Monday 22 October 2012

Fumbling along the front line

Remember when I wrote that I could love myself and what I ate for one week?  Well, I was wrong.  I couldn't.  It's too big a life pattern to love right now.

I realised, in my avoidance of loving what is, that food is not just nourishment for me.  It's fear, pain, comfort, anger and rebellion. 

My body isn't just a means of being in the world.  It is a failure.  Every time I look at it, I do so to criticise it.  It fills me with shame and a sense of failure.

All of these emotions have been with me for decades.  Many of my earliest memories are of comments about being a 'big girl', of needing to curb my appetite... of seeing my brothers eat anything and remain as stick insects, of feeling I had failed my very petite mother by being so big.

So I'm not really at a point where I can love all that yet.  But I can accept it.  I own it consciously now.  I even understand that it's not 'reality', just one version of reality. 

It's a small step on the path of healing. 

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