A long, arduous day at work precipitates the urge to twist open a bottle of wine and bask in the nice relaxation it offers. There's nothing wrong with that, right? Of course not. Don Draper routinely swirls fine blended whiskey in his crystal tumblers, there's a 45 minute video on YouTube of Ron Swanson simply sipping on Lagavulin 16, and George Clooney looks superlatively dapper on the billboard ad featuring him holding a glass of premium tequila. In other words, media portrayals of imbibing abound. "It's five o'clock somewhere, right?"--the usual justification for pouring oneself a libation even when the current hour is perhaps not the universally accepted time for which salutations have been deemed conventionally acceptable to consume. But what happens when one libation turns into two, or when the rhythmic swirling of a crystal tumbler in hand occurs more routinely than you feel is appropriate?
I've had enough experience to understand that adopting healthy eating habits is very important to leading a balanced, energized life--I think the positive effects of good food are so understated, and I truly believe that many ailments (fatigue, colds, lack of strength) can easily be improved with healthier, more consistent consumption. However, the relationship you develop with the ritual of eating is equally as important as the food itself--I've born witness to so many instances wherein one's consumption is in some way predicated upon an underlying sense of guilt. People set unrealistic expectations of themselves, which in turn fosters this perversely negative association with food in general. You have to eat, you have to eat regularly, and you have to consume a nice balance of different foods. I'm not a nutritionist, I'm not a certified trainer, but I know intimately every chapter and verse regarding guilt. I've let it shape my life, dictate my thoughts, and I've allowed it to consume me. Over time, I've learned to let go of the guilt and adopt healthier conceptions of myself, both about my body and who I am as a person.
When my brother died, it broke me, fractured me completely. Before now, I have never admitted that to myself or acknowledged it before, ever. But there is no question, looking back and reflecting, that my mind was utterly shattered. I never confronted those feelings or took the time to grieve his passing, though; I just suppressed all those emotions associated with the devastation--I literally got up the next morning and went to the gym, proceeded thereafter to work, and persisted in as much of a normalcy as any situation of that solemnity could allow. To be honest, most of that month-long period of familial grieving is a blur. I chose to gloss over all that was unfolding before me with superficial lenses because I was in such shock the whole time. When you bury something so deep inside you, however, the pressure quietly builds, the bubbling liquid of which slowly creeps its way toward every nook and cranny, until eventually it spews over, either in a fantastic explosion or a steady flowing outpour of ooze. Repressed emotions will without question manifest themselves overtly at some point, likely in unhealthy capacities.
I found some fleeting sense of solace in exercise. I liked the way it made me feel, the natural flow of endorphins that could lift me up and leave me feeling more positive afterward. My predilection for diet and exercise became hyper-obsessive, however, bordering on the insane. I would exert such mental forethought into the preparation of all my meals for any given day or extended period of time during which I might be away from the kitchen. I centered all my attention on the clock and ensured that I would intake sustenance at the exact hour on which I was supposed to eat. Making it to the gym became a religious devotion as opposed to a healthy outlet. If I didn't have access to food, and especially good food, I would become visibly stressed. There's no question now, looking back, that I exhibited many tell-tale signs of an eating disorder. When the insistence on adhering to something becomes so great that it overwhelms all other rational thought and flexibility to adapt, I think one could argue that it's mostly unhealthy at that point. But I was so traumatized by the unexpected death of my brother, that I subsequently turned toward things I felt I could control, chief among which were what I ate and when I exercised. I was so scared of the bottom potentially dropping out from underneath me unexpectedly again that I poured all of my thoughts and efforts into carrying out daily routines with unwavering discipline, because at least in that way I could feel like I retained some semblance of control in my life. I had been wanting to get a tattoo for a while, and losing my kin felt like as good of an impetus as any to follow through with that inclination; I got tattooed on my side the Chinese characters for human emotions--"happiness, anger, sadness, joy, younger brother"--my philosophy was that no matter what may befall me, regardless of what situations I might possibly encounter, I could always retain complete control over my own emotions and possess total agency concerning them. But that's not living, that's not being truly human. You're entitled to bask in whatever sentiment washes over you in a given situation: if you feel sad, then absorb it; if anger overcomes you, process it; when you encounter something joyous, revel in the positivity. I lived in a perpetual state of monotonous stoicism, going so far as to even perversely deny myself the possibility of savoring happy instances because I feared encountering anything that possessed too much intensity. I took healthy consumption so far to the other end of the spectrum, literally embodying the mantra behind eating food of such nature: "I eat bland chicken and steamed broccoli because it gives me sustained energy and reduces any spikes in blood sugar levels and subsequent crashes." I couldn't even allow my "life sugar" to "spike." Squat, press, jump, chicken, yam, sleep, repeat. That was it. That was all I allowed myself to experience.
You can only repeat the same things, though, for so long before even the most unwavering resolve begins to falter. I couldn't live a balanced life because I was motivated purely by guilt. My brother suffered from hypertension, obesity, and was on the cusp of becoming diabetic. I made one off-handed remark of disapproval one time when he got Nutrisystem, which I later found out he had heard me say. I carried the unfathomably heavy weight of that guilt after he died around with me everywhere I went. In some masochistic, perverse capacity I would punish myself in the gym, using that guilt as counter-productive fuel to torture myself. At my leanest, I was probably around 6% body fat--I had to eat every two hours, at most, or else I would get light headed and my energy would immediately drop off. Yet, when I would stare at myself in the mirror, naked, bare, I couldn't fucking stand the way I looked. I hated everything about my appearance and I perceived myself as never being strong enough. My repressed feelings manifested themselves in the form of exercise fueled by self-loathing, but eventually even I got burned out by bland chicken and steamed broccoli.
You know, I used to drink too much, an unsavory habit for which I paid a dear price. I used to cut myself down too deeply because I doubted my own self worth. And although I've said the words, "I love you," it has dawned on me that I'll never fully be able to embody the notions of unbridled affection for another person until I can relinquish my own perverse self-imposed conceptions of inadequacy. Drinking brought out the worst in me. I'm not an outwardly destructive person, but much rather the opposite; lessening of my inhibitions would precipitate sentiments of self-deprecation and self-sabotage, which I would project back onto myself. With any sort of implosion, though, there is always collateral damage, and the person closest to me was affected by it most significantly. She stood by me during my bouts of emotional undermining with unwavering patience, but I drove too large a wedge between myself and those closest to me because I feared the possible scenario of being vulnerable in front of anyone. Eventually, she left me and I woke up to an epiphany: I was standing alone, on an island of solitude, because I had driven all those close to me away; furthermore, I chose to inhibit my own potential to experience sensations because I feared the unknown--and whiskey became an accessory to that aim. That's why I like the same shows, to do the same things, eat the same foods, and do the same routines. One friend put it to me aptly: "Keta, I couldn't even imagine you taking off for the weekend on an impromptu trip because you'd become too absorbed in the process of trying to conceive of how you'd pack your foods and work around your routines." But I was fueled by guilt--the guilt of deviating from a routine and a fear of encountering the unknown.
What I'm driving at, specifically, is the guilt associated with consumption habits. I feel people develop negative connotations related to food and eating, which in turn fosters an unhealthy and unwelcoming environment for trying to nurture positive consumption practices. I suffered from severe body dysmorphia, which is why I adhered religiously to a diet of little else other than bland chicken (literally not even salt and pepper) and steamed broccoli--I've eaten enough for two lifetimes' worth. And when I couldn't stomach those two foods alone any longer, whiskey abetted in my effort to numb guilt and subdue fear. Now I employ a much mentally healthier and balanced approach to consumption: 90% of the time I eat very cleanly--oatmeal, eggs, vegetables, lean meats, etc.--and 10% of the time I eat whatever I want. I consume entire pizzas, burgers, chips, and whatever else once or twice a week. I don't drink anymore, but when I go out with friends, I clean out the kitchens at bars. Life is about balance and it took me a long time to realize that. I also recognize that my own personal experiences with guilt and the way it shaped my consumption habits are mine alone--but I guess I'm driving at the importance of examining one's own eating habits and how critical the thought processes that motivate them are. I'm far from perfect insofar as my own emotional dispositions are concerned, but I'm at least at a place now where I can acknowledge myself in a much more forgiving manner.
I think life deserves a balance between self-improvement and also an appreciation for your current state. Remaining content with where you're at fosters complacency, which is no good. But if you don't keep positive thoughts about your personal self-image in perspective, then you'll never be satisfied, which is also no good. And while my own example of perverse devotion to routines with religious adherence is an unhealthy illustration, there is no question that improvement requires discipline and consistency. The biggest mistake I see people make is adopt some small healthy improvements, but then desist prematurely when they feel discouraged at their progress or if they cheat. Your body goes through natural fluctuations, for one--so, don't beat yourself over that. And I just really think it's important to first ask yourself what your goals are--then, examine the palpable things that drive those motivations of yours and confirm that they're healthy. Personally speaking, mine was guilt, which took me a long time to recognize was all-consuming and wrong. While the goal to look good aesthetically is an admirable one, exercise is about so much more than that. I like to exercise because I like to feel strong. I don't mean strength insofar as how much weight I can or can't move—I’m talking about a puissance that originates from within. That sense of overwhelming accomplishment you get when you encounter a physical barrier you're unable to traverse, but through sheer force of will and unwavering attempts, you vanquish that which hitherto impeded your progress. The indefinite physical response to the stimulus of exercise. That’s what I love. I still eat a lot of chicken--nearly every day--I just make sure to season it liberally and I don't beat myself up when I garnish it with pizza on the side. Balance.
"Calvin : There's no problem so awful, that you can't add some guilt to it and make it even worse.”
Calvin & Hobbes
Questions for introspection about your consumption habits:
What's the first thing you eat in the morning and at what time? Breakfast is paramount--I'm talking about a real breakfast, not just one yogurt cup and a protein bar.
How often do you pack a lunch versus getting something quick whilst at work?
How much water on average do you consume in a day? Is your urine clear or at least mostly?
How many meals a day do you eat? If you exercise even just moderately, the answer really should be at least four. It's such a huge misconception people have that if you want to look good you have to eat less and less often. Really, the answer is you have to eat more regularly--the net volume doesn't necessarily have to be more, but you really ought to be eating every three hours at most.
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