Husbands

So, last night I was watching the hubby eat supper. Actually, I spent more time watching his fork move around the plate than I spent watching him. It was an interesting learning experience. As his fork missed bits of meat stuck to a bone or hidden under BBQ sauce my anxiety level rose. It kept going up as I realized he wasn't going to sop up every drop of butter with his potatoes and leave a few bits of collared greens stuck to his plate...

This month and a half I've spent without food had been a real time for self-reflection (if I didn't mention it before, I was on one of those "2 shakes and a small meal" diets leading up to surgery). Since I can't eat food whenever I have an urge or impulse, my only recourse has been to sit with my feelings, turn them over like sea-smoothed stones, and inspect them. What I have learned is that I have a very complex emotional life centered around food.

Most notibly, my emotions toward food center around anxiety and fear. Last night, for example, I was very anxious about every tidbit not sopped up from the plate my husband was eating from. The fear is of not being satisfied and not having enough. Those two fears run like cores through my entire life. I suppose food was the one place I could placate those fears because I could control what I was eating, when, and how much. I did find it facinating though that my fear and anxiety were transfered to my husband's plate, though. What does it matter if he cleans his plate? It has no bearing on me whatsoever. Yet, it was very upsetting to me all the same.

I wonder how many people out there are like me...prisoners of the plate and not even realizing it. Yes, I've known for years that I had a problem. I finally became willing to acknowledge this problem 8 months ago - that's how I ended up where I am today. Yet, I had no idea just how deep this problem was until food was taken from me almost completely. It's like a weed with deep, strong roots. Everytime I try to challange it, the roots squeeze tighter around my core making it almost impossible for me to turn away. I am not in control of food, I am its prisoner.