I was driving to the gym this morning and it was early, so I’d only had a small snack instead of my usual breakfast. My mind wandered as I drove and suddenly I was thinking about what time I’d be having breakfast and what I was planning to eat.
Almost immediately, there was another voice in my head. A scolding, judgmental voice. And she wanted to know what the hell was wrong with me for planning out my next meal before I was hungry.
Oh, here we go.
I should be over this stuff. Thinking about what I’m going to eat and when… Clearly solid evidence that I’m still body and food obsessed.
This chastising voice in my head is so irrational: She’s not picky about what the obsession involves. She’s mad either way. Either, I’m a mess because I’m planning out my meals and that’s too restrictive for her tastes. Or, I’m disgusting for thinking about food when I’m not hungry.
Right away I flashed on a conversation with my dad when I was just a kid, maybe 10 or 11. Just barely before the preoccupation with my weight and body started. We were out doing something as a family, and I wanted to know what the plan was for our next meal.
My dad teased me, and I can hear his voice now saying something like:
“I don’t know, Briana. Don’t worry about it. Have we ever not fed you?”
He wasn’t being critical, he didn’t mean anything by it. He was just responding to my question. But the comment must have sparked something for me to carry it with me. And for it to flash through my mind at this particular moment almost twenty years later, as I berate myself for thinking about my next meal.
But this morning, by some slip of grace, I paused and glimpsed some perspective. Here are the facts:
It’s 7:30 am on a sunny February morning. I’m turning right at the stop light on my way to the gym. My mind flits easily, fluidly across my breakfast plan.
Eating is part of life. No, really. I’m serious.
Wondering what and when you’ll eat is totally neutral. It’s not inherently good or bad.
My mind is always whirling, sentences incessantly fluttering through my consciousness. And one of those narratives happens to be about food. (Because I’m a human being, with a lizard brain, who’d like to keep on eating to survive. Seems pretty normal really.)
Thinking about breakfast isn’t right or wrong. It just IS. But I can do a couple of things with that thought. I can make it mean that I’m still struggling with food and body stuff. (The automatic impulse.) Or I can let it be just a sentence that flickers across my awareness.
OR, I can even make it mean that I’m taking care of myself, thinking about my choices, knowing that I’m doing my best to nourish and take care of myself. And that snarky voice will just have to deal.
