I’ll get the sad part over with first: the truth is that I cannot trust my instincts when it comes to food and alcohol.
That’s the first thing that my HG coach woke me up to when we met.
My sneaky patterns around eating and drinking were outed in my first homework assignment.
Honestly, I didn’t think it was that bad. I mean, my weight had always fluctuated and I found it hard to say no to glass 3, 4, and 5, but didn’t everyone?
Especially after the first 2 cocktails…
What my coach allowed me to see – with a spotlight held over it – was that food and booze had control over me.
I had been lying about eating and drinking and how far I would go to protect my bad habits since third grade (when my favorite after-school snack was tablespoons of Nutella straight from the jar eaten while hiding under the kitchen table).
There were also times I spent the money meant for the math tutor on McDonalds, because I needed that double cheeseburger…a meal to lift my spirits.
And let’s not forget frequently ordering enough takeout for two (“to have leftovers for lunch tomorrow”) but stuffing my face, slurping up every last noodle, before the delivery guy had even left the building.
For me, once the bottle was open, or I was one step inside the bakery, it was all over. My sugar-addict brat took over.
But I thought that since I felt sooooo bad after my bread binges and blackouts, wallowed in my guilt for 24-72 hours (easily done with a hangover, some edibles and new episodes of Great British Bake Off), I was paying the right price.
I mean, I was already following The Method via my husband. He had been working with a coach (to great effect) for a year. We only ate carbs and drank alcohol on the weekends if we were at our goal weight. We were in the best shape of our lives after each losing 50+ pounds and were successfully keeping it off.
The problem was that, because I wasn’t in The Method myself, I didn’t truly understand promises and consequences, so I was out of Personal Integrity.
Side note – my husband and his coach had been trying to bring me in for months. He had also secured a new job and doubled his salary through the work, so I knew it was powerful, but I resisted. My lie to get out of not wanting to go where I knew she would take me was that I wanted to respect his “thing.” What a, frankly, lazy cop out.
Anyway, when I (finally) met with her, I was a mess.
I had been out of work for months and was spinning on the spot, submitting half-assed applications for jobs I didn’t really want so that I wouldn’t be too upset when I never heard back (hi, chicken!), and using my favorite chores, cooking and laundry (yep, I love the old wash, dry, fold – see I’m not all bad), to fill my days, frequently “running out of time” to finish applications or “forgetting” to follow up with that contact.
How did I get out?
Among other things, I found a way to use my dark (food and drink) for light (realizing my dreams).