Does This Ego Make Me Look Fat?

I went to a "meeting" last night—to protect the innocent, I won't say which one or where, but suffice it to say it was for people who have issues with food, eating, and the effects of food excesses on the body. It's no secret to readers of this blog that I've had more than my share of those issues since an early age, when I was urged, as a little one, to "Eat everything on your plate so you'll grow up to be big and strong"...only to discover, when I was 10, that—according to the same adults who once found my large appetite to be so cute—I was eating too much, and would surely grow up to be big and weak.

To sum up what I heard at the meeting: some people get obsessed with food and eating to the point of unhappiness and ill health, and this is called "food addiction." A way to control the addictive urge to eat "red light" foods, and to overeat in general, is to consume only specific foods, to weigh and measure them with precision, and never to stray from this, not even on your birthday when everyone else is enjoying your birthday cake. If you want dominion over the addiction, you intend to follow this plan for the rest of your life, one day at a time.

In this particular group, which has stricter guidelines than similar groups, food choices are in the control of a sponsor who tells the sponsee exactly what to eat. This is done because "We [group members] admit we are powerless over food." There is also a huge emphasis in this program about weight loss; it seems that success on the plan is measured not simply in "abstinent" days, but in the amount of weight lost and kept off. (I wonder how this works for slender people with food issues.)

Actually, I'm on a regimen myself at the moment that is...well, regimented. There's a list of foods I can choose from (it's quite extensive but not all-encompassing), which may be prepared only in specific combinations...certain foods that are verboten (grains, sugar, red meat, shellfish, nuts, table salt, coffee, black tea)...and all are to be eaten in weighed-and-measured amounts, on the small side but perfectly adequate for complete adult nutrition. The food is also prepared with a minimum of fat, no heavy sauces, excessive condiments or spices, so that the natural flavors and textures of the food can be fully experienced. It is also recommended to eat without drinking or talking during the meal, and to chew each bite to liquid (at least 22 times) before swallowing.

Following this plan—which I will do for awhile and see how it goes (so far, so good; I feel great; joint pain is remarkably reduced, and my ADD seems to have disappeared)—certainly makes life easier, unless I think I need regular ingestion of vegetable tempura or lobster risotto in order to be happy. No choices about amounts, and fewer choices about what I'm going to eat, means less headroom taken up by thoughts of food. I've come to see that I spend a good portion of my day thinking about (or obsessing over), shopping for, preparing and eating meals...time I could be using to write articles, work on my business, watch movies, or do The Work.

But am I powerless over food? I don't see how that is possible. I'm not addicted to food; I'm addicted to my thoughts about food. Thoughts like, "I need more food." I inquired into that concept the other day and discovered that this has never been true for me; it can never be true, and yet I have believed it all my life and used it as a justification for eating more than I actually want to.

As I've watched my addictive tendencies around food and eating, I've discovered that my core addiction is to the future. Wanting more of something—be it food, sex, dope, money, attention, time on the internet—is not a present-tense story; it's about wanting comfort, security, and pleasure. Wanting more means forgetting what's happening in the moment; I'm already concerned with the next moment, and with the point where what's in front of me is gone, so I miss what's in front of me. As a result, I eat too fast and don't experience taste and fullness; I load my fork for the next mouthful, not giving the current mouthful my full attention. In following this program, I've come to see that the next mouthful is not my business; when I'm eating mindfully, I don't miss the fulfillment of this one that I'm chewing now. As a result, I don't need as much food as I previously thought, and I'm appreciating and being intimate with the food I have.

As for weight loss, it's been happening, and yet this is not where it's at for me at the moment. I welcome a lighter body as a bonus, because there is less encumbrance, less physical pain, easier breathing, more energy...and I see that I have been unkind to this body to have ever seen it as unworthy, unattractive, or less than perfect. Body-condemnation is an ego-trip of the worst kind; a false sense of self in which there is no recognition of one's true nature. Love has no problem living in a fat body, a skeletal body, an old body, a body that's ill or misshapen or missing parts. The only time a fat body is a problem is when I project that it is hateful and I identify as a hateful object.

Byron Katie once told me, "There's nothing you can do to lose [or gain] weight." That goes against scientific evidence to the contrary, but this is not about science; it's about eating in a way that feels closer to Source. When we touch Source, there are many things that we used to think we needed that we see we no longer need. This doesn't mean that we don't exercise, lose or gain weight, sleep, feed the body healthy foods in healthy amounts. It's like the story about a monk who for many years meditated and meditated, prayed and prayed for a vision of the Divine Mother, until one day he realized he was That and didn't need the vision. That was the day the Goddess came to bless him.


©2008 by Carol L. Skolnick; all rights reserved.

Message from a Living Man

"Experience is what you get when you don't get what you wanted." I don't know who said it, but the Carnegie-Mellon professor, Dr. Randy Pausch, who is dying of pancreatic cancer, quotes it as one of his favorites in the video below. His experiences of not getting what he wanted seem to be very positive.



My father died of pancreatic cancer 18 years ago. My memory of what he went through isn't remotely like Pausch's report. My dad lasted five months after diagnosis, which is a long time for this kind of cancer; in those days, the prognosis was two months. He wanted very much to live, and he tried to make the best of it, even driving his car until two weeks before he died; but he didn't have physical strength, and the side effects of the chemo treatments that shrank his tumor and bought him some time were very debilitating. My mother and I watched him go from a robust working man, with a zest for life and a raunchy sense of humor, to someone frail, spirit broken and looking much older than his 69 years, who spent his final months in pain.

Looking at Pausch, it appears they've made incredible strides in the treatment of pancreatic cancer since then. Pancreatic cancer is still a death sentence, yet one can't help but see that this man's fabulous attitude and courage are healing. Watching him certainly is healing to me.

Many years ago, I visited a friend on her deathbed at Calvary Hospital in the Bronx, a hospice. She'd had breast cancer, received invasive treatment for it, yet eventually the disease spread to her bones and throughout her body. When she first got the diagnosis, she did everything she could to keep working, and to take care of her health, even taking on a controversial regimen of organic food, gallons of carrot juice, coffee enemas, and handfuls of supplements. It was time consuming, prohibitively expensive (really beyond her means), sometimes painful and exhausting, but she handled it all with good humor...and this was a woman who was not known for her good humor in the best of times. She also made time to do some things she'd always wanted to do, which included traveling to Europe, and attending the kalachakra initiation with the Dalai Lama in New York.

Everyone at Calvary seemed happy and pain-free (they keep the patients on pain-killers); not a bad way to go. I walked around the place and everyone who was conscious had a wide-eyed expression of peace like Ramana Maharshi. The hospital made sure these folks lived full lives until their last; they offered art classes, "museum walks" (consisting of wheeling the beds around the building to look at a fine collection of donated artwork), hair stylists, concerts, any movie they wanted right in their rooms. Friends and families are allowed and even encouraged to come spend the night with patients in their rooms, read to them, sing with them, and bring them their favorite foods if they still have an appetite.

My friend described her "slumber party" the night before; she and her best friend had shared their preferred brand of vanilla bean ice cream (I brought her some more), seen a first-run movie, and enjoyed lots of laughs. "We had a wonderful time," my friend gushed; a wonderful time on her deathbed. She passed away a week later.

It's easier to "love what is" when all is going well in our world. What about those of us with problems, like a terminal illness, that are not going to go away? It may not be easy, but it is indeed possible to live well in the meantime, as this happy professor illustrates. Unless he's a ridiculously good actor, Pausch seems to be one of those people for whom all is going well—even or perhaps especially with a virulent and painful form of cancer—as he lives his life one day at a time, with gratitude for all that has been good and for all that continues to be good.

This may be one of those videos that everyone but me has seen already. In case you haven't yet, I hope you'll enjoy it and find healing in it. If he can do it, we can too.


©2008 by Carol L. Skolnick; all rights reserved.