It’s a vicious circle: feeling crappy about yourself; relying on comfort food to make yourself feel better; then feeling even fatter and porkier and crappier about yourself. And then, you know… rinse, repeat.

Of course occasionally the self-loathing spikes enough to create a crescendo, coupled with promises of everything ranging from ‘clean’ eating, to extreme dieting and increased exercise and so forth. And if you’re like me, the obsessive crash diet is preceded by a ‘Last Supper’ – a binge before you have to start being ‘good’. Of course if the ‘goodness’ never comes, life just becomes one Last Supper after another.

Now… I’m not in a REALLY bad place at the moment, but I don’t feel great about myself. Two months of no exercise coupled with a month of unhealthy eating has me worried about the result. I threw away my bathroom scale when I was moving, so I have no idea what I weigh, but some of my clothes feel tight.

I’m making a huge effort to refocus my attention on my gluten-free diet, so I know my pregnant-looking stomach cannot be from allergy-related dietary problems; obviously just the ‘other’ kind of dietary problem – the ‘unhealthy choices’ kind.

Like I said, I’m not really panicking yet. I’m not signing over my firstborn* to some dark force in exchange for the disappearance of some kilograms… but, I’m just not feeling like I’m the person I want to be. I deserve better than that!

I’m (very) slowly getting back into exercise, but struggling with the nutritional side of things.

I continue to debate (internally) the dieting vs not-dieting approach. But, I pull myself up when I notice my black/white thinking getting out of control. And… I remind myself that I’m still an okay person and can accept who I am although I have 20-30kg to lose to be at my ideal weight.

You’ll be rolling your eyes because we’ve been through this a million times. But… things are a bit different this time around as I’m in the midst of making massive life changes.

Until recently I spent more than half of my 44 years traipsing off to work each day, feeling stifled, stymied and trapped in the life I was living.

I’ve eaten my sadness, my apathy and my anger – all of which I’m hoping will be alleviated now that I’m pursuing a life of my choosing. I’m trying to become the ‘me’ I want to be. I’m following my heart and my passion.

I had hoped that with increased contentedness there’d be less reliance on food to fill the gaping and gnawing hole inside of me.

So far… that hasn’t happened. (And yes, I know my sea change is only two and a half weeks old!) But even as I write this my mind is preoccupied with the notion of chocolate. Bags of it. I think about how ‘happy’ and ‘contented’ lots of chocolate would make me. How ‘good’ it would make me feel.

Obviously I know better. Well I should. I’ve talked many times about the instant gratification versus long-term happiness dilemma which I can’t seem to get my head around. Yes, I know better, but… I’m grappling with the voice that’s suggesting I go and buy a heap of crap and start being ‘good’ tomorrow. Or Monday.

I’ve mentioned that I’m ‘forcing’ some changes – as basic as changing the colour schemes in my new apartment; or exercising in the pool. I’m attempting to push myself out of my comfort zone.

Earlier today I felt a bit unsettled. “What can I do?” I wondered and looked about for inspiration. I saw a couple of unread novels. Immediately my mind jumped to, “No, you read at night in the bath with a glass of wine, not in the morning.”

WTF?!

I told myself that I would – instead – head to the bathtub with my book and some vanilla diet coke. Before lunch. Now I know that change in habit is hardly earth-shattering, but it’s a start (perhaps tomorrow I’ll try reading in bed!**).

I’m hoping that by continuing to change small things, I’ll push myself into bigger changes.

Am I insane? Delaying the inevitable?
Or, do you have some suggestions?

* The fact that I’m childless is (most definitely) beside the point!
** I find I can no longer read sitting up. (And yes, I know that’s strange!)