my search for a food plan i could live with didn't happen in a vaccum, of course. at the same time, i had embarked on a deeply spiritual journey, one that was enabling me not only to embrace the gifts i'd so long denied, but also to hear the self-sabotaging messages i was giving myself.
i realized that day after day, week after week, of forgetting to eat, of denying my body its critical nourishment, and then stuffing it with whatever i had closest at hand, was basically telling myself that i was supposed to come last. my needs didn't matter. my nourishment - physical, emotional, intellectual or spiritual - didn't count. it could come dead last, after i had done my best to meet the needs of everyone around me.
the same self-sabotaging voice disparaged my writing, telling me that my books were silly, they didn't matter, and who'd want to read them anyway? the more i thought about all the insidious ways i had found to damage myself, the more i realized how hard, how cruel, even i really was to myself.
i was as ruthless and relentless as my own worst villians. to me.
and so, the long work of healing began. i began to sit with the Child, the Maiden, the Young Woman who was me. i began to encourage them to speak. they were hungry, they told me. hungry for love, for kindness, for sympathy and compassion. but they were also hungry for food.
which led me back to my refrigerator, staring into the depths, wondering... "so what the f@#%$#k am i supposed to eat?"