Not Bing cherries. The sound, “Bing!” Sort of like a bell going off in my head. An aha moment. Instead of the taunting ha-ha moment when the dust settles after a binge. Continue reading “Bing vs. Binge”
This is a phrase a dearly departed friend of mine used to say when things seemed messed up beyond belief. And it might be the most apt description of some of my thoughts last week. (I didn’t get back to this post until a week or more later than I started it). I’m just going to add to it, though. Because I think it is telling.) Continue reading “Explosion in a Spaghetti Factory.”
I’ve been working on a closet project. The calendar shows the season of fall is here, but there seems to be a hang up in the weather. (High eighties and humid.) So whether or not to put the summer clothes away and move into fall and winter is the question. Hang? er not? I started the transition, but my closet needed a clean out.
The answer for my closet project last week was to get rid of the excess hangers, or as I like to call them sometimes, hang-ups. I think that could be a good way to approach major projects in general (is that a colonel of wisdom?).
What is the hang up? Can I just toss it out? Or at least remove it to a different place so I can move forward with this particular goal? Will it be useful again? Or is it time to pitch it? It’s a home run-down if I hang onto hangups that don’t work for me. (This goes for clothes I just don’t like or don’t wear, as well as the metal, wood, or plastic devises that keep them on the closet rod.)
Which leads me to the idea of hangups offending (off-ending, or messing up a goal). I think I’m onto something big. Sometimes hang ups get tangled together. Reach for one and it doesn’t come clean. Or it brings out a bunch and makes a mess. Better to keep the hangups to a minimum, I think.
But back to the closet. I like the idea of the closet being a place of change. It’s easier to change if there’s not a lot of clutter, including hangups, in the way. This is a multi-level thought that I want to ponder for awhile. It may seem like I’ve already pun-dered it to death, but I think I need to think about it until I get to the “oh” moment. That may be the key to changing the “mom meant” to do something to try-umph.
Writing my thoughts has been a big part of me changing my paradigm about how I eat. It may seem like a hangup to need write about things, but I find it helps me keep order. Sometimes I write to distract myself from eating between meals. Other times, I write to explore my thoughts from a different angle.
Originally, I shared my thoughts on the Weight Watchers community blog site. I was using the Weight Watchers online tracking tools along with some sugar addiction management rules to try to get some control over my health. (I had some hang-ups about my Weight Watchers meeting room memories.) I lost a lot of weight, got rid of some hang ups, and I gained a support group.
With the encouragement of a lot of people, I published a book from my Weight Watchers blogging experience. It’s helped me when I’ve gone back and remembered how I used to be (obese and unhealthy) and how I changed. I’ve had positive feedback to let me know that sharing my thoughts has helped others in their journeys.
Weight Watchers discontinued the blogging site last year and I started blogging more (e’en) here. I’ve also tried to use Weight Watchers Connect. I’ve had ups and downs with my addiction management. I think that has to do with life. I haven’t gone back to eating sugar, but I struggle with eating between meals as an emotional or stress reaction. (Food does provide a fleeting measure of relief, but it’s too close to self medication or using drugs for this addict.)
I don’t write as often as I used to. Perhaps I’ve accumulated some hang-ups along the way? It’s a continual process. Working on, or in, the closets. Seeking to change. For the better. It’s worth it.
PS. I’ve had a lot of requests to publish a cookbook. But I’ve also had a lot of hang-ups about doing it. The project seemed way to big for me. A special deal for free extra pages in photo books with Shutterfly helped me get past one hangup: I needed to see what I could do without spending a huge amount of money.
I put together my first attempt at a cookbook last week. Soon, I’ll have a physical book I can work from. I’ll be able to see what works and what doesn’t. I’ll be able to see what quality pictures I need. I’ll be able to get feedback about how to organize the recipes and what else I can include. I think this book will toss out a lot of hangups, too. What has seemed impossible may just turn out to be I’m Possible again. The I’m Possible Chef.
Or Actually, I Can!
If you read this blog, you know I took a trip at the end of summer. I did really well with managing my sugar addiction until about a week (or a weak) after I got home. I am not amused by the fall into grazing, but I’m a bit amused by the play on words.
The thing about falls, though, is they don’t have to last a long time. You can get up again, or the season changes. For example, when we were in Wyoming, the leaves were starting to turn yellow and fall. Since we left, they’ve had snow in the mountains and expect snow this weekend on the high plains where our daughter and son in law live. Yes it’s not so much fall anymore. It’s beginning to look a lot like winter. And it’s September.
But the thing with my fall after the trip, is that I got up again. Fairly quickly, even though it wasn’t immediate. (Well, I meaned I ate a lot between meals, first). This morning, after having thought about it for a couple of weeks, I dressed in running clothes, laced on my sneakers and went for a run. I ran the first mile and a half to where the sidewalk ends. Because I wanted to look at a giant bird a little closer, I slowed down to a walk and stepped off the sidewalk to see a great blue heron sitting on a dock sunning itself. I walk and ran the mile and a half back to my car and kept my overall pace under a 13 minute mile. I call that fall a prelude to winner.
Upon my return home, I could see that the seed bread I’d started before my run had risen over the edge of the mixing bowl. It didn’t fall. I punched it down and set it to loaf. No running over for that dough. Whoever eats it will feel like a winner based on the reactions to previous loaves of this hearty seed, nut, and oatmeal bread. I used to eat it toasted with butter. I still enjoy the memory of it paired with two perfectly fried eggs for breakfast. I know, from experience, that a memory is much safer for me than actually eating it anymore. It’s a little hard to comprehend. But I’ll just say, for me, eating that bread is a prelude to a plummet. And I’m not talking about jam. Well, maybe I am. Jammed senses ripe for an addiction binge.
I’m in the midst of baking biscotti for my father-in-law’s birthday. He’s 86 today and he enjoys eating biscotti. I enjoy making it. I’d call that a prelude to win-win.
There’s the timer. I must be running along. Some of this post is a bit of a stretch, but that’s okay. It pairs well with running.
This was hanging from the umbrella over my deck table last week. I’m not sure how big a spider’s eyes are, but I’m thinking I spied her before she spidered me. I didn’t walk into her web anyway.
We took pictures and my friend named her Georgianna Devouschez. The spelling probably isn’t correct on her last name, but since this isn’t her birth or death record, it probably won’t mess up any geneologists.
Georgianna Devouschez sounds like a convoluted French fry of the phrase “of your house”. I don’t know if you have any of these spiders at your house, but I don’t think female orb spiders are very dangerous except to little flies and the male orb spider. We saw a male spider making his way towards her in the afternoon one day, but the next morning he wasn’t to be found. Poor François. We think he met his match and flamed out.
I had to close the umbrella yesterday because of a tropical storm watch. I don’t think I harmed Georgianna, but her web is down. She was actually huddled on the underside of the umbrella before I closed it. For some strange reason, I was extra gentle when I put the cord around the furled fabric. Maybe it’s because I remember reading the Weekly Reader book, Be Nice to Spiders, as a child?
Anyway, the more important part of this experience is my thought of “spied her”. Closet eating is a major problem for sugar addicts. Even if actual sugar isn’t a problem for me, I know I’m in the clutches of addiction when I’m eating things between meals: out of sight, out of mind, into mouth. I did really well when I was on vacation in Wyoming and Colorado earlier this month. And I did really well for the first week back at home. And then I went Nutzo.
Really. I picked some up at Costco after having said I couldn’t buy it for my pantry again because it’s like crack. No sugar added, but there’s something about it that cries, “More!” E’en when I haven’t finished chewing and savoring the blend of seven nuts and seeds that are several flights above crunchy all natural peanut butter. I had bought some for my daughter and son in law in Wyoming. I thought it would be nice and safe to have it there mixed in with my Cream of the West cereal in the morning.
I don’t know if it really was the Nutzo that set me off, or if it was a combination of a few stressors that I didn’t handle in the optimal way. Or maybe putting together a cookbook in a few hours was too much. But, whatever. Living with sugar addiction is a part of my life and in coming across that spider, I wondered if I just could think “spied her” in moments of temptation I might stay aware and care enough to say a firm NO to the whining of the addiction.
It’s really important that I am aware and accept that I really do have a problem when I eat between meals whether it’s protein or not. (I think I convinced myself that Nutzo was okay because it was protein. But I’m now convinced that the circle of addiction can take advantage of any wedge and throw a pie in my face.) Part of my sugar addiction management is to have start and stop times to my eating. Because that works for me in The I’m Possible Journey.
The idea of in private or secret is a sham because my body is taking precise note of it all. It’s a shame when I just don’t want to acknowledge that. But now I have. (Body aches and pains and, for full disclosure, my clothes started dissing me.) Again. And it’s okay. There are ups and downs to many things and this is no exception.
I’m here with my eyes open. And I spied her. Things are looking up.
Sometimes this blog feels like the same old, same old. And with a birthday a few days ago, it might seem like same older. But I see this place as new. New opportunities. New beginnings. Or new continuings.
I’ve proven that renewing my Awareness, Acceptance and Adapting, related to my sugar addiction, keeps my MAPS up to date. Motivated And Positively Sugarfree. It keeps me going in the right direction. Continue reading “Re: New”
This morning I did a search for a phrase in my blog collection. I was was wondering if I had ever written a piece about Fat Her’s Day. For some reason, this post showed up.
Source: Comfort. A Peace of my Mind.
Feel free to click the link and read it. Or just keep reading here. I’m not really sure why that one matched, but I’m glad it did. It helped me recognize that I have been numbing with food for a few days. It’s not comfort. It’s numbing. Just masking discomfort. Continue reading “Comfort. A Peace of my Mind. Better than Fat Her’s Day. “