Kim at "Adventures in Wanting" wrote this blog today. Funny since this was the subject of my session with my lady today. This identity issue. This issue of what do I like, want to do, want to eat? I'm not sure. This is how Kim put her experience....
"So, what's this "feeling purposeful" thing about? Well, I think for a while (2-3 years), anorexia was my identity. After that, recovery from anorexia became my identity. I've spent far more years (close to 9?) with this identity. I don't think it's any mystery that when I've gained weight in the past, I've lost it. It's not that I wanted to be thinner; it's more that I wanted to continue "the game." I like p
laying catch up. Oh, the drama of it all! Just like anorexia was a distraction from real life, recovery from anorexia became a distraction from real life. If I was having a relationship issue or career doubts or general angst, my first thought was usually to see a nutritionist, to talk to my therapist (about my eating disorder...I'm great with metaphors), to get on the scale, to make a new meal plan. It's been far easier for me to associate anything and everything with anorexia than to face the realities of just...me, and my "normal" life. When I consider that I'm not really anorexic anymore, I get a little sad. Part of the sadness is that there's no scapegoat. There's no disorder to blame. If I have a bad day, it's just a bad day, unrelated to food or weight. But, most of the sadness is about this lack of mission and purpose. Who am I if I'm not fighting this disease? Who am I if I'm not fighting, period?"This prompted me to immediatly order on Amazon "Goodbye Ed, Hello Me" the sequel to "Life Without Ed"
From "Building Beauty Beyond Body" she wrote this, which was so hilarious because believe it or not, I had this similar situation last night.
"I had way un-grown (atonym for outgrown?) them when I lost weight. It had gotten to the point where they were falling off of me and not even a belt could keep them from looking ridiculous. Out of sheer desperation, I tried them on, expecting them to be too small because I *think* I am bigger than that size now (although I know women's sizes are cruelly arbitrary). I'm 23, I told myself, nothing wrong with outgrowing your pants from when you were 13, but try them just in case*. The verdict? They fit perfectly. And by fit I mean that they hugged my body and showed it off. For me, "fit" used to just mean pants hung but didn't fall off, allowing me to remain clothed while looking like a human hanger. It took me a while to come to terms with the fact that yes, clothes are indeed actually supposed to touch your skin.
And Match specifically noticed and complimented them, too. So the real moral of this story is that filling in pants and being healthier not only feels but looks better than being thin and emaciated and at an artificially low clothing size. I seriously doubt the Date Pants would have gotten the same reaction XX pounds ago when I swam in them like a circus tent, not much sexy factor in that."
My version goes like this...
I was meeting my mom at Poppes and knew I was going out after, so I wanted to dress pretty nice for Poppe's at least. I looked at my jean drawer with hate. I took out all my jeans, 4 pairs and laid them out (Thank god Travis was at work bc if he had come in to witness this I would have been awfully embaressed). After laying them out I glared at my Big Star jeans from Buckle. I got these in 2007, spring time, had them fitted, 
then tailored. I should disclose the size. What I loved about *nice jeans* is that they are measured like they SHOULD be, by length and width. These jeans are not a size *00 or 0 or 1 0r 2* they are a 24. Let me tell you, when I say I had them fitted I mean it. They hugged my body and looked great. I adore the pockets and wash and length. However, the last time I wore these was the night I broke up with Matt. So let's just say it's been a while. So I got enough nerve to try them on. And you know what? They fit. Alas, fit means they hug the body not hang. Something I'm learning. Granted I did have to stretch, roll around, whine to myself for a little bit to finally feel okay in them. I wore them to Poppes and was pretty proud about that. When I got back I did change bc I didn't want to walk to NYP in heels, so I opted for my other new favorite outfit, my plaid shirt, shorts and fur boots, comfy and stylish I think.
then tailored. I should disclose the size. What I loved about *nice jeans* is that they are measured like they SHOULD be, by length and width. These jeans are not a size *00 or 0 or 1 0r 2* they are a 24. Let me tell you, when I say I had them fitted I mean it. They hugged my body and looked great. I adore the pockets and wash and length. However, the last time I wore these was the night I broke up with Matt. So let's just say it's been a while. So I got enough nerve to try them on. And you know what? They fit. Alas, fit means they hug the body not hang. Something I'm learning. Granted I did have to stretch, roll around, whine to myself for a little bit to finally feel okay in them. I wore them to Poppes and was pretty proud about that. When I got back I did change bc I didn't want to walk to NYP in heels, so I opted for my other new favorite outfit, my plaid shirt, shorts and fur boots, comfy and stylish I think. Anyway. WEird that I keep reading these posts that look like someone copied them from my brain!!!
Today at my lady appointment she asked me if I had any goals. I do indeed. Here's my conundrum with restaurant eating. It's my favorite thing to do with Travis. I adore getting all dressed up, going out to a new fun restaurant with Travis, coming home and watching a movie, or something along those lines. Now I do really really like salads of all sorts.
I would kill someone for a Harvest Salad and I have a weird fetish with Ceasar salads. But, let's be honest, I do not remember the last time I went to a restaurant (sober) and ordered anything besides a salad. I think honestly it has probably been a year and a half.
I know that I have a lot of anxiety when being faced with an unsure food outing. 98% of the time I know exactly what I will be eating in a given day, there may be a surprise thrown in there if we go out and drink, but MAINLY I know what I'm getting into. This leads to the scariness of restaurants, because they have these things called...MENUS...and on these menus there are different sections i.e. Appetizers, Entree's, Chicken, Pastas, Steaks, Salads, Soups, Desserts. And 99% of the time (sober) when I open the menu I skip immediatly to the Salad section. Now, honestly sometimes I really do JUST want a salad ( I love all kinds of shit on my salad too), especially if we are ordering an appetizer before hand, it's just nice to my stomach. BUT, I was thinking and talking to my lady about what I would EVEN order if I had the option of not a salad. Therein lies the problem...if I "have the option."
I have lived by these rules for so long that I have forgotten that other things are okay to get. So, what would I get? Gah! This sparks more anxiety. If I did somehow allow myself to choose not a salad option, I would then desperately try to find the least caloric food on the menu, this then induces more stress and then an ultimate panic and freakout leading to me ordering a salad.
So how do we fix this routine? Travis came up with it and I think it's brilliant (my lady agrees). Let's set the scenerio shall we?....
On a chilly clear night Travis and Erin get dressed to the hills in fine leathers (?) and hop in their beautiful car and drive to let's say (for shits sake)
D'Annas (P.S. I have NEVER had pasta at D'Annas). They go in and the place smells of rich mohagony and spices from the far east (?). While a candle lights their table they order a tapanade appetizer (this I am always okay with). Then as the waiter approaches, Erin skidaddles to the restroom for some touch-ups (i.e. letting Travis order something for her). She comes back to the table and feels like a kid on Christmas Eve. Because Travis has secretly ordered her something, he won't tell her, thus not causing anxiety or stress and has taken this control out of her hands (Her hands are beyond full of control as it is, so she let him hold this one). As the waiter approaches he is carrying 2 plates that have SIMILAR things on both. Not (as in the past) a plate of some decadent pasta that looks amazing then one with a boring salad) He places in front of her some ridiculous pasta/chicken/amazing something dish
and all she can do is have a tiny victory inside her heart knowing that this is okay/normal/healthy/fun/rewarding. She looks at Travis across the table to his smiling handsome face and is blown away that he ordered her something so wonderful. They eat, and she has not tasted food like this in literally years. Full and happy they go home make a nest and watch a movie, 
2 little nuts in love and one man eating cat. The End.
Right? That's my goal. Also, to tack on the Red Robin burger!!
Let him take the control away from me. Even if we are only able to do it once a week or once every two weeks, then this will help me take baby steps to being able to order on my own and know it will be okay. Gah. Alrighty. That was my story. I will attach some lovely precious pictures to follow.
Good day Good week Good times ahead.
Good body nice ass.
Today at my lady appointment she asked me if I had any goals. I do indeed. Here's my conundrum with restaurant eating. It's my favorite thing to do with Travis. I adore getting all dressed up, going out to a new fun restaurant with Travis, coming home and watching a movie, or something along those lines. Now I do really really like salads of all sorts.
I would kill someone for a Harvest Salad and I have a weird fetish with Ceasar salads. But, let's be honest, I do not remember the last time I went to a restaurant (sober) and ordered anything besides a salad. I think honestly it has probably been a year and a half.I know that I have a lot of anxiety when being faced with an unsure food outing. 98% of the time I know exactly what I will be eating in a given day, there may be a surprise thrown in there if we go out and drink, but MAINLY I know what I'm getting into. This leads to the scariness of restaurants, because they have these things called...MENUS...and on these menus there are different sections i.e. Appetizers, Entree's, Chicken, Pastas, Steaks, Salads, Soups, Desserts. And 99% of the time (sober) when I open the menu I skip immediatly to the Salad section. Now, honestly sometimes I really do JUST want a salad ( I love all kinds of shit on my salad too), especially if we are ordering an appetizer before hand, it's just nice to my stomach. BUT, I was thinking and talking to my lady about what I would EVEN order if I had the option of not a salad. Therein lies the problem...if I "have the option."
I have lived by these rules for so long that I have forgotten that other things are okay to get. So, what would I get? Gah! This sparks more anxiety. If I did somehow allow myself to choose not a salad option, I would then desperately try to find the least caloric food on the menu, this then induces more stress and then an ultimate panic and freakout leading to me ordering a salad.So how do we fix this routine? Travis came up with it and I think it's brilliant (my lady agrees). Let's set the scenerio shall we?....
On a chilly clear night Travis and Erin get dressed to the hills in fine leathers (?) and hop in their beautiful car and drive to let's say (for shits sake)
D'Annas (P.S. I have NEVER had pasta at D'Annas). They go in and the place smells of rich mohagony and spices from the far east (?). While a candle lights their table they order a tapanade appetizer (this I am always okay with). Then as the waiter approaches, Erin skidaddles to the restroom for some touch-ups (i.e. letting Travis order something for her). She comes back to the table and feels like a kid on Christmas Eve. Because Travis has secretly ordered her something, he won't tell her, thus not causing anxiety or stress and has taken this control out of her hands (Her hands are beyond full of control as it is, so she let him hold this one). As the waiter approaches he is carrying 2 plates that have SIMILAR things on both. Not (as in the past) a plate of some decadent pasta that looks amazing then one with a boring salad) He places in front of her some ridiculous pasta/chicken/amazing something dish
and all she can do is have a tiny victory inside her heart knowing that this is okay/normal/healthy/fun/rewarding. She looks at Travis across the table to his smiling handsome face and is blown away that he ordered her something so wonderful. They eat, and she has not tasted food like this in literally years. Full and happy they go home make a nest and watch a movie, 
2 little nuts in love and one man eating cat. The End.Right? That's my goal. Also, to tack on the Red Robin burger!!
Let him take the control away from me. Even if we are only able to do it once a week or once every two weeks, then this will help me take baby steps to being able to order on my own and know it will be okay. Gah. Alrighty. That was my story. I will attach some lovely precious pictures to follow.Good day Good week Good times ahead.
Good body nice ass.
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