I put this whole pancake syrup container in my mouth at lunch the other day. Unopened. I was demonstrating to a friend the level of stress eating I was at lately. If it’s not nailed down and is remotely edible, I will put it in my mouth.

I’ve tried to start being more aware of what my triggers are. It’s like having an ‘out of body’ experience. I watch myself as I eat another unsatisfying and poorly made bagel with insane amounts of butter. Or another slightly stale cookie or potato chips.

It doesn’t matter if I have a protein bar, placed smugly in my purse that morning with the best intentions. I will eat that sucker too. And sometimes not even remembering the first bite to the last.

I can’t stress enough how I’ve never been a skinny mini. I’ve always liked to eat what I wanted when I wanted. It’s not the weight I’m talking about it. It’s the act of stifling feelings. Of wanting to run screaming out of my job sometimes.  I stifle feelings of frustration. An endless list of frustration. Frustrated with not having the solutions.

More time to play with Miriam.

A more satisfying job.

More time for writing.

More money. Not just extra money. But money to pay the bills we DO have. It’s a quiet shame so many people don’t talk about. Juggling, depriving. Being angry at not being able to do things we want to do with Miriam. I take that back, actually. Not really angry but again the word “frustration” with coming up with HOW to make more money.

More happiness. I live with this not too distant feeling of knowing what’s it’s like to have nothing. Not in the sense of not having a home or people who love me or food to eat. Because, yes, I know there are too many people in the world like that. It was the lack of purpose after Noah died. It was the fear of not being able to keep my marriage together in this complicated loss we share. It is the fear of never being “whole” again. And I think I have to come to terms that I never will be. I have to live this fractured life. I recently learned about a Japanese term called Kintsugi.

As defined by Wikipedia…

Kintsugi or Kintsukuroi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.

Am I trying to fill the cracks in me with carbohydrate and sugar in place of gold? Are the customers I see daily coming through my line at the liquor store filling their cracks with Woodbridge Chardonnay and Smirnoff ? I’m sure they are.

I always eventually hit the brick wall. When I’m really uncomfortable in my body and very self conscious. When I’m way too winded running after Miriam. When I just plain feel gross.

I guess it’s about respecting and even revering my body. My boss lost about 50lbs this year. Every time a catered lunch came through our break room or a birthday cake showed up, he would simply gesture to himself and say “temple” and continue eating his vegetable lunch and pass on cake.

I haven’t really wanted to lose weight again since I needed to lose weight to qualify for the medical study that gave us the gift of Miriam. And if I don’t REALLY want to do it, it will not happen.

I’m very accepting of myself in its physical flaws. I’m not so accepting of all my other shortcomings. And maybe that’s the part I’m trying to squash with chicken pot pie and a 1lb bag of chocolate Twizzlers. I often feel various forms of guilt. Guilt of not having enough physical time or emotional energy for friends or family. Guilt of past mistakes. Guilt of wanting more when I actually have plenty of what matters.