I wonder how many blog posts have this title. It’s a cliche because it’s true, right? Riiiigggghhht???
I am 13 months sober, 12.5 months cigarette free, and now about two months into Isabel Foxen Duke’s “Stop Fighting Food” master class. I feel kind of navel-gazed-out, if that is a thing. I’m bored with self improvement. But then, old shit keeps floating to the surface. So I’m back here, wishing I had more interesting things to say.
I’ve been a travelin’ girl lately. Two weeks road tripping with my husband from Seattle to Palm Springs and back, then a few days at home, then a weekend in NYC, then a week in SF for my new job. Really what I’m saying is that I haven’t been in a routine. And I’ve been eating shitty food.
Consequences of this recent month of eating crap? Zits. BIG ouchy zits. Tight jeans. Aching back. Pins and needles if I cross my legs too long. Headaches in the morning. Tummy ache as I fall asleep (ice cream/cookies upset my tummy right before bed). Weird stressful dreams (could be a result of so much shit going on, and the stress of a new job, but I’ll blame it all on food – m’kay?)
So, almost every night this past week I’ve gone to bed thinking:
“I feel bloated and over-sugared.” Or over-fatted. Or over-full. Or just greasy.
Then I think: I am not afraid of getting fatter anymore. Those are the patriarchy’s rules about how a woman should look. I don’t need to believe in those rules. I can live free from society’s bullshit. DAMNIT INGRID, STOP THINKING (secretly) THAT YOU’RE TOO FAT!!
Then I think: well, it’s not just that I feel fatter, I am also run down. Tired. Greasy. I don’t feel HEALTHY. How in the f*ck am I supposed to separate my desire to eat more healthily and exercise more so I can feel better physically, from my old-timey desire to be thinner and, by the world’s rules, prettier?
This is hard.