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Showing posts with label trigger foods. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trigger foods. Show all posts

It's OK to Ask for Help

Posted by Aldie at 6:53 AM | 0 comments

The path to wellness.
Yesterday, I went to a therapist to discuss compulsive overeating. We went over much of what I thought we'd go over, but what I didn't realize was how much it was going to affect me. She told me that we learn most of our coping behaviors before we turn nine years old. Whatever you did when you were a kid is what you continue to do now. I used to hide under my grandmother's kitchen table and eat ice cream. To this day, ice cream remains a trigger food for me—although I no longer hide under the table.

We talked about what it was like to grow up in an alcoholic home, my mother's compulsive eating, and how seeing that you drown or stuff down your problems is the way to cope. That much I knew. I did not know it was going to rouse up a bunch of feelings I thought I had successfully suppressed. So much for thinking.

Memories from the Corners of My Mind. . . .
The memories and feelings lingered into my dream world last night. I dreamt of having things stolen from me. I dreamt of people I hadn't seen in years. I dreamt of feeling used and abandoned. This morning, I feel odd.

I plan to continue therapy for a few weeks just to see where it goes. I don't want to be like I am any longer, and I need help to free myself from myself.

I am still going to the lap band seminar tomorrow. I want to explore all of my options. I need help, and I don't mind asking for it. 

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Trigger Foods

Posted by Aldie at 7:22 AM | 0 comments

Trigger foods. We all have them. For some it may be chips, others chocolate. For me, I have a couple. A big one is, believe it or not, hot dogs. I will eat them until the entire package is gone. I do the same thing with bologna. I think it must be the salt. But I'm not really sure what it is. Maybe I associate pleasant childhood memories with them. Hot dogs are typically a cookout food. Maybe they remind me of times when my family was almost functional.

Once I get started, though, the hot dogs are like a drug. The taste. The texture. The smell. The softness of the bun. The chewiness. The taste of the ketchup. Sometimes I eat chili dogs—and that's a big one, too. Chili dogs with cole slaw. Here's a thought: they were a favorite of my Dad's.

Oh my God. I'm having a revelation right now, and I didn't plan it. My Dad = chili dogs. My Mom = ice cream. My two biggest trigger foods. Holy Crap. I gotta go think about this.

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