Seeing as this post may get a little intense, I've decided to put it to music. Feel free to click the links (preferably choose "Open in New Tab" so you don't lose your place on the blog) and add the soundtrack to the story.
I had another appointment with Softly Concerned, and we discussed my compulsive eating habits.
I told her that the visualization exercise she had showed me had worked - once - but that I needed to do it more.
It's not just about sitting at home on the couch with my eyes closed meditating so that I don't go and buy a cupcake. There's the issue of eating in public.
Maybe you read about how I overindulged last week. I was at a BBQ and ate three helpings of orange macaroni cheese. I believe that, when it's orange, unless it's from Leicester, UK, it isn't cheese. So it's not like this was tickling my tastebuds to orgasmic transport. I just kept eating it. And never mind it being unhealthy - taking a third helping of a shared dish before everyone has eaten is just damned rude. But I still did it.
Why?
On Monday I went out with a friend to Happy Hour. We ordered a plate of fries to share. And then my personality split. The first part of me was chatting, eating, listening, eating, drinking, eating. The second part of me was looking down on this and wondering why I ate more fries than anyone else, why I kept eating them when I wasn't hungry, why I still kept eating them when they were cold.
Why?
Softly Concerned explained that overeating can be linked to a sense of shame. While shame is a theme in our family history - long story, it has to do with our inter-racial background - I didn't think that was the key issue.
It hit the right note, it just wasn't the high note.
We discussed the issue of Control around food. My father was a very controlling man and, as a child, the only times that we let go and had fun were when we got together as a family for an event.
These gatherings were always catered with great food. All the women in my family - apart from me - are wonderwomen in the kitchen. Curries, salads, stir fried prawns, creme caramel, even Chinese cooking.
So I had to be a good girl, I had to do well in school, I had to go to Church but, if we were all together celebrating something, I could eat.
So interesting how far back this stuff can go.
But that felt like an old song. Perhaps still true, but still not the main anthem here.
Fat - especially for women - can signify protection. Protection from sexual attention. If you don't put yourself in the game, you don't have to take the risk.
This one resonated for me the most.
"If you think about it," said Softly Concerned, "you tallied up your exercise and overindulgence last week, this macaroni cheese thing happened on the weekend. Maybe you were punishing yourself."
"No," I told her, "but I think you're close. I think I have an Internal Saboteur."
That felt right. My Little Internal Saboteur is protecting me.
BREAKTHROUGH!
"You need to handle this the right way," she went on. "This isn't about trying to stamp down your Protector or tell it to go away.
What you have to do is thank it. Say thank you for protecting me, but I'm not a little girl anymore. I am grown woman, I am strong and I can look after myself. Thank you for looking after me, but I don't need you anymore."
It was bizarre.
As she said that, it was heart-rending ballad time.
I felt very, very sad.