I've felt like a failure for most of my life. I failed at sports, running, attracting boys, being a writer. In my own head, I'm currently failing at marriage, a career, and raising my daughter. I'm sure if you read this, you'd think, "gee, you have a very low self-esteem, obviously, and it's not possible you've failed at all of those things." Well, you're probably right. In my happy moments, I realize that my daughter is awesome because I'm her mom, and my husband can manage to tie his shoes and comb his hair (if you'd met him you'd understand) mainly because I made him feel comfortable enough to recognize his problem and seek help with it. However, if any of you ever read this and know me, have seen me, or will see me in the future, you'll know the thing I have 100% failed at: FOOD. It rules my life.
I've been overweight for as long as I can remember. I could go into detail about my need to be comforted, how it all started when my parents divorced, and the psychological trappings that come with it, but any NBC weight loss show can tell you all those things about 50 other people, and with better lighting. The truth is, I'm addicted to food. I can't go an hour without thinking about it. Not in your typical, "I'm hungry" sort of way, but more in a "I've been bored for approximately 30 seconds so my mind turns to food and what I'll eat next" sort of way. Again, here I could digress, and tell you all the things I've learned from not being as dumb as a rock, all the things my therapist told me in my year and a half of postpartum depression/overeating treatment, the mantras about how addictions aren't cured overnight and it's an ongoing battle and I could tell you that if you knew my background, you'd see that an affinity for addiction runs in my family. Still, none of these thoughts keep me from eating an entire box of Oreos in two days, or going to the store to get milk and not being able to help myself when I spy a 2 dollar giant box of Turtles left over from the Christmas rush three days ago. I've seen the number on my scale creep ever upward over my short 31 years of life, and I worry that I'll never again see it go down. In fact, I've worried so much about that number that I stopped looking at it about six months ago.
Tonight though, I think I hit a new, soul crushing, low. For backstory, my daughter only wants me to pick her up from school. She cries if I don't, and seems genuinely hurt by the idea that Mommy isn't the one coming to get her from school. For a couple of weeks after this began, I was flattered, thinking she and I had some magical bond that no father or special grandma could break. We were two peas in a pod, she was my mini-me. It was after a week or so though, that I started to notice the first thing she'd say to me when we got to the car wasn't "I love you" or "I missed you," but "did you bring me a special treat?" Ouch. Turns out, I'm so popular because I'd started stashing suckers and candy in my purse for an afternoon car ride treat and now she needed them. THAT was the best part of her day. I even told my husband one day when I wasn't feeling well and didn't want to go pick her up, in my persuasion to get him to do it, that "if you just bring her a lollipop, she'll think you're the greatest from now on." PS, I was right. So, as it turned out, I've created a sugar monster of my very own. All children like candy, I think it's in our DNA at this point, but I think this beautiful, healthy, happy child of mine is beginning to think it's normal to get a sugary snack after school, and dessert right after dinner. This is where my bottom came in. She's been refusing to eat solid food for a couple of days now, a habit she goes through sometimes, and tonight after getting her to eat a decently healthy meal (with the exception of the boxed macaroni), she came to me and asked me what her dessert would be. Since, you know, that's the norm around this house. I hesitated, caught off guard by this seemingly implied reality that what once was a clever trick to get her to eat vegetables or soothe her had now turned on me. The sugar monster has officially grown into a sugar behemoth. Just like how at 3 and a half, this child can work my iPad with more confidence than me, she's now going to think that cookies and cakes and lollipops are commonplace?? My motherly instinct growled in me like a dog being baited. I wanted to cry "no! no dessert! it's not something you have after every meal!!" Then, I stopped. I looked over at the remainders of my dinner and there, sitting not 3 feet from her, was my hypocrisy screaming out at me. That damn box of Oreos I'd finished right after my meal. I'M the reason she thinks cookies go after every meal. I'M the reason she thinks lollipops are commonplace. I'M the reason she'll turn out just like ME. The thought is repulsive. The worst part is that after three years of crying and agonizing over how I can't stand to see her turn out like me, I must make sure that she has high self-esteem and confidence so that she's better than me, I realize now that when she doesn't, it'll be because she wanted to be just like me. We ARE like two peas in a pod, or at least to her we are, and that means she gets to do and be everything I am. She says things the way that I say them, she chastises the dogs like I do, she wants to watch what I watch and play what I play and now, eat what I eat.
The lowest of the low of this is that I'm here, wrestling with myself long after everyone is asleep, trying to convince myself that no 2 dollar box of chocolate is more important to me than my child's health. No fast food burger or plate of nachos is worth the pain my child will suffer if she turns into me, a morbidly obese young adult, never able to run or be active or socialize physically the way that all her friends can. In my heart, I'll claw and scratch and endure whatever is necessary to make sure that my child stays happy, healthy, and joyful. In my head though, the addiction is ever raging, pressuring me to convince myself that I'm making too much of it. Telling me that my need for the food overrides this seemingly obscure possibility of the future unhealthy lifestyle of my child. Singing a sweet song of comfort and food and love, all mixed up together, tangled so deep that I fear I'll never see my way through it.
Addiction is a powerful thing and I'm worried it's taking me under, despite the things I know in my heart are worth more. I just pray my heart convinces my head before it swallows my whole family up completely.
