I've been using home made oatmeal and raisin cookies to assuage my stress and fear reactions to all the craziness going on at my home.
Seems that I need an operation on my intestines, to cut out a scarred stricture with adhesions that may close off and cause my bowel to rupture if it's not taken care of. I am not done raising my son, so I really don't have time to die of perotinitis, nor can I bleed out. I have more to do, dang it, and I will not go gently into that good night.
Meanwhile, I've had to write to all my local political representatives and senators to get my husbands unemployment to go through so we won't starve to death or freeze because they cut off the power. We have also been trying to get me on a basic health or medicaid program so that I can have my operation, which is too expensive without insurance. Hubby is seeking a new contract, and I am seeking a new career, now that journalism is proving to be impossible for making a living (120 newspapers have closed since this economic recession has hit, and more will close soon. One major paper has already closed in Seattle, and no one is sure if the Seattle Times will follow, as it is on life support). We have had to borrow money to get a couple of weeks of my Crohns medications, which are hideously expensive (and yes, we have tried to get them for free, to no avail). My son is acting out in school, doing things he wouldn't normally do, I assume because of the tension at home, and the first anniversary of my best friends death is this Sunday. Yeah, no stress at all, right?
What does all this have to do with my upholstered belly, you might ask?
Well, in addition to the daily stress of dealing with life, now I have the stress of trying to deal with life with no money, or very little money, and still manage to get decent food to live on, and work out regularly while trying to stay on the diet I've been on since November.
When under fire, my standard reaction is to soothe myself with a cookie. I've been doing that since I was a child, when my mother, an excellent cook and baker, would make cookies or cupcakes or brownies or cinnamon rolls at least 3 days a week, and I would come home to delicious smells and experience these sweets still warm from the oven while I told mom all about my day. Granted, her cookies were not vegan, like mine have to be, and therefore I am sure they had more calories than mine do, but still.
I am aware that this is not a good coping strategy, but trying to face the stress without sugar just doesn't seem possible to me.
So I made the vegan oatmeal raisin cookies, complete with soynut butter, and though it took me a week to eat them, I still gained two pounds. And yes, I exercised for 7 days in a row and did some extra cardio on the machines, just to try and even up the calorie burn. It hasn't helped very much, but then it may have and I just don't notice it. Still, I have to keep the exercise habit going, otherwise I will lose muscle tone.
And I have to admit I have been closer than ever to quitting the whole thing and just giving up. After all, there is no Gwyneth Paltrow lurking beneath my adipose tissue. There's only a careworn 48 year old woman who could use a good plastic surgeon and lots of hair color. Every time I eat something that has MSG or onions or some other allergen like lemon grass in it, my face breaks out in hives, which is even more attractive.
I struggle every day to figure out if this is worth it. And I have a different answer every single day. Do I go underground with the cookies, or do I try to nap the stress away? Do I go to work out and hoist my flabby abs around the floor with all these other women who have smaller bellies than I do, or do I beg off, sit in bed and read a good book, drink some tea and have a cookie? Which will make me less want to cry and tear out my hair in frustration?
I feel like I have a limited time to get my life together, and I don't think I am doing a good job of it. I can't look forward to being hungry, or more hours, months, years of lifting myself off bikes, off the gym floor, or over a Pilates ball. I just have to accept that as the way it is going to be, and move on.
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