Tough Days and Little Victories

It was a tough day today. Recovery has those, I have found. For the last couple of days, I have had the feeling that I was maybe under-eating a little bit. I was feeling edgier and hungrier, and I was slipping into the area where I have already spent months: hungry, but tolerating it. I was just kind of getting used to it again, telling myself that it is better to be a little hungry than to risk eating too much. After a couple of days like this, it’s safe to assume that I would have a day where I’m especially hungry because my body is trying to make up the difference. Well, friends, that day was today. 

Today, every meal I ate would hold me over for a little bit, but I could always feel the edge of hunger right around the corner. I sort of managed along in this annoyed, hungry fog for most of the day, until dinner arrived. I ate the food that I had planned on eating. I ate it mindfully. I enjoyed it. But I was most definitely still hungry when I was finished. I went for a walk around the block with my dog. I lay down for a little while. I tried to satisfy myself with a pickle, to which my body said, “Yeah, right, girlfriend. When in the history of the world has a single pickle ever satisfied hunger?” 

I was irritated and pissed off. I was pissed off at my body for wanting more food. I was pissed off at myself for not conceding and feeding it. It was rather unpleasant. Then, I had a realization. Life happens as we live it. It happens in the seconds, the minutes, and the hours. I could choose to spend the next chunk of my life unhappy and hungry, or I could make another choice. 

I decided to do something bold. There was leftover pizza on the counter. I looked at the pizza. I thought about whether some pizza might make me feel less hungry. I decided that it would, and I ate the fucking piece of pizza. I ate it even though I had already eaten dinner. I ate it even though I didn’t make it. I ate it because I was hungry and that was reason enough. But I know that the reasons behind eating the pizza go much deeper than that. I ate that pizza because:

1. Less is not more

2. Everybody deserves food when they’re hungry

3. It was a kind of pizza that I like and it looked appealing

4. I get to make my own decisions regarding food

5. I know that I could go hungry, but I am choosing not to because I deserve better

6. This will not be a repeat of last September, when I ate far too little, counted the calories in Pam cooking spray and salt, and exercised obsessively

7. Society, this disorder, and all of the shit that comes along with it may feel as strong as iron some days, but I am always stronger

And after I ate the pizza, I did not exercise more. I did not tally up calories. I fought the urge to feel guilty when that guilt is most certainly misplaced. I ate when I was hungry, and that is always a victory. There are good days and bad days in recovery. Sometimes I see the bad days coming, and sometimes they come up out of nowhere. When a bad day hits, we always have the choice to do the thing that is right for our recovery, and I did that tonight. 



P.S. It was a pretty damn good piece of pizza 


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