My parents were/are slightly insane (see some of the insane history here, here, here), and birthed my issues with food. Part of my growth in therapy has been to release them from the expectation of change, and to come to terms with the fact that they are who they are... I came to that understanding during the same moment that I realized that I could not see them again until I was stronger and more independent from the voices they left in my head (not the crazy kind... they just became my conscience). I decided that until I was who I wanted to be, and strong in my identity, that I would stay away from them. It was a great choice, but four years later I have still not seen them.
So my mother and I talked yesterday for a long time... and I cried because she gave me quite the trip about reuniting our mother-daughter relationship... before she dies. That is her wish. That kind of talk would take anyone from detached to tears in about one minute.
Anyway. Accomplishment of Sunday... not eating after the conversation because of the emotional conversation with my mom and the husband being out of town. Good job. High five. Blah. It sucked some of the spunk out of me (temporarily).
I took the day off from walking to give my poor joints a break. Made a fantastic dinner. Husband came home safely.
