So as I do this weight loss journey, which apparently has become more of a “rest stop” as the weight remains the same (260-261.8) like forever, I’ve focused on why I eat.
I got the exercise pretty good. I’m focusing on why I eat.
I am so affected by emotions. Boredom, avoidance, angry, are all good reasons to eat. If I want to avoid a chore, I eat. If I am bored, which is rare, I eat. If I’m angry, I eat. (But I feel like the Hulk in “The Avengers” movie. They said they needed him to get angry. He says, “Oh, I’m always angry”. I must be too, because I eat a lot.
Growing up in an Italian home, it was quite common to eat out of guilt. “Oh, don’t you like my cooking?” “Only one piece of cake? I made it because I know you like it”. You get the picture.
I spent a lot of my childhood trying to please my dad. I was the youngest of five and he introduced me as his “generation gap”. Term of endearment I’m sure.
Everything I tried to please him didn’t work. Football? He says, “You’ll quit”, and I did because I didn’t want to play, but I figured he’d be happy.
He rarely came to my sporting events, never complimented me on good things I did, even when I lost weight earlier in life he said, “It’s probably all water”. Thank you Mr. Encouragement.
Everyone liked my dad. He was funny, and was a great harmonica player. But I could never please him, so I quit trying. It was very freeing, as I was just being me. A hippie, which I’m not sure now if it was just to tick him off that I grew my hair so long.
I think he tried hard with my siblings, but just got tired with me. I was tired of him also. He was a hard worker, working in the steel mill for over 35 years, always kept a garden, and was told he worked 3 jobs when I was a baby.
I think that’s why I was fat growing up. Food satisfied my emptiness inside. The longing for a relationship with my dad. A good excuse to eat. This is no lie, I would eat 8 (yes, eight) pieces of toast for breakfast at 10 a.m. and eat lunch at noon. Why? Because it was noon. You eat lunch at noon.
When I came to Christ at age 28, that void of needing a father was filled by God. It didn’t matter that my dad would mock me about my religion……or weight……or clothing…..or, well, you get it. It was still painful but it didn’t matter. I focused on Psalm 139, where God tells me “I’m fearfully and wonderfully made”. I still believe I am because He says so.
I see where I get some bitterness from and am still an emotional eater. But I am able to recognize my emotions, and sometimes I’m successful in abstaining, other times, bring on the buffet! But it’s a journey.
My dad passed away 9 years ago. I officiated his funeral. My family fought over who got the flowers. And you know what? I loved him.
But I couldn’t cry at his funeral. I just couldn’t. I just left and ate a lot of pasta.


One Response

  1. Hi, just wanted to say, I loved this article. It was practical.
    Keep oon posting!

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