Emotional overeating occurs when a person uses food to comfort or soothe themselves. The person who emotionally overeats will do so to avoid feeling uncomfortable feelings. Emotional overeaters can be fat, normal sized, or even thin. All have an eating disorder, or a dysfunctional relationship with food.
Why do people emotionally overeat?
Many people learned in childhood that feelings were things to be avoided or ignored. Some come from families of food pushers. Those are people who use food as a salve for everything. If you’re happy or sad, mad or glad, there’s food shoved your way. Some people also had significant trauma in their lives like sexual assault or abuse. They use food to deal with their feelings surrounding these issues. It’s not a bad thing, but it is something that can affect their health and well-being.
Why does the US have such a big obesity problem?
In the US, we are ripe to succumb to the disease of emotional overeating and I do believe it’s more of a food addiction. We have a culture where food comes into play for everything. We are conditioned to eat to handle emotions and just about everything else. We are given mixed messages too that make us desire to eat and then shame us for eating. This sets up a very big emotional dilemma, one that many people don’t recognize, and fewer understand.
How can we begin to overcome emotional overeating?
First, you have to recognize and accept that you eat for emotional reasons as well as physical reasons. Well, in fact, you may not even know when you’re physically hungry because you’re so busy feeding the emotional side of yourself. That’s why we start with the food/mood log. It will help you get in touch with why and when you eat so that we can see if there are patterns we can examine further and work on. Using a food/mood log and the hunger and satiety scale, which we will discuss next time in more depth, can help us figure out our pattens and begin to alter them.
This morning my husband broke the news to me that Roe v. Wade will most likely be overturned and given over to the states as a ‘states’ rights issue’. The change will not go into effect for a few months yet, but it is disheartening to say the least.
I am a woman who has had an abortion. I had just turned 22 and well, I didn’t feel that I had a choice. I did not have the means to keep the child nor did I have the desire to take on that responsibility. I had just graduated college and was preparing my Fulbright proposal.
I, however, was staunchly Catholic at the time. I remember when hearing about girls in high school and college who had abortions, I was judgmental and really adamant that I would never ever do that. It was a sin and I was no murderer.
Boy, did I swallow the Catholic party line, hook line and sinker.
Cut to 1995. I was dating my old boss and had gone to see him in Colorado Springs. He had moved there and my graduation present to myself was to see if we could make things work as a couple. I had high hopes that we could. He was successful enough to run his own store and, at 27, he was not much older than I was. He also had a used Porsche, which I absolutely loved. I wanted one of my own.
Unfortunately, the trip was a bit of a disaster. Things did not work out for us as I had hoped. I ended up leaving Colorado Springs early. I was heartbroken. When I returned home, an ex of mine called up. Despite the fact that he was married, I agreed to meet with him. I knew it would end in sex because that was what our relationship was primarily about, but I did not care at that point. I was hurting and thought that sex, even with a married man, was going to help soothe my wounded ego.
I was wrong. I felt awful about myself and vowed to cut out my promiscuous behavior. My friends, many of whom were also Catholic, thought I was a slut and well, I was inclined to believe them at this time. I did not own my sexuality yet and was using sex to get love, which is what I really wanted. It would take me years to figure that out.
Around my birthday that summer, I missed my period. I was scared shitless. I told my friends and they made me get a pregnancy test. I didn’t think that was a possibility and couldn’t believe that this had become my life. Two tests later, it was confirmed that I was indeed pregnant. My friend, Millie, told me I needed to tell Bill, the now ex in Colorado.
I couldn’t admit to her at the time that he may not have been the father. I told myself I was a slut and couldn’t wait to leave my friends’ company. I needed to process this on my own. The following day I made an appointment with my gynecologist to confirm whether I was pregnant or not. It came as no surprise when the test came back positive. My gynecologist talked to me about my options. It was an unreal, out of body experience.
I told her I didn’t know what I’d decide, but was pretty sure – I didn’t tell her that – that I was going to have an abortion. No way could my family find out. I would be disowned, or so I believed. Excommunication seemed like a less scary option.
My friend, Millie, decided to come over that day and ‘forced’ me to call Bill. I told him I was pregnant. He assumed it was his. It could’ve been. He asked me to marry him, but I did not want to get married just because of a pregnancy. I also didn’t want to marry a man who hurt me so much and I wasn’t ready to saddle him with a kid if it wasn’t his. I knew that that would not be a smart move for either of us or for the child.
I broke protocol and shocked both Millie and Bill by telling them that it might not be his. He hung up on me. She stormed out. I sat on my bed and cried for a few hours. Then, I decided to ram my stomach into the wall. I prayed for a miscarriage.
The next morning, I called the other candidate. I refuse to say his name because I still can’t believe what he said to me that day. He told me I couldn’t have the baby because his wife was pregnant. He also said I was on my own and to ‘take care of it.’ I knew what he meant and was devastated. I immediately called Planned Parenthood in Brookline, the same one where John Salvi, a maniac, opened fire a few years previously and killed several employees because he didn’t believe in abortion.
I will not comment on the Salvi case here because it’s not the place or the time. I can imagine you can guess where I stand on the issue. Regardless, in talking with the receptionist at Planned Parenthood, I was told I’d have to wait two weeks before the fetus could be ‘removed.’ Her words, not mine. I was given an appointment and had to pre-pay for the procedure. I put it on a credit card because I could not afford it otherwise and there was no way I was asking my parents or friends for financial help.
My financial situation cemented my need to have this procedure. However, the next two weeks saw a lot of tears and banging my stomach against walls. I even tried to throw myself down the stairs at my parents’ home – yes, I was still living at home. I had thought better of it because if they caught me bleeding, I was sure they’d figure out my ‘secret’ and my ‘shame’.
I kept to myself largely for the next few weeks and made sure I had the day off of work. I was working at Harvard as a phone operator, part-time. I had no means and no desire to have the baby, but I felt immense guilt and didn’t know how to cope. I turned to food to soothe me as I had done so often before.
Those two weeks seemed to pass in slow motion. I became convinced that God was cruel because he didn’t listen to my prayers for miscarriage. I begged for His help so I wouldn’t have to do this. I didn’t see any other options.
Finally, the day came. My friend, Millie, despite her anger at me, drove me to the clinic where we were greeted by protestors who called me a ‘murderer’ and a ‘whore’. I was visibly upset as the security guard buzzed us into the clinic. I walked slowly as if I were about to be executed.
When I got to the receptionist’s desk, I told her I was there for my ‘appointment’. She handed me some paperwork to fill out and told me to wait. I cannot remember what the paperwork looked like. I can, however, remember crying while filling it out.
The wait seemed interminable and I watched a young woman with her mother. She looked like she was still a teenager and, again, I noticed I was judging her for doing the same thing I was about to do. I was such a Cathoilc hypocrite.
When they called me back, I thought it was for the procedure. Unfortunately, no. I was meeting with a social worker who tried to convince me not to do it. I was very upset about it and told her that I had made up my mind. I felt as if she were judging me too. I know now she was not and I also know that Planned Parenthood really tries to present you with options. They are not the ‘abortion-factory’ that many conservatives would have you believe them to be.
I was crestfallen as I went back out to the waiting area. It seemed endless. I don’t remember how much time passed before I was called back to see the doctor. He was cold and clinical. He told me to undress from the waist down and left me so I could do it. I was so nervous and shaking. I started to cry as I got myself hoisted up into the stirrups on the table. I was starting to rethink this. Maybe my parents wouldn’t kill me. Maybe they would and I wouldn’t have to worry about this at all.
As the doctor returned to the room and began the procedure, I could hear myself think NO in my mind but I didn’t say it out loud. I just cried. He sent me back to a recovery room and I could feel myself bleeding. It was quick and I felt dirty. I was devastated.
Nothing about my abortion experience was good. It wasn’t a happy day for me. It is a day I will always remember. I still regret the decision but am grateful that I had the opportunity to make it. I am scared that women now in states like mine – Texas – will not have the same option. My own daughter, if anything should happen to her, would have to go to Mexico or another state to have the procedure. She’ll be vilified worse than I was.
It’s not right. It’s not fair. No one should tell a woman what to do with her body. If these so-called pro-lifers actually cared about life, they would make it easier for a woman to have a baby and get services she needs for herself and her child. If I had had more options, I may have made a different decision.
I may not have. It was my decision to make and I still deal with the consequences of it to this day. I do regret what I did, but I cannot take it back and I would not want to take away the right of another woman to make the same choice I did. Actually, abortion is not a ‘choice’ per se but a nuclear option so to speak. If I could’ve seen another way forward, I would’ve taken it.
I am sad, disappointed and angry that the Supreme Court, as shaped by Donald J. Trump, takes women’s lives into no account. It’s a sad day for the United States and I can only hope that there will be another decision someday to restore our reproductive rights under Roe V. Wade. I don’t think it will happen in my lifetime.
Ironically, I was born in 1973, when Roe v. Wade was passed. Less than 50 years later, we are overturning it. I can’t believe what has become of my country during my lifetime. I’m not surprised to be honest, but I am upset.