Demon 2 Emotional Eating

The food was plain and vegetarian but there was plenty of it.  A notice by the fruit bowl requested that we take no more than two pieces of fruit.  My inner child came out:  I was not going to be deprived.  I took an extra banana and in my head I defied anyone to challenge me. No one did. 

           Each meal time I made sure I was at the top of the queue to get the best choice of oranges.  The oranges were exquisite.  When they ran out, I complained. They gave me the last orange.  The following day they ran out of oranges.  I nearly cried at the betrayal. 

At meal times I piled my plate high and sat near the buffet to go back for seconds. 

          On the 4^th day, my stomach said, "Enough.” 

          My mind said, "Don't be ridiculous," and moved the spoon to my mouth.  

          Stomach, "I will vomit all over this floor if you insist on eating that."   

          My mind howled, "But I'll starve."

          Stomach gave a silent heave to prove the point. I slowly lowered the spoon and reluctantly left the dining hall but not before taking an extra banana and hiding it up my sleeve just in case.   

          The following morning at breakfast time, I heaped my bowl high.  It happened again; I could not get past the 4^th spoonful. Again, my mind urged me to keep going but the stomach said no. Sadly I left the table.  

          At lunchtime, I filled only half the plate but struggled to finish.  The next day, at breakfast I halved the amount again on my plate and ate slowly waiting for my stomach to tell me it had enough.  When it did, I stopped eating and left the dining hall fearing starvation.    I didn't starve. Eventually I learned to trust my stomach.  

This experience forced me to listen to my body and made me aware of the mind – body connection.  Why I was not aware of it before now I presume is because the ‘wallow-in-self-pity’ aspect of my personality.  I eat when I’m upset.  

          I worked as an Au Pair in New York for six months when I was 21 and was desperately homesick.  As soon as I put the children to sleep at night, I gorged on pints of home-made ice-cream which I associate with Sunday dinners and sunny afternoons at home. I gained two stone within the first two months of being there.  I ate the ice-cream while crying and continued to do so to the point of vomiting. My relationship with the parents of the children was not good so talking out my feelings was not an option.  As I continued to ignore the ‘enough’ signals from my stomach, my tolerance for greater quantities of food grew, until Vipassana.    Why it came up so forcefully as early as day four, I'm not sure.

       Reflecting on it since, I assume that when the well-worn tape in my mind started playing the ‘pity me’ story and all the usual escape routes were unavailable, this opened up a space for my inner voice to finally be heard.    I had no choice but to listen.  The body signals I ignored for so long came through loud and clear.    

I then saw connection between meditation and mindfulness.   Meditation denies your ego the distractions it relies on to cover up suffering thus preventing you from dealing with it.  It acts like a broom for your mind to clear out all the dirt you accumulate; the conditioning that Anthony de Mello argues has been imposed on over the course of your life to date.  Meditation forces you to wake up.      

      Mindfulness is the sister tool.  It is the practical application of paying attention to what your body is telling you over the course of your waking day.  I listen to it.  I try to keep an open mind and to be curious about the feelings and emotions as they arise and what they might mean for me.  It has changed old habits and destructive behavioural patterns.   Get this moment right, and you will get day right.  

Since the lockdown I am mindfully ploughing my way through bowls of ice-cream and troughs of Taytos but at least I know I'm pigging out.  My clothes don't fit anymore.  Tights and oversized t-shirts are the only things that fit. But this will pass.  

          In the meantime, I'm enjoying the pancakes son (22) cooked this morning soaked in lemon juice and sprinkles of sugar while listening to the singer Paolo Nutini on Alexa.  I am also mindful I might never get this moment back again.