Calm and Bright

I woke first to the sound of C crying, but have learned to trust that his needs will be met. Sure enough, I soon hear the little patter of his feet going down the hall to the bathroom.  Then it is my turn in the loo, and afterwards I head to the living room to turn off the porch light that had been streaming in through my bedroom window. Bypassing the little kitchen, I go back to bed and settle in to await sleep.

My second trip to the loo was a few hours later, and this time back in bed I felt 'awake', and snuggled in to arrange myself in the most relaxed and perfect pose I could manage. This is an old habit from childhood, where I knew that if I was lying in the perfect position, then...what, my dreams would come true? My wishes would be fulfilled? I can't recall exactly my objective other than these whimsical half formed ideas of 'things being better'. I can only assume this was a defense against the abuse of power I had been subjected to, this fantasy life that I so easily slipped into using ritual. I can look back and see it now, that at the time it was a creative solution to a seemingly impossible situation.

I spend a minute this morning seeking that part of me who was so courageous in putting up a defense against someone she loved. And I forgive her for the small acts of defiance; eating a bottle of aspirin, writing swear words on the bathroom wall in lipstick, then lying about it. I have never felt bad about the lying part, standing in front of parents who couldn't protect me and denying my acts of rebellion. I never pointed fingers until my sister needed an ally when I was in my twenties, and then I called my mother, and wrote my brother a letter, both times telling a small part of my story and making it clear they all had a duty to support my sister in any effort she required to help bring peace to her life. Because while I had gone on to marry and raise a family, she had spent her life in therapy.

In retrospect, food was my therapy. Like Elsa in Frozen, I had learned to hide away at a young age, keeping  myself small so as to not attract attention, and covering up my emotions with food. I tried running away once in my teens, and at the age of 19 I did finally leave home and move North where I would end up making a new life for myself. First to Berkeley, then San Francisco, then back across the bay to Pleasant Hill, and finally to settle in Livermore. Where I have been now for over 37 years. Years of battling weight gain, years of ignoring the physical signals of distress, years of failed battles, failed relationships, and finally the death of a child. And through it all I ate, the bread and butter of my youth remaining my faithful companion through it all.

I'm not sure why all of this is coming to the surface this morning. What I wanted to say was that I made myself comfortable in hopes of falling back asleep, and then breathed through the temptation to snack. Deep cleansing breaths, while I gently reminded myself that I was not going to eat. Followed by a more stern, " I am not going to eat tonight!" And I didn't. Waking for the third time I was relieved to have made it through the night and basked in the warmth of my bed as I fell back asleep for the last hour of rest.

I know, or at least I hope, that as I continue to lose weight I will also lose the wakeful nights. I could so use a solid night's sleep.

I am calm after a Bright night, my breakfast of beans, rice & cheese this morning was delicious, and my meals are planned for the rest of the day. One day at a time I will do this. And for the days I might fail, I have already forgiven myself. And for the days I might succeed, I gently reassure myself that this too will be okay; I do not need to be afraid. I am no longer a child that has to hide and make herself small inside a protective fat suit.