I just had a 20 minute argument with The Husband about his need to be excited about EXERCISE and GOING PALEO because he just read A BOOK and now he sees the proverbial light. He wants EXERCISE and is full of suggestions for what I NEED TO DO and and it’s all in the book (which I have promised to read) and LET’S GO, TEAM!!!
It’s probably a good time to point out that I can’t eat anything that isn’t Paleo anyway and am allergic to most of the Paleo diet. I read the things he is reading now last year and saw the light with regard to how my own body responds to sugars and carbs and grains (not realizing allergic issues played a serious role, also) and then got pissed off when the doctors told me I can’t eat eggs because there went most of my meal plan. In any case, I am happy he’s now understanding things I have been saying for so long but I’m also not able to explain to Captain Cheerleader that I don’t respond well to the RAH RAH RAH when I’m just keeping my head above water.
Here’s the problem: I am eating disordered.
My Body Image issues are fucked on a level I can’t even understand, and I carry an epi pen for the very food allergies which I ignore when my brain is in self sabotage mode. I need to be active without thinking it’s EXERCISE because if it’s EXERCISE my mind will shut down and I will swan dive into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
Ice skating is the perfect example of something I can do without feeling like I’m doing anything at all. Just to get an idea, I did plug in my current estimated weight (I don’t know the actual number because it’s a trigger for me) and figured out that an hour of recreational skating was more than enough to feel good about. I just started and love it. My legs hate me when I’m done, but I can do it and I go back for more.
Yoga is the next step back to normal. Once I am one with my Ohm I can breathe in some serenity and move on to Zumba or something else I know I enjoy and can stick to and that isn’t just EXERCISE! I love this man, but how do I explain to someone who has no concept of an eating disordered mind trying to claw it’s way back to normal that there is absolutely NO FUCKING WAY I am lunging from the kitchen to the living room because it’s simple and easy to do because it’s not just going to be something I’ll stick to. I’d pay lip service. I’d go for the “college try.”
And I’d put on a pretty decent show before falling flat on my ass, figuratively speaking, because I’m not going to stick to lunging from one room in my house to another because I didn’t want to do it in the first place. It’s just an open invite for the next pity party to start before the celebration even got a chance to kick off.
It’s gotta be one step at a time. My therapist nodded today when I explained to her how if I focus on anything 0ther than how I feel, I’m back at square one and square one tastes like brownies. She’s only been seeing me a short time, but she at least pretended to understand with a thoughtful nod and well-timed chuckle. The Husband, however, is at a loss for what to do.
He is excited because he wants to support me. He is excited because he loves me. He is excited because EXERCISE isn’t a bad word to him. He’s I love him. I love his support. And I understand his concern. I also want to strangle him whenever he gets all Pollyanna on me and starts chirping about EXERCISE and then gets all annoyed when I glare at him for being an asshole.
Okay. No. I get it. He’s not being an asshole. He’s trying to help me.
But sometimes his idea of help is getting all I CAN FIX THIS and YOU JUST NEED TO STOP THINKING THE WAY YOU DO because he is the kind of person who has the mental strength to make things happen just by thinking them. I love that about him. I also hate that 1) My mind doesn’t work like that and 2) I wish it did.
But then, if I saw things the way he did, I wouldn’t be referring to myself as a life-long recovering bulimic, would I? And if he did get it, that would mean he saw the word EXERCISE the way I did, for the same reasons I did, and we’d both be a raging mess.
I’m pretty sure he is right and I argued illogical things because that kind of goes par with the course. But the fact remains that I know myself. And right now, it’s one step at a time. If I jump into the deep end before I’ve even gathered the strength to tread water for a sustained period of time, I’m just going to end up letting myself sink. And I don’t intend to let that happen anytime soon.
So we argue. About the inside of my head. Because I can’t explain. Because he loves me. Because I feel like an asshole for not being as excited as he is about EXERCISE because the word leads me down a worm hole of calories burned and weight lost and BMI and self worth and you’re a fat ass and here’s a brownie and Ben & Jerry’s is NOT a single serving food and then I find myself hitting bottom again, wondering how the hell I got there and cursing yo-yos.
And there’s that epi pen in my purse to think about.
I just fixed my head again. I’m working on the rest of me.
I just need time to move out of this fog and into the place where EXERCISE isn’t a bad word. I’m not there yet. And it makes him mad because he only sees the woman he married fighting his support and concern. It makes me mad that I can’t explain it without turning into a five year old with my arms crossed yelling I DON’T WANNA!
But that’s where I’m at and that’s where it is and he loves me and we argue. And he thinks I’m blocking him and I explain that no, I’m actually not because blocking would be nodding my head like I’m okay with everything he is saying and all for it and then dipping into the Hershey candy bar stash we have in the pantry for his work lunches after he’s gone to bed. Me arguing? Me bristling in front of him and telling him to shut up and just listen and let me grab my ice skates and head for the rink for open skate time? Me telling him that I’m not lunging in the house just for the sake of lunging in the house because lean muscle mass matters? Me rolling my eyes and calling him an asshole for not understanding?
People? That’s progress. That’s communication. That’s me not bullshitting and then closet-eating with the chocolate I’m allergic to. Because my body doesn’t function well with sugar. Because I am allergic to the world. Because I function best on a strict paelo diet not because it’s a diet but because that’s how my body needs to be be nourished.
Because I am eating disordered. And because I’m trying to focus on loving myself just the way I am and then starting over every time the sun rises.
So he goes to bed. Not understanding.
And for that, I am grateful because that means he’s still going to push and I’ll continue to push back.
Every time he pushes, I’ll push back.
And become stronger for it.