Weight & my addiction expressed through food

As I dug through the 'man drawer', past the string and scissors an weird things that we never use, the superglue and the sewing stuff, I remembered something that hasn't crossed my mind in 35 years.  Weigh-ins.  In the military I sometimes had the job of conducting weigh-ins for my fellow soldiers who exceeded the weight limits for their height.  And toward the end of my military career I too was subjected to the dreaded experience.  Coming into the office in shorts and a t-shirt.  Raising my arms while the training sergeant got a little closer than is comfortable so they can wrap the tape measure around my waist.  I'd done this to others, and it's awkward.  It's embarrassing.  You have to line up the tape measure around the widest part of your waist, your belly, your fat.  Then pull it to get rid of the slack without squeezing.  Taking note of the measurement, I think we repeated the process three times and took the average number in case our readings varied a bit. 

I hated this.  Taking my shirt off is something else I have always hated.  Going in the swimming pool or ocean, I would rather not.  Or quickly get under water so I don't have to look at myself or think of others seeing my disgustingly fat belly.

At a breath-work event last month we were all lying on the floor, looking up, breathing in unison as directed by the leader.  We were preparing to feel emotional, to cry, to even scream at the end on his command (weird!) but when he instructed us to inhale deeply and into our bellies, I was distracted and unable to relax when considering filling my belly with every breath and letting it be the size it would naturally be.  I was trying to get out of my head, the point of the event, but that's the thought that dogged me--my belly.  I don't like saying it, I don't like writing it.

Good thing my recovery has evolved and mutated to me experimenting with noticing my body when I shower and get dressed every morning.  That helps, very slowly and very gently.  Especially as it has now evolved into me looking at my face and saying something affirming to myself that I know cuts directly against the grain of my biggest foundational struggles with my own identity:  "You are worth love."  "I'm not going to give up on you'" and the toughest to be sincere and look into my eyes in the reflection when I say, "I love you.".  I often have to try a few times to get rid of the sarcasm.  

The core of my struggles is believing deep down, in my heart, that I'm not loved (and that I'm alone and that I'm not doing enough).  Even though I know in my rational brain that I am loved and that I'm not alone and that I am doing plenty.  So daily affirmation addressing the most important of these feels very important.  I couldn't do this honestly and with integrity even last year.  It's something that I had to build toward and stumble into and feel ready to do.  Having a photo of myself as a cute and innocent little kid helped at first.  How can you not say, "I love you" to this little guy?  Of course he deserves my love.  Saying the words out loud was awkward and a little scary at first.  But I look at my body in the mirror, and I'm practicing accepting myself, inside and out.  

USA 2022

Doing things that I've done for years reminds me of how my addiction has dominated my life, and a bit of progress lately.

My Bride and I saw our Son's born over 21 years ago and all of our traveling, holidays, family visits have involved separate rooms for our lads. Every time I've made sure we have a door between us as being able to have sex has always been so important to me.  Maybe something I couldn't imagine not having.  Something I thought I needed (even though in a way I knew I didn't).  

Church was a huge part of my life, the reason I brought her to Cambridge and started our life here.  And early on there was a weekend away with several couples and as none of us had kids yet someone suggested the guys sleep all in one bunkhouse room.  I kinda made a joke about it, being a newlywed I wasn't going to sleep with anyone but my Bride!  Everyone laughed, but I was being serious as well.

Anyway, our trip visiting family I chose a room that didn't have a door between us and our son.  It meant no intimacy as we were practically in the same room.  I wasn't aware there wasn't a door, but I didn't make sure when booking the place and it didn't crush or kill me when I saw it.  I'm ashamed to remember the time I insisted my life long lover and long-suffering Bride allow me sex while my Mom was sharing the small hotel room and literally only ten feet away.  I was quiet, and we laughed about it, but I wasn't free or kind or respectful.  Sigh.

Update: 2022.  So much of my emotion in these blogposts is that, "Sigh".  Disappointment, regret, still failing, still struggling, still wanting what's not healthy to crave.  But last year went on another trip with my Bride and our son came along.  We booked an AirBnB and he slept in a room nextdoor which we found didn't have a door.  I remember not being so very bothered by this. That's huge progress!!  My obsession with orgasm means I am always planning sleeping arrangements, and thinking about them a lot.  Just like I used to count the hours until I might get sex, and ruminate on whether it'd happen or not.  I'd count the days and build up the resentment and my mood and attitude toward her, in all conversations and interactions, would be very much coloured by how many days it's been.  Always aware that yesterday was gone and I was only interested in whether tonight would be a yes again.  I could be sad that having sex last night meant I probably wouldn't get sex tonight.  Why couldn't I be grateful that I'd been given sex last night?   Anyway, things are getting better.  I don't find myself keeping track of which night I had my last orgasm, counting, resenting.  It does bother me some times, I do get a bee in my bonnet, but not as often and not as strong.  Progress!