Breaking

“It's healthy to say uncle when your bone's about to break.” – Jonathan Franzen

Forty-four days ago, I gave up all grains and dairy. The dairy I think may come back soon; the grains, I’m not so sure about.

I never thought I’d be here, desperate enough to do this. Deprivation leads to bingeing, is what I always insisted. But seven plus weeks in, my hunger is different. I don’t think about food that much. I don’t dream about cupcakes or bread. If my meal is slightly late (or even, as it was on Sunday, a couple of hours late) I’m not about to lose it.

I don’t know how long this will last, but for the moment it doesn’t feel much like deprivation. Very occasionally when I’m out to dinner I look longingly at bread or dessert, but for the most part I think: No, thanks; it’s not worth it.

Thirty Days

It’s been a long time since I got to this point – possibly even something like this time last year, when I’d just hit the 90-day mark.

I remember I binged at a friend’s bachelorette party in late September. There was another one a few weeks later, and then – in a pattern I always hope has ended – they became more and more frequent.

I feel like the year until this point has been one constant battle. Bingeing, eating too-big meals that weren’t binges but still didn’t make me feel so great, and then bingeing again. Or bingeing anyway. And with the bingeing comes the isolating and the hiding and the feeling of being stuck – unable to change any part of my life.

But slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y, things are starting to change again. For the past 30 days, maybe even a few more, I’ve been working for an hour every day (including weekends) on a project I’ve been thinking about for years. I’ve been cleaning a little every day (don’t know about you, but my place seems to be as beyond help as me when I’m bingeing). And I’ve been slowly making my way through some things that have sat on my to-do list for far too long.

I haven’t gotten on a scale. All I can tell you is that I feel a little smaller than I did maybe a month ago, but still heavier than I have been in a long, long time. Heavy enough to worry, for example, about what I’m going to do about a fall coat. And heavy enough to be maybe a wee bit grateful for this sudden bout of heat and humidity, because it means I can put off buying jeans for at least another couple of weeks.

I miss my old clothes. I miss finding getting dressed fun – or at least, not a chore. I miss feeling like I can do anything without worrying about my size. But I’m working my way back there, one day at a time.