I love Lent as much as I hate it. It’s depressing and sad with no choruses of Alleluia. It’s painful for all the giving up and fasting and abstinence we do (abstinence from meat for you non-Catholics. We don’t go all season without sex. Even Catholics aren’t that crazy). But it’s a beautiful time of anticipation and examination.
Every year my goal with my Lenten resolution is to grow closer to God and to being the human He created me to be. To live up to the potential He gave me. You can read about my past Lenten journeys here and here.
This year feels harder than past years in coming to a decision. Especially with how distant from God I’ve been feeling lately. Any movement toward God would be an improvement. Pray, like, at all. Go to just one daily Mass a week. Prepare in advance for the Sunday Mass. The bar is pretty low right now. But one of my standards for a Lenten resolution is that it has to be uncomfortable if not downright painful. None of those are painful, or at least they’re not supposed to be.
Every day on the way to dropping the kids off at school we listen to the podcast Catholic Sprouts. A few weeks before Lent the podcast focused the entire week on the motivation behind fasting. Fasting. Going without food. Each day the Catholic Sprouts Lady described the benefits of fasting and how it brings us closer to our fellow man and to God. Every day that week I felt the nagging voice that said this would hurt. This would be perfect.
I love food. All food. There are very few foods I will not eat. I like it all. Sweet, salty, spicy, sour, tangy, creamy… it doesn’t matter. I’ll eat it. And I like copious amounts of food. The more the merrier! I have a hard time saying “no” or “enough.” I can keep eating until I’m ready to vomit. As a result I’ve struggled with my weight for more than half my life. I know what I’m supposed to eat. I’ve read the books, heard the studies, bought the programs. Mostly veggies, lots of water, limit the starches and carbs and sugars. I know what I’m supposed to eat and I know how much. I just have a hard time not giving in to my wants and desires and but-I-wannas. I’m a two year old having a tantrum in the toy aisle just because there’s a Milky Way in the house.
I haven’t done a resolution concerning food since I was a kid when I used to give up chocolate. As I grew in maturity of my faith, giving up something that’s a treat that I shouldn’t be consuming on a regular basis anyway seemed self-serving to me. Give up ice cream and if I just happen to lose a few pounds in the process well oh golly lucky me! For me, that’s not the point of Lent. But food is playing too prominent of a role in my life and is a visible sign of all the issues I have with self control – going to bed early instead of one more episode of “Modern Family”, getting up early to work out instead of hitting snooze again and again, 5 minutes on social media that turn into 42, waiting until the last possible second to start a project. Self-control and discipline are hard for me across many areas of my life. Food is just the most obvious and most painful.
Resolution: To fast every Wednesday and Friday of Lent. Eating only two pieces of toast at lunchtime and one small meal at dinner. Except for my morning coffee, only drinking water or hot tea. The rest of the week eating half of what I normally would. The goal is not to lose weight. The goal is to learn to tell myself no.
Day 1: Ash Wednesday
I’ve never been so hungry in my life.
It’s 8:43 a.m.
This is how I know it’s all in my head and that denying myself anything is so completely foreign to me that it’s consuming my entire world. I haven’t eaten breakfast since battling the flu several weeks ago. I can go until sometimes 1:00 p.m. before I get hungry. Even when I was eating breakfast it was pretty normal to hit 9 or 10:00 before hunger pains hit and I’d have some yogurt at my desk at work. And on the weekends, if I’m busy enough, I can go until dinner without food. But the fact that today it’s a conscious decision I now feel “forced” and deprived. I really am a spoiled brat!
I have my toast at lunch finally and by the time I get home I am hangry. My husband had proposed changing dinner plans and I almost punched him through the text. The fact that he was already home when I arrived but dinner wasn’t even started yet, much less sitting on a plate waiting for me, pissed me off. The only thing getting me through the day was the thought of macaroni and cheese with tuna! Why is he trying to torture me?!?
I may be a tad over dramatic when it comes to food…
Day 2: Date Night
I did well with reducing my lunch today, and I have a plan for date night with my husband tonight. We go to a restaurant we haven’t been to in a while and when my food is delivered I immediately ask for a to-go box. I heard about that trick once in one of my weight loss/healthy eating groups, but I never had the discipline to do it. I want to be full! Gut-bustingly full! American serving sizes are ridiculously gluttonous so even at half, a meal out is still plentiful and I’m fine scooping half the portion into the to-go box.
But my weakness comes in the form of a shitty day at work and a really tasty Bloody Mary. My standard for this experience is half of what I would normally eat. Well, I rationalize, with the kind of day I had I normally would probably have 4 Bloody Marys. So having 2 is still “technically” in line.
I did not need two Bloody Marys. I didn’t actually need one! I find myself giving in to my wants and my I-earned-it/I-deserve-it. At the following activity I nurse one beer the rest of the night. Reduction of my norm definitely, but still not a sacrifice. The scarfing down of the cold pizza when we got home and were putting away leftovers from the kids’ meal with the babysitter served absolutely zero purpose. My husband chided me immediately, but not before the entire piece was gone.
Day 3: Friday Nights
Ever since I was a kid, Friday nights were a big deal. When my mom’s parents were still alive we would eat at their house every Friday night. Something from a local restaurant. In the forty+ years of my parent’s marriage my mother never cooked on a Friday night. Never. It was their deal. “Dad’s turn to cook” always translated to eating out. After my grandparents died we either went out to a restaurant or brought home something. When I got married, we continued eating with my parents every Friday night.
Friday nights were such an important event that when my mom started chemo treatments she insisted on scheduling her infusions no later than Tuesday so the side effects would subside in time for Friday night dinner. If she was too sick to join, my dad would bring something to our house for dinner and let my mom rest. We each take turns choosing where to eat. Sometimes we go to the restaurant, but more often it’s at my parent’s house.
No matter my dedication through the week to healthy eating, fast food Fridays are the doom of my plan. Even the so-called “healthy menu” options are far from such or so skimpy it’s not satisfying. So every Friday night I end up stuffing my face with all the things, along with the kids’ leftovers, and some kind of dessert. I end the night miserable with a bloated gut and heartburn. But every Friday I repeat this greedy scenario.
Tonight is Dad’s choice and he chooses Culver’s. A midwest franchise that specializes in custards and greasy cheeseburgers with real cheddar and homestyle sides. They also have great fish so it’s a Lenten favorite. Every Catholic in town eats there, according to my dad. Normally I would get a three-piece cod dinner with fries and cheese curds and their pathetic quarter cup of steamed broccoli (you know, to be healthy). Tonight I get a two piece cod and eat only one piece, a small handful of fries, a few cheese curds, and the broccoli (it’s not big enough to bother reducing). I’m satisfied by the end and not miserable. Skipping the heaping bowl of ice cream my dad offers every week also helped keep the misery at bay. I went to bed without heartburn or a gut ache. Hmmm… maybe this isn’t so bad. Also, having a big box of leftovers encouraged my husband to set more of his meal aside. And whether it was for solidarity or because he didn’t have my bad influence, my husband skipped the dessert too.
Day 5: The Breakfast Buffet
Today is a massive food day and I have spent the last week thinking about how I’m going to tackle this day. A breakfast buffet, Mexican food at lunch, and corned beef and cabbage for dinner. I could dive head first into a swimming pool of any of these meals and eat my way out.
While I don’t normally eat breakfast, I dearly love breakfast. It’s my favorite meal when I get to sit down and enjoy it. Big, savory breakfasts with a little sweet sprinkled somewhere are the best thing in the world. Damn I love food! Our church’s Knights of Columbus chapter hosts an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet the first Sunday of every month. Our family loves this event. Our wedding was on Saturday and we were at the breakfast the next day. We rarely miss and, as a Knight, my husband helps at the event. Biscuits, three options for pancakes, french toast, scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, fried ham, sausage, gravy. A little of the best on your plate still leaves it heaping. I usually have to hurry to my seat before the gravy spills over the edge of my plate.
Later in the day will be our school’s Penny Carnival. An annual fundraising event the school has hosted for over five decades. I love it and hate it at the same time. The chaos, the noise, the games, the crowds, all set me on edge and is what I imagine hell to be. But I love how much fun everyone has. I love seeing our school play center stage to the community, and I love the food. Homemade Mexican food served throughout the event. Spanish rice, refried beans, pork chili, tacos, enchiladas. I could eat Mexican food every meal of every day and not get tired of it. Our kids are old enough to handle themselves on their own for the carnival so I could very easily find a seat and spend my hours there with a continuous plate of food.
Dinner is planned to be corned beef and cabbage with potatoes, turnips, and carrots. It’s close to St. Patrick’s Day and I only buy corned beef this time of year because it’s usually on really good sales so I can stock up. I have packages in my freezer still from last year so they need consumed before I restock. Our family loves this meal and the largest roast sold at the store doesn’t usually leave much for leftovers.
I am adamant about sticking with my resolution. It may be hard but that’s the point of this!
I wake up at 5 a.m. with raging diarrhea and nausea.
God sometimes has a really fucked up way of helping out.
I make it through the day shuttling kids to all the events and volunteering at the carnival as is required for parents of the school. I don’t eat anything all day long as my stomach rages over even water. Exhausted from the day’s events and the loss of nutrients and fluids I collapse on the couch when we get home and try to nap while my husband showers before dinner.
I lie there thinking about not only how I missed out on some great food today, but how I missed out on the chance to stick to my resolution. This was going to be a test for sure, but God, I really need these tests! If I don’t learn this now, when will I? I appreciate the help, God, but really, I need to do this on my own.
The smell of a favorite meal, emptiness of my stomach, and safety of my own bathroom nearby leads me to trying some dinner. An impossibly small serving I tentatively eat. When my entire body doesn’t revolt, I consider another serving but realize the amount I ate was probably only slightly smaller than what I would have done without the stomach issues. See, God. I need to do this on my own. I can do this on my own.
Day 6: Work Treats
Do you tell people your resolution? How many people do you tell? Are there people you won’t tell?
I usually try to keep my resolution pretty close to the vest during the season. The whole don’t go showing off your fasting verse comes to mind (Matthew 6:16-18). So when a coworker brings in treats she made to a meeting today, I simply decline without explanation. Despite having a blog, I’m a pretty private person, especially at work. She makes several passive-aggressive comments about my rejection throughout the meeting and the rest of the afternoon. She doesn’t speak to me at all the next day.
Day 8: Book Club
A piece of tuna flipped out of my bowl while I was stirring it into my macaroni and cheese for my dinner tonight. It landed on the kitchen counter. I didn’t notice it until half an hour later when I went back to wash my dishes. I ate it. This was in the communal kitchen at work. I am a disgusting, disgusting pig.
My women’s church group/Book Club meets every Wednesday evening at a local restaurant. So while consuming the word of God we also consume alcohol, desserts, treats, or a combination of two or more. I’m prepared to face the temptations and have a plan for going in – flavored hot tea with honey. But when I get to the restaurant, I find the place is closing early due to a winter storm. The group agrees to move the session to a different restaurant.
This one I am not prepared for.
It’s our local brewery that is my absolute favorite restaurant in our small town and beyond. They do not serve hot tea. I’m salivating as I walk in. I order water with lemon and try not to stare too hard at the spinach and artichoke dip, the roasted Brussels sprouts, or beer ordered by the rest of the table. Every time I have the urge to reach for a taste, I take a drink of water. I have almost three glasses in an hour. But I make it through the entire time having great conversation and no food or drink. I feel accomplished as I slide into bed that night.
Day 10: A Fall From the Wagon
I think it started the night before. Though I took a smaller serving than my normal at dinner, I went back for seconds. I would have normally, I reason, so if I take less than a normal second serving, it’s still “technically” less, right? The spiral continues the next day – Friday.
The kids are off of school so with no childcare I take the day off work to stay home with them. There’s a bowl of bananas overripe for the taste of anyone in the house, but perfect for banana bread. One of the few things I can bake and my family’s favorite that I don’t make nearly enough. A cold, windy day it’s perfect for baking a special treat. As it comes out of the oven all I can think is “why are you doing this to yourself?” I cut into the overdone loaf (mismeasured baking soda) and I make the sacrifice of eating the crunchy heel. I cut pieces for the kids and try to walk away. I don’t get far. My daughter, the anti-cruster, eats the middle of the piece and leaves the edges. Not one to ever waste food – especially something I worked so hard on – I snarf them up. I reason that what’s the difference between a piece of banana bread and two pieces of toast? I still ate “less,” right?
It’s my night to choose where to eat. I choose poorly…
I picked the brewery. Not only because I love the place, but because my husband works there and tonight he’s working late so if we want to have dinner with my husband tonight, we need to go to the brewery where he is. I start out well enough – water and a salmon salad. Then it’s sundown so “technically” the fast can end. I order a beer. Then I eat the crust my daughter has discarded from her pizza. Then my dad’s crust from his pizza. There’s ranch dressing for dipping the crust. Then I take a few tastes of my husband’s order of soft pretzels and beer cheese. Later, back at my dad’s I have the remaining crumbs of Dorritos from the bag my daughter was eating and, finally, a bowl of ice cream.
What the hell happened???
It’s not unusual for me to start on the slippery slope of junk eating and grab a toboggan for good measure. But this isn’t just cheating on a diet. Or lying to myself – something I’m fairly good at. I’m trying to lie to God.
Day 14
I’ve stuck to my resolution for the majority of the past two weeks. I’ve adhered to this intention better than any eating plan/diet/healthy resolution before. We have leftovers spilling out of our fridge because we’re still cooking the same amount, I’m just not eating as much of it. I know this has nothing to do with weight loss. But, seriously… why in the hell aren’t my pants falling off yet???
Day 15: The Food Trucks
My workplace is the site of an event that will host a variety of food trucks. It’s Wednesday so it’s another day of fasting. We got the e-mail announcement last week and, seeing that it was on a Wednesday, I immediately deleted it. We got a reminder e-mail today, this time with the menus of the options. I didn’t even read the whole message before deleting. But as the food trucks start arriving and setting up just outside the window across the hall from me, I find myself searching my deleted messages to see who will be coming. “Stop it! It doesn’t matter, you can’t have any of it anyway!” Still, I catch myself staring out the window throughout the day.
Day 19: Are you feeling ok?
My husband planned a surprise birthday party for me. We’d go to church, go to his mother’s house for dinner, then I was to meet my best friend for drinks at the brewery. Instead, when I walked into the brewery 14 of my girlfriends were lined up at a table waiting for me. And with them was a plethora of appetizers. I’m full from dinner and order a beer and ignore the food. Multiple friends ask if I feel ok when I decline their offers of the food. Gorging myself is such a part of my personality that it’s glaringly obvious when there’s an absence.
Day 20: It’s my birthday and I’ll gorge if I want to
If you are not saying that headline without being to the tune of “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to,” I don’t think we can be friends.
My BFF got me my favorite cake combo in cupcakes last night after the party. I shoveled two of them in my face on the way home. No regrets.
My husband made me a guilty-pleasure breakfast – corned beef hash and eggs. For lunch I had half a burrito. And three cupcakes. We experimented with a new recipe for dinner. Then I had two more cupcakes. Still no regrets. It was a great birthday! And not just because of the food!
Day 25: The Fish Fry: An Ancient Tradition
On Fridays Catholics are obligated to abstain from meat. Land meat specifically. Fish is still ok. And because we hate to suffer alone, the parish fish fry was born.
Common in the Midwest, churches will host an event on Friday evenings during Lent serving beer-battered fried fish and a couple sides (ours serves cole slaw and tater tots and, since not everyone likes fish, we have cheese pizza donated from a couple pizza places in town). It’s a great opportunity to get together with the community and have some really greasy food. Our parish hosts only a few of these each year (this year just two) so the experience is a treat. Proceeds from our parish’s fish fry go to support our school so the event isn’t limited to just Catholics.
I go in to the fish fry intending to eat just one piece of fish, a few of the tater tots and maybe a little pizza. Unfortunately, I start off with beer. Liquor laws are complicated so I won’t go into how it is that we’re able to have beer at our event, but rest assured, it’s completely legal. While standing in line I have a cup of beer which I had fully intended to have going in to the night. But despite the low alcohol content, my empty stomach from the day of fasting causes the alcohol to go right to my head.
All inhibitions are off. And the excuses and reasonings start.
The two pieces of fish I get are small. More like fish sticks than fish filets. I eat both. The tater tot serving is smaller than normal so I eat them all. Then all of the pizza since it’s from the better pizza place. Friends with those walking around serving beer, my cup never runs empty. My husband is cooking the fish and serves my table of friends and family a plate of “the good batch” followed by a plate of fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies. Did I mention the beer?
I end the night having no idea how much I ate and not even an attempt at saying no. Even though it’s “technically” a feast day (Feast of the Annunciation) and all obligations of fasting and abstinence are suspended in honor, I still feel guilty. Fasting or not, what I did was purely gluttonous.
Day 28: You are not starving
“I’m starving!” My kids clamor into the car after school bemoaning their empty stomachs. They had breakfast. They still get snacks at school. They had lunch. They even had snacks at the after-care program between school’s dismissal and my picking them up an hour later.
“You are not starving,” I tell them. And myself as my own stomach churns with protest. I explain to them (and to my stomach) what it really means to be starving. To go days without food. To be physically unable to consume a nutrient. I describe the number of people in the country and the world who are literally starving to death as we speak.
“I’m hungry,” my son corrects after my diatribe. “I am, too,” I tell them. “Here, drink some water.” We all make it until dinner.
Day 30
They kept apologizing. After every order, they apologized. After every offer to share, they apologized. The seasoned pretzel appetizer, the cheesecake, the meals, the drinks. Another evening at Book Club and my friends felt bad for adding to my temptation. “Don’t feel bad! This was my choice,” I tell them. I could have picked any day to fast. Hell, I could’ve chosen to fast every day but this day that conflicted with our standing appointment. No one told me I had to do it this day. I knew what I was getting myself into. It’s part of the reason I chose Wednesdays. Muscles don’t get stronger if they don’t get pushed to their limits. Growth doesn’t happen during leisure.
Day 32
It’s amazing how much your pallet opens up when the food you experience is limited. You taste everything. Pretty sure my toast for lunch was beginning to mold. It tasted faintly like a swamp. I ate it anyway.
Day 34: The Breakfast Buffet, Part 2
It’s another chance at the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. Normally a “challenge accepted!” situation, this time I take far less than “normal” and don’t go back for seconds or to even out the ratios despite having leftover gravy on my plate. Even so, it’s still a lot of food and my heartburn for the rest of the day reminds me of my indulgence. But because I never learn anything the first time, my husband and I watch a movie that night on the couch with our regular bowls of popcorn. I have a hard time sleeping that night for all the acid in my throat.
Day 36: What is Gluttony?
I haven’t been taking the kids to school for the past few weeks so I’ve missed the daily podcast Catholic Sprouts. The focus each week of Lent has been over each of the deadly sins. My husband, who has been taking the kids and listening during the drive, said the week on gluttony was good enough that I should listen on my own. I did today and it was convicting. In my mind, gluttony is overconsumption. Period. But the Catholic Sprouts Lady described that it is also being overly concerned with what you eat. If you think about it all the time and it consumes your thoughts, that’s still gluttony.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
I am constantly thinking about what to eat, how much to eat, when to eat. In my day probably 60 percent of my drifting thoughts revolve around what food and my battle with food means. Am I eating too much? Should I be eating this? Ugh, I’m craving ____ so bad! What should I eat for dinner? What will I eat for lunch tomorrow? I’m hungry. I’m stuffed. How does my body look? Have I lost any weight? My belly looks fat in this shirt. My thighs are jiggling. Did I work out hard enough? Am I doing the right workout program? Am I seeing results yet? What does she do to get her body to look like that? Why can’t I look like that? I’m so fat. I’m such a loser. Gimme the potato chips!
Day 41: Eyes off the Prize
Sundays are free days during Lent. The theory is you can’t suffer on the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection. I’ve never been a fan of the loophole – I think of it as cheating. But today I kind of forgot about my resolution and just did whatever I felt like. Lent will be over in a week and I will be released into the wild, so it’s good to get an idea of how far I’ve come during this journey.
I didn’t think at all about what I was going to eat today. I just ate. And ate. And ate some more. Seven pre-measured servings of frozen chocolate chip cookie dough later and I realize I have learned nothing over the last 41 days.
Day 46 – Good Friday
I’ve eaten cookie dough every night this week. Including Wednesday. Including tonight.
Conclusion
Did you notice how many times I used “technically” with the quotation marks and all? I wrote this blog in real time. I will read through it throughout the season to edit and refine, but for the most part, the oomph of the log is as it happened. I noticed halfway through the season that I used the case of “technically” several times. And every time it was when I was giving an excuse for not sticking with my resolution.
I’m a compliance officer. My world revolves around rules, regulations, laws, and, ipso facto, loopholes. I can explain and reason away almost anything.
“I had a hard day” was my most common loophole. I am dealing with an exorbitant amount of stress that only seems to be increasing. With a history of battling depression, stress manifests in ugly ways for me. When I spend all day fighting just to keep my head up, to not crawl into the fetal position and retreat from the world, to maintain the appearance of being human, I have no energy left. I seek comfort in food and the numbness of alcohol. Neither are healthy coping mechanisms.
I felt like a complete failure by the end of Lent. I lost all willpower and all motivation. I had nothing left to give – to my resolution, to my husband, to my children, to myself. The examination of cause and effect and where my energy was being spent was eye opening. It wasn’t a surprise because I’d been unhappy for a while, but forcing myself to face it was scary.
This isn’t who I want to be. It’s not who I was intended to be. Change is hard, but necessary.
The question you probably want to know but are too polite to ask – did I lose weight? Yes, but not much. I tried not to weigh myself during the season, but habits and curiosity were too much to fight and there was a point I was more than 6 pounds down. But practically throwing in the towel by the end didn’t sustain the change. From where I started on Ash Wednesday to where I ended on Easter Sunday, I lost almost 3 pounds.
But it did teach me I don’t need as much food as I think I do. Or as much as I go for. So even after Easter was over I didn’t go back to my “normal” supersize so I do have hopes this is my turning point as I focus back on my 40+ pound weightloss goal. And it refined my definition of “need.” I do not need food for comfort or satisfaction or happiness. I need food to sustain my life and fuel my body. I found I need to find my comfort and peace of mind in other ways. A hug, a conversation, prayer, a quiet walk, a laugh.
One night I needed my comfort food. Pork chops, green beans, and buttered potatoes (potatoes cubed, boiled until tender, then a stick of butter put in the pot without draining the water so it’s a potato and butter soup). My husband didn’t comment, just fired up the grill and made sure the pork chops were perfect while I prepared the potatoes. I got done with dinner and wasn’t “happy.” There was still this void. I didn’t need the food. I needed my mom who used to make me this meal any time I asked. It was the comfort from her I longed for, not from the food.
I also learned a lot about temptation. Temptation and addiction are strong things. I don’t keep cigarettes in the house ever since I quit smoking three years ago. I can’t handle the temptation. When I’m walking through a parking lot, I can pinpoint the car with the smoker in it even on the windiest Nebraska day. And I still inhale deeply and my mouth still waters. If someone was a gambling addict, a casino would be the worst hangout for them. But yet I don’t bat an eyelash about having the chocolate chip cookies, tortilla chips, and popcorn in my house. Then I beat myself up for not being strong enough to resist never thinking that it’s not about being “strong” but about saying “Not today, Satan! I banish thee!”