It’s difficult to judge how much progress I’ve made in positivity this week. It’s hardly quantifiable, is it? I do stare at myself in the mirror and tell myself I love me, but I do still feel silly about it.
I haven’t had many self-loathing feelings at the end of the week, but I think that’s partly because of the group sessions I go to. I can’t stress enough the importance of getting help when you have a problem. You might thing you have your anxiety under control or you’re not depressed or you can handle it, you can ‘walk it off’, you’re tough, right? Well, one day my father told me something: if you can avoid pain, why suffer? This was regarding taking headache tablets, something we try not to do, for whatever reason. Ultimately, he was right. So even if you feel your issues are mild or manageable, it’s a good thing to get help and learn the tools to manage these issues in case they get worse or to stop them getting there.
But although I am right now in a fairly neutral place, self-worth-wise, I do have a lot of self-doubt. I am noticing some short-term improvement and hoping to do the work to make them permanent, but of course there is the fear that it won’t work, that I will relapse and it will all go wrong all over again. My positive take on this is that a) I am at least doing better now and that’s great and b) I have some knowledge now that I hope will allow me to recognize any fall from the wagon as only a passing thing and reaffirm my ability to go through with this process.
I have also had a couple of breakthroughs or revelations this week. One was that the most severe part of my BED started after an almost anorexic-like diet I followed after my aunt died. The other one is an unconscious belief that my mother loves me less because I am fat. Consciously, rationally, I know this is not true, but I can’t shake that sentiment now that I’ve unearthed it. It came about while I was having a cuddle with my son and thought how safe one feels as a child when hugging a parent. It followed then memories of hugging my mother more recently and I had a sense of apprehension, of fear, because of my weight. And that’s how I realised that that’s what I believe, deep down. It’s quite sad and also undeserved. My mother might do my head in about my weight, but in all other respects she is as good a mother as one can ask for. Still, there it is. I’m not going to lie, I’m a bit shaken by this sudden self-knowledge about my unconscious beliefs and I am not sure how to handle it right now. I do have a positive way of looking at it though and it’s that at least now that I am conscious of those feelings, I can try to find a way to manage them.
I reckon I need another cup of tea, though.