Warning: This post is kind of a rambling and personal brain dump. Feel free to skip it if you want. I promise I won’t be offended.
Sometime, life is hard, especially when emotional baggage is involved. For me, this week has been hard … really hard. I feel almost guilty saying that, too. In light of what the victims in Boston are going through, it feels really petty to say my life has been hard this week, but you know what? It has been. My emotions have been beating up on me and I’m just spent. What I really want to do this weekend is just curl up into a ball, sleep, and ignore the world, but I can’t. I have things that have to be done, so in true Southern woman fashion, I’ll just suck it up, slap on a smile, and move ahead.
I don’t really have much of a relationship with my immediate family (long story), so we very rarely talk to each other and see each other even less. So, when an occasion arises where I do have to interact with them, it definitely makes an impact.
This week was one of those times. I found out from my dad via email on Wednesday morning that my mom had been recently diagnosed with scoliosis (which the doctor said she’s likely had for YEARS) and had undergone corrective surgery on Tuesday at a hospital just outside of Nashville (about 90 miles from where they live). Yes, I found out via email the day after she’d had surgery after never having been told she’d been diagnosed. Yeah, that’s just how my family rolls.
Being the dutiful daughter, I’ve called the hospital several times to check in on her condition. Thankfully, she’s doing well and is being released today to go home. I’ve actually spoken with my parents more this week than I probably have in the past five years combined.
Speaking with them as much as I have this week brought up a flood of memories of the reasons why our relationship fractured in the first place. It brought up memories from my childhood that 10+ years of therapy wasn’t been able to exorcise. It’s been rough. It’s been painful. It’s been exhausting.
I guess the thing I’ve actually hated most about this week is that it’s also been a horrible reminder of just how far I have to go to conquer emotional eating. After every conversation with my parents, I found myself within the hour eating crap food. A couple of times I hit the vending machine at work and got candy bars. Once, when it was closer to lunch time, I went to the cafeteria and instead of getting my usual salad, went to the grill and ordered a cheeseburger and fries. It’s as if all the lessons I’ve learned from Weight Watchers just flew right out the window. I was an emotional basketcase and, quite frankly, didn’t give a fuck in that moment of what I was shoving in my mouth. I just wanted something to fill that gaping black hole of memories that had been ripped open yet again.
I really wish I could say that after 40+ years of dealing with these childhood issues that I’d finally conquered them, but I know I haven’t. In fact, I don’t even know if I ever will. I just know that I really want to work on finding better ways to cope with these emotions when they come up rather than immediately turning to crap food.
I know it’s going to be ugly when I step on the scale tomorrow at my Weight Watchers meeting. Even though I know that, I’m still going to go and face the scale. Ignoring it won’t change what happened, so I might as well face the music and own up to it.
I don’t really know why I’m writing about all this. Perhaps I just needed to spew it all out here in order to get it out of my head so I can move forward. I know that just keeping it bottled up inside definitely doesn’t serve me well, so perhaps putting it out there here on my blog will. I know this has been totally random, so thanks for putting up with my spewing stream of consciousness this morning.
Until next time …