holding on to everything I ingest as a preservation method. Because of this, my metabolism is really low. If I eat more on a daily basis, my body will come out of starvation mode, my metabolism will increase, and my body will stop storing everything.
My homework is simple. Eat 200 more calories a day and see what happens. So far, I'm eating more like 300 more per day and I already feel more energized and satisfied. I'm getting hungry before meals, feeling satisfied after meals, I have fewer cravings for junk food, and...for doing the other "thing," CHSP. Although I was skeptical at first, I feel like it's actually working. It's only been a couple days and I haven't seen any change in my appearance BUT I've noticed a huge change in everything else.
After all this time of struggling, could it really be that the key to my eating disorder is so easy and so...ironic? To eat more? I guess we will see!
We sat down and discussed my issue from all angles and then we went over what I typically eat on a normal day. I told her that while I don't necessarily want to see the number on my scale go down, I feel like I have a pocket of fat in my lower abdomen that never goes away, no matter how much ab work I do and no matter how much I cut back on junk food. I'm not seeking perfection, it's just frustrating to me that all my exercise (5 mile runs four times a week, 4 mile commute walks three days a week, and abdominal circuits) and cutting back on snacks and junk food, has absolutely no effect on my body. I work so hard to eat modestly. Where are my results?!
A little pocket of fat. Big deal right? It's just part of being a mom, isn't it? Permanent residuals from my body doing incredible, amazing things (growing two people). I think I'm ready to chalk it up to "Things I Cannot Change About My Body," specifically in the category of "Gifts From My Children." You know, like my stretch marks, C-section scars,"outie" belly button, and complete lack of boobs. Yay, kids are fun!
Then my nutritionist asked me one question, "when was the last time you felt hungry?" That's a weird question, I thought. But then I really thought about it. When WAS the last time I felt hungry? I couldn't even remember. That answer, my nutritionist said, was the key to unlocking my physiological mystery.
The advice from my nutritionist kind of shocked me. She said that if I wanted to lose fat, I needed to..... EAT MORE. What?! After going through my daily food routine, she said that I was simply not getting enough calories. My body isn't getting enough calories so it is in "starvation" mode and holding on to everything I ingest as a preservation method. Because of this, my metabolism is really low. If I eat more on a daily basis, my body will come out of starvation mode, my metabolism will increase, and my body will stop storing everything.
My homework is simple. Eat 200 more calories a day and see what happens. So far, I'm eating more like 300 more per day and I already feel more energized and satisfied. I'm getting hungry before meals, feeling satisfied after meals, I have fewer cravings for junk food, and...for doing the other "thing," CHSP. Although I was skeptical at first, I feel like it's actually working. It's only been a couple days and I haven't seen any change in my appearance BUT I've noticed a huge change in everything else.
After all this time of struggling, could it really be that the key to my eating disorder is so easy and so...ironic? To eat more? I guess we will see!
Monday, June 3, 2013
Undefeated
For the last two weeks because we had a shortage of people in our office, I agreed to come into work everyday (rather than work my usual two days per week at home). It was a great chance to get a lot of stuff off my desk. (This doesn't mean that I am not productive at home. I'm actually very productive at home. The fact that my boss doesn't come into my office every hour helps. However, there are certain types of things that are hard to do at home. Especially projects that require accessing a lot of physical files.)
Things went well at first. But by the second week, I was a wreck. I was exhausted from waking up at 5:30 every morning after going to bed at or after midnight the night before. I was depressed from only seeing my children one hour each weekday. It didn't help that it was always the hour before bedtime when they are tired and cranky. I was bone-tired from all the walking, and bus-taking, and ferry-riding, and car-driving.
Plus my home was an absolute disaster because I was only there long enough for the kids to take out every toy and for me to throw my clothes all over every free inch of floor space. Laundry piled up. The dishes piled up in the sink (no dishwasher = sadness). The pet fish was forced to skip a meal or two until Jacob eventually found him belly-up in his bowl (we had a lovely toilet-side service for our dear Cinnamon). AND we ate like homeless people who had just been digging through trash bags. One night for dinner Jacob ate three chicken nuggets, a half a bowl of chicken noodle soup, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and the last two baby carrots in the fridge.
During this period of time, our home life was the opposite of wonderful. The downward trend finally peaked on Friday morning when I attended a hearing and the opposing party won their motion. I had thought my briefing was flawless, the case law in my favor, and my arguments impenetrable. I was so confident in this hearing that when I caught opposing counsel reviewing his notes prior to the hearing, I smirked arrogantly to myself, "It's pointless! I already won!"
When the judge ruled in his favor and awarded SANCTIONS, I was sure that she had stopped speaking English for a moment. "What? What did she just say!" I was completely dumbfounded. I had read all the cases and the rules. I did not think there was any basis or precedent for the opposing party to win the motion. My briefing and legal research had been rock solid. Did we even read the same cases? Was I even in the right court room? Is this a dream?
For the entire rest of the day and the entire weekend, I sunk into a pit of despair. I had cost the firm a fair amount of money in sanctions and I still couldn't figure out how it all happened. The dots did not connect. I relived every second of my oral argument over and over, picking apart all the mistakes I must have made. It felt horrible to be so sure of my position and to completely lose on all counts. Are my oral advocacy skills THAT horrible?! Before I knew it, I developed a temporary but deep hatred for litigation and my profession and my career. I was convinced that I just did not have what it takes to do this lawyer crap. In a tantrum-like fit of despair, I scoured employment websites trying to find ANY job for which I was semi-qualified that wasn't law-related. I was all ready to switch careers when my two-day long tantrum slowly dissipated. Apparently, I do not handle losses well.
It turns out, all that despair and tantrum throwing must have stemmed from the larger issue of not having any sleep or family time in the past two weeks. The whole experience really showed me how essential it is to work from home part time. Clearly this arrangement is the only thing keeping me from ending up like Jacob's goldfish- eyes glazed, lifeless, and swirling wildly out of control down the toilet of life.
But today, life (and my love for the law) resurrected itself once again. At 5:30 p.m. after a day full of interesting legal research and outlining dispositive motions (I love those!), I dragged the kids to the park and made them join me in a five mile run. As I pushed my two favorite little people in the jogging stroller across an expanse of painfully bright green grass, I regained my inner peace. Halfway through the run, I was joined by a complete stranger. Together (at 8:00 mile pace!) we chatted about our high school (we both attended the same school but at different times), the teachers we had, and our experiences running track and cross country (she was also coached by my former high school coach!). We chatted about life and work and being a working mommy. She made my run breeze by and I am so thankful for her positivity and encouragement which was received at a much-needed time.
After "our" run, I set the kids loose on the playground. We made friends with a family of three young girls who were accompanied by their dad. The dad and I chatted and laughed and compared notes. Under the glorious sunshine, we watched the kids fling sand at each other, dig holes, build castles, steal shovels, and race across the park. As the dad and I were wrapping up a discussion about the ridiculous expenses of childcare, he happened to casually mention that his wife is a local nutrition counselor who deals with eating disorders. If that wasn't a SIGN then I don't know what is. I've been trying to find a local counselor who handles eating disorders and takes insurance for two weeks and kept coming up empty handed.
We left the park and got home just in time for the kids and I to cuddle on Jacob's bottom bunk and read "Green Eggs and Ham." Ryan laid his head against my chest, clutching his teddy bear desperately under his chin and sat through the entire book. Every time I turned a page, he pointed to the new illustrations with interest which made Jacob laugh hysterically. I tucked the kids in and walked out of their room content with knowing that I had given them just the right amount of attention, affection, and love. That feeling is, more often than not, a rarity for me.
I'm certain that today was my gold-sticker from the Heavens. Today assured me that I'm doing a good job after all, that things are going to be ok, and that the ship that is my life is slowly righting itself after an uncommonly harsh storm. Sometimes, I'm certain that happiness is not so much a feeling or state of mind but a process.
Things went well at first. But by the second week, I was a wreck. I was exhausted from waking up at 5:30 every morning after going to bed at or after midnight the night before. I was depressed from only seeing my children one hour each weekday. It didn't help that it was always the hour before bedtime when they are tired and cranky. I was bone-tired from all the walking, and bus-taking, and ferry-riding, and car-driving.
Plus my home was an absolute disaster because I was only there long enough for the kids to take out every toy and for me to throw my clothes all over every free inch of floor space. Laundry piled up. The dishes piled up in the sink (no dishwasher = sadness). The pet fish was forced to skip a meal or two until Jacob eventually found him belly-up in his bowl (we had a lovely toilet-side service for our dear Cinnamon). AND we ate like homeless people who had just been digging through trash bags. One night for dinner Jacob ate three chicken nuggets, a half a bowl of chicken noodle soup, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and the last two baby carrots in the fridge.
During this period of time, our home life was the opposite of wonderful. The downward trend finally peaked on Friday morning when I attended a hearing and the opposing party won their motion. I had thought my briefing was flawless, the case law in my favor, and my arguments impenetrable. I was so confident in this hearing that when I caught opposing counsel reviewing his notes prior to the hearing, I smirked arrogantly to myself, "It's pointless! I already won!"
When the judge ruled in his favor and awarded SANCTIONS, I was sure that she had stopped speaking English for a moment. "What? What did she just say!" I was completely dumbfounded. I had read all the cases and the rules. I did not think there was any basis or precedent for the opposing party to win the motion. My briefing and legal research had been rock solid. Did we even read the same cases? Was I even in the right court room? Is this a dream?
For the entire rest of the day and the entire weekend, I sunk into a pit of despair. I had cost the firm a fair amount of money in sanctions and I still couldn't figure out how it all happened. The dots did not connect. I relived every second of my oral argument over and over, picking apart all the mistakes I must have made. It felt horrible to be so sure of my position and to completely lose on all counts. Are my oral advocacy skills THAT horrible?! Before I knew it, I developed a temporary but deep hatred for litigation and my profession and my career. I was convinced that I just did not have what it takes to do this lawyer crap. In a tantrum-like fit of despair, I scoured employment websites trying to find ANY job for which I was semi-qualified that wasn't law-related. I was all ready to switch careers when my two-day long tantrum slowly dissipated. Apparently, I do not handle losses well.
It turns out, all that despair and tantrum throwing must have stemmed from the larger issue of not having any sleep or family time in the past two weeks. The whole experience really showed me how essential it is to work from home part time. Clearly this arrangement is the only thing keeping me from ending up like Jacob's goldfish- eyes glazed, lifeless, and swirling wildly out of control down the toilet of life.
But today, life (and my love for the law) resurrected itself once again. At 5:30 p.m. after a day full of interesting legal research and outlining dispositive motions (I love those!), I dragged the kids to the park and made them join me in a five mile run. As I pushed my two favorite little people in the jogging stroller across an expanse of painfully bright green grass, I regained my inner peace. Halfway through the run, I was joined by a complete stranger. Together (at 8:00 mile pace!) we chatted about our high school (we both attended the same school but at different times), the teachers we had, and our experiences running track and cross country (she was also coached by my former high school coach!). We chatted about life and work and being a working mommy. She made my run breeze by and I am so thankful for her positivity and encouragement which was received at a much-needed time.
After "our" run, I set the kids loose on the playground. We made friends with a family of three young girls who were accompanied by their dad. The dad and I chatted and laughed and compared notes. Under the glorious sunshine, we watched the kids fling sand at each other, dig holes, build castles, steal shovels, and race across the park. As the dad and I were wrapping up a discussion about the ridiculous expenses of childcare, he happened to casually mention that his wife is a local nutrition counselor who deals with eating disorders. If that wasn't a SIGN then I don't know what is. I've been trying to find a local counselor who handles eating disorders and takes insurance for two weeks and kept coming up empty handed.
We left the park and got home just in time for the kids and I to cuddle on Jacob's bottom bunk and read "Green Eggs and Ham." Ryan laid his head against my chest, clutching his teddy bear desperately under his chin and sat through the entire book. Every time I turned a page, he pointed to the new illustrations with interest which made Jacob laugh hysterically. I tucked the kids in and walked out of their room content with knowing that I had given them just the right amount of attention, affection, and love. That feeling is, more often than not, a rarity for me.
I'm certain that today was my gold-sticker from the Heavens. Today assured me that I'm doing a good job after all, that things are going to be ok, and that the ship that is my life is slowly righting itself after an uncommonly harsh storm. Sometimes, I'm certain that happiness is not so much a feeling or state of mind but a process.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Step One: I Have An Eating Disorder
I've been hiding a part of me for nearly a decade. Ten years of struggling. I'm terrified to share it now. I haven't told a single soul. But the deeper this secret lies, the easier it is to pretend that everything is normal.
I've spent ten years going out of my way to hide this. So it's very hard to finally share it. For that reason, I've hesistated pushing the "publish" button on this post. I'm afraid for people to know. Afraid of what they will think. I'm also ashamed. And afraid of disgust. All these years I've shrouded myself in a falseness. And all I really want now is to be the person that people think I am. If you know me in real life, please keep my not-so-secret as I slowly come to terms with this whole thing.
I have an eating disorder. It took me ten years to admit that because, until recently, I had convinced myself that it was no big deal. I'm not anorexic. I'm not bulemic. I do something much more disgusting. It's so absolutely ridiculous that it's hard to even type.
I chew food and spit it out. Like, lots of food. Candy mostly. Chocolate. Cookies. I've perfected this skill. Even worse, I've perfected the art of hiding this skill. I can do this in pure daylight. In the middle of a public space. In one sitting, I can spit my way through 36 granola bars, an incredibly large bag of chocolate, or an entire box of cookies. Or, on particularly bad days, all three. I do it until my tongue is raw and my jaw is sore. I fill plastic bags full of spit-up food and then go out of my way to hide them until I can dispose of them in secret. I do this nearly every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. For almost ten years.
I'm not sugar coating anything. It's as disgusting as it sounds. And there are no excuses.
Why? I don't know. I'm not depressed or anxious. I am happy about my life. I am generally happy about my appearance, although a little frustrated about the permanent squish hovering around my belly button (thank you my beautiful children, you are well worth it). I don't have any other eating disorders. I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I eat plenty. I eat anything. Although I maintain a general idea of my daily calorie consumption I don't count calories or obsess over them. I enjoy cake at parties. I drink beer and wine during happy hour. I don't make myself throw up if I think I eat too much. I don't over exercise. The rest of me is generally healthy.
So why this? Why? I don't know. I think I do it because, well, I LIKE to. In the past ten years, I've never really wanted to stop. Well maybe I've tried to stop here or there. But in the span of just two hours I would convince myself that I need it and I like it and it's not bad. I always tell myself that I can stop if I want to, it's just a matter of wanting to. But maybe that's the problem. I can't stop because I can't convince myself I want to stop.
This is why I'm afraid of people finding out about my secret. If people know I do this, then it will be harder to hide it and then I won't be able to do it. My worst nightmare is the fear of not having any candy or chocolate in the house when an attack hits me. And so I stock pile it. And when junk food is in the house, I cannot help myself. It's a self-fulfilling cycle.
I never started thinking about how serious this was until recently. One day I was listening to an ad on the radio for substance abuse/addiction counseling. The description of the alcoholic portrayed in the ad fit me perfectly. Excuses. Shame. Secretive behavior. Inability to control both my actions and what I desire. It was a wake up a call. I am an alcoholic. Just with food. I have a problem. It controls my life.
Why am I telling everyone this? I dont know. What will people think? I don't know that either. I know what I would think: What makes an apparently fully functioning person who is a wife, a mom, and a lawyer, engage in this type of crazy behavior. How can someone who is supposed to be educated and a role model and make good life decisions constantly choose to do someting like this?
It's scary to let go of a secret you've kept and fought to hide for nearly ten years. And I'm pretty sure that most people don't even know about this type of eating disorder. I didn't even know it was an actual thing until I Googled it tonight- it is called, not so shockingly, Chewing and Spitting or CHSP. Where do I go from here? Will I ever have the courage to tell people who are close to me face to face. Those closest to me and who do not read this blog (i.e. most people in my life) still will not know about it.
All I know is that this really is an illness and that I have a long road ahead of me. This post is just Step One. And it's time to really do something.
I've spent ten years going out of my way to hide this. So it's very hard to finally share it. For that reason, I've hesistated pushing the "publish" button on this post. I'm afraid for people to know. Afraid of what they will think. I'm also ashamed. And afraid of disgust. All these years I've shrouded myself in a falseness. And all I really want now is to be the person that people think I am. If you know me in real life, please keep my not-so-secret as I slowly come to terms with this whole thing.
I have an eating disorder. It took me ten years to admit that because, until recently, I had convinced myself that it was no big deal. I'm not anorexic. I'm not bulemic. I do something much more disgusting. It's so absolutely ridiculous that it's hard to even type.
I chew food and spit it out. Like, lots of food. Candy mostly. Chocolate. Cookies. I've perfected this skill. Even worse, I've perfected the art of hiding this skill. I can do this in pure daylight. In the middle of a public space. In one sitting, I can spit my way through 36 granola bars, an incredibly large bag of chocolate, or an entire box of cookies. Or, on particularly bad days, all three. I do it until my tongue is raw and my jaw is sore. I fill plastic bags full of spit-up food and then go out of my way to hide them until I can dispose of them in secret. I do this nearly every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. For almost ten years.
I'm not sugar coating anything. It's as disgusting as it sounds. And there are no excuses.
Why? I don't know. I'm not depressed or anxious. I am happy about my life. I am generally happy about my appearance, although a little frustrated about the permanent squish hovering around my belly button (thank you my beautiful children, you are well worth it). I don't have any other eating disorders. I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I eat plenty. I eat anything. Although I maintain a general idea of my daily calorie consumption I don't count calories or obsess over them. I enjoy cake at parties. I drink beer and wine during happy hour. I don't make myself throw up if I think I eat too much. I don't over exercise. The rest of me is generally healthy.
So why this? Why? I don't know. I think I do it because, well, I LIKE to. In the past ten years, I've never really wanted to stop. Well maybe I've tried to stop here or there. But in the span of just two hours I would convince myself that I need it and I like it and it's not bad. I always tell myself that I can stop if I want to, it's just a matter of wanting to. But maybe that's the problem. I can't stop because I can't convince myself I want to stop.
This is why I'm afraid of people finding out about my secret. If people know I do this, then it will be harder to hide it and then I won't be able to do it. My worst nightmare is the fear of not having any candy or chocolate in the house when an attack hits me. And so I stock pile it. And when junk food is in the house, I cannot help myself. It's a self-fulfilling cycle.
I never started thinking about how serious this was until recently. One day I was listening to an ad on the radio for substance abuse/addiction counseling. The description of the alcoholic portrayed in the ad fit me perfectly. Excuses. Shame. Secretive behavior. Inability to control both my actions and what I desire. It was a wake up a call. I am an alcoholic. Just with food. I have a problem. It controls my life.
Why am I telling everyone this? I dont know. What will people think? I don't know that either. I know what I would think: What makes an apparently fully functioning person who is a wife, a mom, and a lawyer, engage in this type of crazy behavior. How can someone who is supposed to be educated and a role model and make good life decisions constantly choose to do someting like this?
It's scary to let go of a secret you've kept and fought to hide for nearly ten years. And I'm pretty sure that most people don't even know about this type of eating disorder. I didn't even know it was an actual thing until I Googled it tonight- it is called, not so shockingly, Chewing and Spitting or CHSP. Where do I go from here? Will I ever have the courage to tell people who are close to me face to face. Those closest to me and who do not read this blog (i.e. most people in my life) still will not know about it.
All I know is that this really is an illness and that I have a long road ahead of me. This post is just Step One. And it's time to really do something.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)