This past rainy weekend was very lazy, I stayed in my pajamas and
didn't go out all day. I listened to much of an audio book “The Girl on the Train” as I worked at my desk in my
kitchen. I’ve been pondering what I should
blog about. I know that making it
personal grabs people’s attention and keeps it more than just writing about
facts or impersonal things, but I have trouble sharing about myself. I think I
am not very interesting.
Then I remember about an unfinished text conversation about
my battle with infertility with my neighbor who is struggling with the emotional and physical battle
too. I just wrote out my notes to the moms I mentored this semester at church.
I loved sharing my time and mom story with them and they seemed to enjoy it
as well. And there’s the Brave social media I buzzed about, processing post
conference ideas, following up with my own brave art journal. I could share my menu and grocery shopping
list techniques, I'm proud I figure this system out for myself. I could share my parent
success while helping my daughter through her bought of depression (now that she is in a good place.)
I’ve promised to share my eating blog along with a friend in a
blog next year, after our successful weight loss. It scares me to admit it publicaly, but I am
a food addict. I’m opening up to my friend
and therapist about it and they are helping me face it and deal with it.
I will make an appointment to talk to a dietician, my
daughter’s whom I really respect. She
deals with eating disorders. She knows
how to ask the right questions and educate addicts. I’ve realized
that being an addict to food is really tough to work through because we must
eat daily and cannot give it up like alcohol or drugs, which we do not need to
live. And my battle against it is as difficult, and the harm to myself is significant.
Like everyone, I need accountability to
motivate me to make better food choices. I’ve
gotten into bad eating habits, rewarding myself for being a nice and generous
person. But have not had any
accountability for my poor eating choices, other than an eye roll from my
husband or the concerned lecture from my dad.
(Mom and I in Vegas in March)
