I live in a house with 3 other adults and a 2 year old. And it's December. Which in my family means food and lots of it. Christmas cookies, Christmas cakes and candies. Thick, heavy soups and stews and meats. Add to that my constant weening motivation and you have a Holiday Recipe for DISASTER.
I don't know how, but despite two weeks of gaining, I'm not giving up. It feels like such a joke to even type those words: I'm not giving up. The truth is, I feel like I have already. And I did think to myself for about ten seconds this afternoon, "It's time to surrender. You can try again after the holidays are over."
I don't know how to convey to anyone this hold that food has on me. How it pulls me into it's embrace and won't let go no matter how hard I kick and scream and beg. I do beg. I beg on a daily basis to be free of its grip. I wonder often why this is the battle I was given in my life. I mourn for the years I've lost. I've let them flit by as I have just wafted through this little life of mine, never really seizing anything - never really feeling like I'm living. Always feeling that I'm somehow less than human because of my size. That when references are made to "women", I'm not among those counted.
So, while I don't know how to get through the holidays without gaining, let alone while actually losing...some part of me doesn't know how to let it all go either and to throw in the towel. Tomorrow is a new day. And the next another new day. And the next and the next after that.