I have been following a ‘prescribed’ meal plan since commencing treatment for anorexia 18 weeks ago.  I was more than a little resistant initially for various reasons: I didn’t need a meal plan because I wasn’t anorexic of course, I know how to eat I just wasn’t doing so, I know what constitutes a balanced diet, I’m not a child, I am intelligent.  What I now whole heartedly accept is that I did need a meal plan to overcome my ‘fear foods’ that I did not even know I was fearful of. In this respect, the meal plan has worked for me.  I think I am at a stage now however, where I am experiencing one of the drawbacks of this treatment method.   A meal plan can be effective in overcoming fear of certain foods because by following it literally as a prescription, and repeatedly eating foods that you have previously avoided, your brain learns that these foods must be safe to eat because you keep eating them. There is an argument however, that these foods themselves, and the wider meal plan in general, then become ingrained as ‘safe’.  Discomfort is therefore experienced when the time comes to deviate from the plan, which clearly you must do or otherwise be stuck eating the same weekly menu on repeat for the rest of your life.

Last night I treated my eldest to pizza at our favourite pizza restaurant.  A mum and son date night whilst dad and daughter are away gallivanting on respective trips to other parts of the globe.  Having pizza itself was not an issue.  Having managed to convince my treatment team that I do know a little about nutrition and do actually cook some bloody good meals, I have been allowed freedom with my evening meal as long I include one third protein, one third carbs and one third vegetables.  A whole pizza from a restaurant constitutes a bigger portion size than I would normally have at home.  Or should I say, bigger than what my brain has learned is a ‘safe’ portion size through repeated exposure over the last 4 months.  And this smacked me in the face last night and left me really rather dazed.

Firstly, it had been the dreaded weekly weigh in earlier in the afternoon.  Last week saw my biggest gain yet which itself proved challenging to deal with but deal with it I did, taking my thoughts to court and well and truly sending them down. I did suspect that it was likely largely the result of water retention attributable to the copious amounts of alcohol consumed on a night out the previous evening.  I did therefore wonder if I would see a loss this week.  Well actually I hoped I would, which is the first thought that I recognised I should not be having.  So I had spent the day contemplating what to have at the pizza restaurant dependant on the outcome of weigh in; if I had gained I would perhaps just have a starter and if I had lost, well then I could allow myself pizza.  Again, I know these were such naughty thoughts.

Weigh in was a loss and yes, part of me was pleased.  And then part of me was cross that part of me was pleased.  So pizza it was.  Maybe if I didn’t eat it all, it would be similar to the portion size that I’ve been giving myself when making my own pizzas at home.  Yes, that would work; it would feel safe. But I might want to eat it all.  Fast forward and that amazing pizza is going in my face.  And it’s good. I could eat it all.  If I eat it all I will feel uncomfortable and unsafe.  I’ll go home and feel guilty and shame, like I’ve let myself down.  STOP IT.  I support the school of thought which argues that eating whilst in recovery from anorexia should be unrestricted in order to convince your brain that it does not need to be scared of food.  And I spent the rest of the evening confused. I didn’t eat all the pizza.  I brought a third of it home, much to the delight of my son who took it for his school pack up today.  I felt good.  But why did I feel good?  Because I had eaten just enough to feel satisfied and avoided feeling uncomfortably full? If I’m honest with myself (in line with my values remember?), I could have eaten it all.  I think I might have wanted to eat it all but I didn’t. So arguably, I restricted.  Maybe I felt good because I had restricted; I’d won the battle of willpower.  I had achieved.  I was a success.  Or was anorexia successful?  Did I let it win?  Would winning actually have been to devour every last delicious mouthful, come home feeling totally stuffed but sit with those uncomfortable feelings to teach my brain not be scared of them?

C.O.N.F.U.S.E.D!!!!!!!