The time I couldn't eat more pizza

I'm not gonna lie. I had kind of a rough day yesterday. Mostly stuff that I really don't want to talk about in this particular forum. But it was rough.

I posted on my Facebook status yesterday that margaritas should come complimentary with the routine OBGYN appointment. And my friends wholeheartedly agreed by the masses. And it's not because it's painful or something, it's because it's uncomfortable and awkward and I would seriously rather be scrubbing my dirty shower floor than be there.

But the OBGYN appointment was merely the icing on the cake of an already funky day. And when I came home, the last thing I wanted to do was stand in front of the stove and try out the new recipe I talked about. The thawed out chicken went into the refrigerator for another day and we used our hook-ups at the pizza place Todd worked for to get a cheap pizza for dinner instead. I kind of demanded that pizza be for dinner actually.

Pizza has always been my go-to food for when I'm feeling especially lousy. It's my "feel-better" food though it never really made me feel better. It just allowed me to numb out or forget what was going on so that I didn't have to feel anything other than the fullness of my stomach. I would eat pizza until I couldn't put another bite in my mouth. That often times meant an entire large pizza, all by myself. And last night, I had plans for eating a lot of pizza.

Except the strangest thing happened. The pizza didn't taste super awesome and I couldn't eat more than two pieces. I ate until I was full and I really didn't want anymore. It was in that moment I thought I was going crazy and was about to lose my mind. The only way I can describe what I was feeling is that perhaps it's like someone addicted to to drugs and what they usually use to go to for a fix doesn't work anymore. It was pretty unnerving and I didn't know what to do with myself.

I ended up doing some writing and breathing (and yes, I actually did sit there and focus on my breathing in and out) and then Todd and I had a long conversation about all of the things that were making my day rough. And by the end of it all, I felt calm and normal again instead of frantically searching for something to soothe the fix that I felt like I was needing. All if it felt like a bizarre experience.

And for the record, this same thing happened about a month and a half ago, but I didn't give as much thought to it then.

I guess for so long, I've used food as my "fix." It's been my addiction and drug of choice and consuming it in mass quantities did something for me. It allowed me to escape from life or my emotions and disappointments. But now, things have changed, and what used to work for me, simply doesn't anymore. I was actually kind of pissed off that food didn't work. I was angry that I couldn't even will myself to eat another bite. Not only did my body say no, but I said no. I just didn't want more.

Anyway, all this to say, it was a bit alarming to realize that my coping mechanisms have just changed. New habits have really been formed and my body has been trained to do things differently. It feels like both a miracle and a pay-off for the hard work I've put in to make these changes.

The weight is still coming off slowly, but it's these things that remind me of the healing and change I've experienced. And that it's real and that 20 years of some really bad habits and ways of eating don't have to be like that forever. There is hope for me yet. And the lack of pizza I consumed is proof of it.