Living on my own has given me complete control over food. At first, the control was warped into binging; but, for the past two (wow!) years, it’s been used to manage needing to eat. This is a distinct improvement, given the alternative, but it means that I’m still quite rigid with my meals. I cook everything from scratch, know exactly what goes where, and rely a little too heavily on things like scales to make food feel okay.

It sounds bad, but it’s the first time since I was a child that I’ve eaten three proper meals every day. I’ve got a routine that works and, okay, it might be a little isolating and, yes, it sometimes present a few barriers but, ultimately, it’s meant that I’m standing strong today.

Next week, I’m moving. For the first month, I’m staying with relatives and, hopefully, during that time, I’ll find a flatshare where I can stay more permanently. I definitely won’t be in control for the first part; and I have absolutely no idea what will come after that.

And so I’m scared.

I’m really scared.

I’m scared that it will be uncomfortable, and that I will have to confront the foods that I would normally manage to avoid. I’m scared that I won’t be able to check what’s going into what, and feel okay with what’s on my plate. I’m scared that the fear will get in the way of the adventure, and I will end up obsessing around calories instead. I’m scared by the sheer number of variables on the table… and I’m also sad. The relationship I’ve developed with food over the past few years isn’t that healthy, but it’s made it bearable to move away from the close ties we previously had.

I am not very good at giving up control.

I have held on to it with an iron fist ever since I got ill. If it has been taken away from me, than I have fought like a banshee; and, if I have given it away in a moment of desperation, I’ve always found a way of wrestling it back. The last few years haven’t been as destructive, but I’ve always been totally in the driving seat and I’ve never let anything – or anyone – wriggle their way in –

Only this is more important.

I am prepared to give up this control if it’s part of my future and necessary for my move.

I’ve just no idea how it’s going to work out.

I have got around the difficulty of de-programming the nutritional values by trying lots of different foods instead; and, slowly, I am learning that it is alright not to know. Each time I try something untried and the world does not come tumbling down, nor I turn into a giant pumpkin, I get a little bit more proof that food is okay. On occasion, I can admit that it is quite nice.

I have also, as the semi-skimmed milk demonstrates, started writing over the anorexic voice. It is a direct challenge to 18 years of insistence on the lowest possible denominator and a million miles away from the guilt and fear that a previous me would have felt. There is a little friction in the change of direction; but, ultimately, it feels kind of okay.

I am not quite sure how I reached this point.

I guess it has been a slow process of learning to re-trust food and gaining enough evidence to dispute and disprove the beliefs that I have previously lived by. Unfortunately, the only way to get here has been through, rather than around. To face the fear and the discomfort head on, and eat over the negative chatter, however loud it shrieks. It eases, I think. It becomes an itch, rather than a crippling pain, or it has for me, anyway.

One step at a time. It has been important to go slow.

It has also been important not to freak out that I am getting okay with food. I am trying to remind myself that this is cause for celebration, and not a reason to screech the brakes. That it does not mean I am “out of control” or “failing” or any one of the 100 negative charges that I previously would have filed….

No. It just means that I’m starting to win.

No.

Thank you.

Beneath the surface, I’m a bit scared of cooking and I don’t like touching food. I’m worried about buying things like butter – and sugar – and chocolate – as we’ve rather a messy history; and I’m not comfortable keeping “unsafe” food in the house. I still don’t really see the point of cooking or, for that matter, eating things like cakes and biscuits – and, yet, when I hear other people describing their culinary adventures or see them rock up to work with a biscuit tin to share, I feel kind of left out.

In other words, it’s been a point of personal contention.

Theoretically, I could go on with a life of non-baking and, should the biscuits taste abysmal, I quite possibly will…but it’s become another one of those lingering shadows that the eating disorder has left behind, and I don’t like feeling that it’s still in control.

So I’m pushing back. With a biscuit.

As I’m doing this whole ‘new things’ fortnight, baking is an obvious starting point. I spent all morning getting in a state about what recipe to follow and whether I should go low-cal or full fat, and was then rescued by some lovely twitter people (thanks @chaosandcontrol and @catatonickid) and went with their way. Damn it, I even added chocolate buttons, though I’m slightly expecting that to be the mistake…

It was fun. Mostly, because it felt like a shared activity; but also because it’s liberating overcoming a fear. My hands smell slightly buttery, but that’s part of the challenge; and I’ve made a deal with myself to eat some as well. It was satisfying seeing something come together from nothing; strangely pleasant to feel the crumbs start forming a dough; and the smell is subtle and comforting, rather than overwhelming and threatening….

In fact, I might well try it again.

This morning, after I finished my breakfast, I noticed my head expressing approval: “well that was nice”. Instead of putting it in check with the same sharpness that I normally award to food-related speak, I let the comment hang – and refused to place any judgement on what I had said.

My breakfast was nice. And that is perfectly okay.

I realised, through my encounter with myself in the kitchen, that I haven’t been giving myself the opportunity to change the way I speak about food. That by refusing to participate in the social conversations and stopping any inner dialogue relating to things I might like or enjoy, I have removed the space to change the message, leaving the same stuck thoughts grinding in my head.

What started as a way of avoiding food – or talking myself out of eating – or denying any hunger, has slowly become deeply ingrained.

I think this is beginning to shift.

I think I am becoming less scared of liking food; and more able to tolerate preference, and desire, and hunger – without assuming that it’s an indication of greed.

I am therefore seizing the iron while it is hot; and have challenged myself to continue complimenting my food. I’m not up to public appreciation quite yet, but I can start by letting myself rehearse the new way of talking in my head.

So, this morning I liked my boiled egg (noticing the discomfort that provokes – and letting it go); and I also particularly enjoyed the vanilla yoghurt I had with my lunch. And tomorrow, I’ll keep my eye out for the same moments of enjoyment and make sure that I put them into words –

Because changing how I speak about food might gradually change how I feel about it – and eventually re-write what it has come to mean.

I’m not particulary green-fingered so I keep forgetting that it needs to be fed.

A few days ago, I noticed that the cool stripey leaves had become crisp and were drooping (oops); and, in an attempt to save it from shrivelling away, I whisked the baby bio and watering-can out.

Today, when I got home from work and the sun was streaming through the window, I noticed that the leaves were unfurled and blooming; and the plant is radiant, once again.

This is the second time I’ve had to provide my calathea with a little emergency TLC. You would have thought that the first near miss – and then incredible revival – would have stopped me from letting it wilt again….

Some lessons need to be learned a few times and some miracles take a while to sink in.

I know it’s not as easy as a jug of water and some baby bio –

But feed a person properly and they, too, can come back to life.

It came up, in a presentation, and there’s probably some research; but, I seem to have created my own personal proof.

I remembered, today, as I walked down Kentish Town Road (to see how far I could go before the panic kicked in), what happened when 24 hour living – and my eating disorder – met. I was thrown back, 10 years, with a surge of pain that almost over-powered me, as the landmarks that I had been avoiding, re-appeared, again.

I went to university in London. I must have attended some lectures (although I remember few of them) and I must have been a bit social (as I have, miraculously, a few long-standing friends); but I also spent much of this time in a starvation induced haze, where food was the only objective and I didn’t, at the time, realise the personal price I paid…

And so, I would find myself walking into Camden, at 2 in the morning, with a pair of jeans over my pyjamas, just to visit the kebab shop that was open ’til 4 –

Or sitting behind a paper in a greasy cafe, whilst the rest of the halls were asleep, so that I could return – and throw up – before the first morning knock at my door.

Take aways where I was anonymous. Corner shops – and 24 hour supermarkets – and fast food that almost kept up with my desperation. Mazes of streets to hide in. Chippies – and cut-price fried chicken – and pizza slices – and the extra they always threw in, because they said that I didn’t look well –

This would not have happened if I had lived in the middle of the country.

The eating disorder was already well established by my arrival – but the extremity with which I could respond to the first craving had previously been contained; and it would have been a bit harder – if I’d stayed somewhere quieter – to put my head down in the crowds. And hide.

I have been ashamed, for years, of what happened in London. I transformed a city that I loved into a prison and lost my self esteem, in a side street, along the way. I have not talked, much, about how I ended up becoming so ill there. The shame – and guilt – and self-disgust, has been very hard to wash away.

But I wonder, now that I’m a little more open with the experience, whether there are other people treading the streets in a desperate search for food, or struggling with the challenge of 24 hour temptation–

Because it’s hard, when you live in such secrecy, to admit to what’s happening; and harder still to ask for help in getting well.

It started me thinking – this sweetener challenge – of a few automatic assumptions that I have around food; and the extent to which weight loss, even though medically un-needed, still seems to rule the roost.

My food choices remain based, at some subconscious level, on the calorific content – and I don’t often consider the other variables that might begin to factor in.

There are, I am beginning to see, a range of reasons why I might chose one food – over another; rather than basing my selection on whether something is full fat – or calorie free.

So here are a few other considerations that might help me to make up my mind –

1. Nutrition

I don’t want to replace one obsession – with a new one – but I don’t really give that much thought to what goes into my ‘low-calorie’ food; and, particularly, what replaces the ‘natural’ stuff that’s been taken out.

I can hazard a guess that it’s “artificial” or “flavoured” – but I haven’t really thought about what this nutritionally means; nor the good stuff that I am swopping for the privilege of going sugar-free.

Factoring the natural nutrients in might, therefore, play a part in my deliberations – and a desire to get the best out of my food, provide a way of challenging my out-dated assumption that healthy means the same as fat-free.

2. Taste

Let’s face it, this one’s still a challenge; but even I know that the skimmed milk I buy is a little more watery than the semi-skimmed version; and the fat-free yoghurts, not quite as creamy as those with whole milk.

Choosing food on the basis of how it tastes is an interesting concept to me. It means that you’re opting for a sensory experience, and creating a little space away from questions of deserving or notions of guilt…

And, okay, you might not always be able to indulge a preference for chocolate – or strawberries and cream – or roasted vegetables – or whatever gets your taste buds tingling -

But a little of what you like, and a bit of attention to the taste – and smell – and enjoyment – might be another criteria for what goes on my plate.

3. Energy

It took me a while to remember that food’s primary purpose is fuel. It feeds. And sometimes we need more fuel than at other times.

Food choices come in a context. In the most basic of terms, a busy day probably demands more in the tank. And, as well as the emotional – and sensory – and health benefits, remembering the science should probably play a part in what I chose to eat.

4. Body

The body is also a context in its own right, and it’s important – I imagine – to listen to how the body feels, as well as what it’s been up to. For example, I have struggled with IBS over the past few years and, when it’s being particularly difficult, there are certain foods that my body certainly won’t let in.

Vitamin C if I’ve got a cold; hot foods on a cold day; spinach and eggs when I get a little shakey; and yoghurt when I’m feeling bloated –

I am slowly learning to listen to what my body tells me that it needs.

5. Ethics

I’m not sure how I feel about eating ethics. My ten year stint of vegetarianism was driven by a desire to lose weight, and not any genuine concern over the animals that I was consuming. Ethical considerations – where food has come from, the environmental costs, the people that have slaved over its production, where it’s sold – might, I suppose, influence the food decision-making; and be far more important, in real terms, than whether something promises to make me fat – or thin.

*   *   *

There are more – and I haven’t even thought about how these sit in relations to emotions, or guilt, or intuitive eating –

But I am beginning to rock the notion that calorific value should be the determining factor; because I’d like to take account of some of these other considerations, as well.

Related posts….

• Making Friends with Food
• “Good” Food
• In Search Of Intuitive Eating
• The Etymology of Fat

It sounds like an interesting idea – but at the moment, it also appears to be from another planet.

For me, intuitive and eating do not even appear in the same sentence, let alone alongside each other. With normality a lifetime ago, I still think in hospital speak ‘1 protein, 1 carbohydrate and 2 veg’; weigh out one of three ‘nutritionally enhanced’ breakfast cereals at 7am, come hunger or not; and couldn’t tell you if I like or loathe peas. I do not fancy cake, nor experience satisfaction; and I rotate my food groups to make sure that I’ve got a tick in each box –

In touch with my eating, I most definitely am not. So, I’m making a little introduction:

From what I can gather, intuitive eating is about getting the relationship between mind, body and food sorted. It’s about distinguishing between physical and emotional feelings; listening to your body and being able to respond appropriately to what it needs. It’s not about dieting, and “good” or “bad” foods, and complicated menu plans, but about recognising when you’re hungry – or full; taking care of yourself; and giving this temple that we inhabit a little respect. Or something like that.

Because I am still quite angry at food – or at myself – this is all easier said then done, and there’s a big voice that asserts “well, at least I’m eating”….

but there’s also a little one that questions whether it has to be like this; and, it’s this one that I’m helping along. In order to give intuitive eating a chance, I need to start chipping way at a few long standing barriers:

1. It’s okay to like food.

I find liking food quite hard: firstly, because I’m not sure whether it’s me – or my anorexic head – that likes prawns and salad and brown rice; and, secondly, because I have buried any acknowledgement of a taste preference deep down in a chamber somewhere, and forgotten which particular compartment I put it in.

I like what I “should” like and have scripted myself to remember this; so, when I’m asked whether I enjoy pasta – or cake – or thai green curry, the closest I can get to an honest answer is “I don’t know” – and that’s if the practiced message hasn’t already jumped in.

Determining what I do and don’t like without factoring taste in is probably not a good sign for any intuitive eating, so pressing pause on this message is a first good step; and giving myself a chance to find my tastes out is the next important thing –

2. Removing the clutter.

In order to avoid thinking about what I am eating, I have ramped up the distractions around mealtimes so that they are full of a whole host of other things, with food lurking on the peripherary somewhere. Breakfast is computer time; lunch comes with a side of work and multiple interruptions; and, supper is consumed in front of a newspaper, whilst completing a crossword, and with the TV on.

I know what’s on my plate; I just don’t engage with it.

This is probably not conducive to intuitive eating and it is a million miles away from anything that could be considered mindful – which is probably the next thing I need to factor in.

3. Mindful Eating.

Mindful eating is basically (I think) about paying attention to what’s going into your mouth – in every single way. In terms of taste, and feel, and smell, and how your body then feels.

This is a bit tricky. I have invested a lot of time in trampling over these signals; and, as I’ve mentioned before, I am a little bit squeamish about food. This means that I am going to have to work doubly hard to focus on the more useful learning …like the fact that eating something hot can keep you warm, or peppermint can soothe a sore stomach, or fizzy drinks tend to make me burp.

So, checking in with my feelings sounds like an interesting idea (or at least the basis for a scientific like project); and the only thing I’m missing out then is remembering to listen to the hunger signals in the first instance.

This may well take a bit of time.

4. Mixed messages.

Having gone from total starvation (without feeling hungry,) to bingeing to the point of nausea (without being full) – and every stage in between, it is no surprise that my hunger dial has lost its sense of direction. It is like a compass which has been tossed, repeatedly, into the Bermuda Triangle and no longer recognises north.

This makes identifying hunger or satiation a bit problematic – and that’s on top of the mistakes that are quite easy to make.

Tiredness that is disguised as frustration (or hunger?); bloatedness that means I’m fat (or full?); agitation that is because I’m nervous (or haven’t had enough to eat?)….you catch the drift.

Confusing. But at least I’m starting to be mindful that something’s going on in there!

As you can see, my eating is, at the moment, far from intuitive; but, because I think it might help and I hope that this might one day change, I’m ready to begin the journey….

I’ve got a few ideas in mind (exploring the different senses; focussing for five minutes and building it up; hunger ratings; a spot of food testing) but this is unknown territory and I’d love to hear your suggestions – because it’s been a while since I respected what my body had to say –

And even longer since I was open to listening.

Despite the amount of time I have spent obsessing on the subject, and in spite of the leaps that I have taken in the ‘right’ direction; I still find myself a little touchy around the conversations that most people have on a daily basis –

“That looks nice” is rarely awarded a response; “what are you eating?” gets a swift brush off; and, the “what food do you like?” question is shrugged off, like a bad smell.

I tense up when people start eating; never say yes to a passing plate; and find it hard to share –

These are the lingering remnants of my anorexic head; the last, entrenched, habits that have become so ingrained I sometimes forget they’re there. This is the anorexic speak that warded off any food-related conversations; but has become a little unsocial, now that I’m trying to get well.

So, I am having to coach myself not to snap – or bite – or rudely walk away, when food is on the table (both literally and practically); and, I’m trying to break down the language – and build it up all over again, because it’s easy to get caught up in the wrong kind of speak; and, I’m working really hard to see if, despite the emotional baggage, it would be possible for me – and food – to behave a little bit more like friends….

Which, given the progress I’ve made so far, could well happen –

1. Treating it Nicely.

It has taken a while to get there, but I have now stopped burning my food. Or seeping it in vinegar. Or covering it in a shovelful of salt. This has been step 1 – no more sabotage. After years of defiantly arguing that “at least I’m eating”, I’m getting there, one condiment at a time. This is a good starting place if you’re going to be on better terms with food.

Food will always be hard, no matter how much it is disguised; and I think it was the abnormality of it all that got to me in the end – a frustration with the sheer amount of paraphernalia that was required to serve food that was indiscernible as food; and, the dawning realisation that the raised eyebrows and laborious processes didn’t make me feel any good.

Nor did sitting in front of a plate of burnt food.

2. Presentation.

A couple of years ago in rehab, I was encouraged to make my food look pretty. At the time, this seemed a futile exercise; a good-looking plate of food bore no correlation to the level of fear that it evoked, nor where it was likely to end up –

I am now beginning to understand the point of the exercise.

If I serve myself an unappealing plate of food, I am telling myself that I don’t deserve anything better. This feeds the anorexia, rather than feeding me. It also spurs the bulimia on to want something far more appealing.

If, on the other hand, my plate starts to look nice (and be prepared for a little internal resistance here), then I am starting to change the message about myself (even if I don’t believe it yet), and I am starting to change the eating experience.

We’re not talking masterpieces here; it’s just about putting it nicely on the plate and serving yourself, as you would serve a friend.

4. In Conversation.

The verbal friendship is still proving a bit of a sticking point for me but I’m guessing that it works on the same principle as the presentation: change the tune, help to re-programme the message.

Whether I like it or not, food related conversations are commonplace; and, whilst I will probably continue to avoid entering calorie related debates for a while, I would like to be able to say what I like and not freeze up the moment anyone mentions what’s on my plate.

As my current response is not making me feel particularly great, I am starting with polite and practiced reciprocation of the “what do you like” or “what are you cooking tonight” type. The next step will be to answer the question myself.

I am also trying to remember that, by making it a big deal, I’m probably prolonging a pretty normal conversation or, at least, one that is a very normal part of human interaction –

4. Food with Friends.

My relationship with food is intensely and possessively personal. Life doesn’t operate on those terms. With three meals a day on the cards and the desire to connect eventually winning out, sharing food with friends is an ongoing challenge – but something I’m determined to crack.

At first, I started small, with safe food and people I unquestionably trusted. Then, I moved onto eating the same stuff; and, recently, I’ve broken the barrier of cooking for other people which has been unexpectedly fun.

I have practiced variety and made myself try the difficult things, so that when I am sitting in a meeting, I don’t spend two hours analysing the sandwiches rather than listening to what’s going on; and, when I’m in a restaurant, I can see beyond the fear – and let myself enjoy what’s going on.

In an attempt to be “good” (which I was a little hung up on), and to prove my self discipline (which seemed to be lapsing), and to convince myself, once and for all, that I could stick to my guns; I decided that a period of abstinence was a great way of putting myself on the straight and narrow -

Chocolate was the starting point (because everyone else was doing it), and puddings and fat were thrown in for good measure (because I was convinced that I was already on the way to hell).

And so, out went “bad” foods, like cakes, and biscuits, and sweets, and anything that exceeded the finger-in-the-air fat limit (10g); and, in came “good” foods, like müller lights and quorn mince and anything labelled “fat-free”.

It doesn’t take long for an eating disorder to kick in.

Anorexia wasn’t as common as it is today; but, by Easter, it had made itself at home. The end of Lent did not signal the sense of achievement I had anticipated; and the flake egg that I still remember 17 years, evoked an inexplicable terror, rather than a welcome release.

As Lent approaches and I can feel myself getting a little tense, I have been reminded of the dangers of misplaced terminology, and noticed that I am a little over-sensitive to the notion of “good” and “bad” food, or the idea that saying no to chocolate is a sign of virtue.

And, as I am still trying to deal with the 12 year old me’s messed up ideas around food, and deserving, and how to be good; I am instinctively adverse to the suggestion that giving up chocolate, or chips, or “bad” things, should be considered a “good” thing, particularly around children –

Because mixing food with morality can get a bit messy; and, confusing what you eat, with who you are, will often end in tears.

And, I am a case in point.