When Food Is Comfort. Julie M. Simon

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       The Body Remembers

      Our bodies contain our histories — every chapter, line, and verse of every event and relationship in our lives. As our lives unfold, our biological health becomes a living, breathing, biographical statement that conveys our strengths, weaknesses, hopes, and fears.

      — Caroline Myss, Anatomy of the Spirit

      When I asked Jan her reason for seeking therapy, she expressed concern that her weight had been creeping up over the past few years and she couldn’t seem to get a handle on it. A quiet and reserved fifty-four-year-old endocrinologist with a busy practice, Jan was mindlessly grabbing bags of chips, crackers, and cookies at work and drinking “a ton of coffee” to get through her long days. She was overeating at dinner, and on many nights she consumed two to three glasses of wine. She was also struggling with anxiety and low-grade depression, fatigue, migraines, bouts of fibromyalgia, gastric reflux, and an irritable bowel.

      As a physician, Jan knew that part of the weight gain and physical symptoms might be related to diminishing hormones, general stress, food allergies, and blood sugar spikes caused by poor food and beverage choices, lack of exercise, and insufficient sleep. But she wondered if her overeating and physical complaints also had something to do with the challenges she was experiencing at home with her youngest daughter and the arguments she and her husband were having over the situation.

      Vanessa, age fourteen, was getting poor grades in school, and any attempt Jan made to intervene and help was met with “rage-filled meltdowns.” Jan’s husband, Sam, had a better relationship with Vanessa, but he also was having trouble helping her with her studies or motivating her to do her homework.

      Sam, a fifty-five-year-old software engineer who had been out of work a couple of times in the last few years, had more-regular hours than Jan. According to Jan, Sam was supportive of her, but he was concerned that she was working long hours and not taking very good care of herself. He complained about her lack of patience with Vanessa’s emotional struggles. Their older daughter, Tracy, age sixteen, presented no parenting challenges: she was a straight-A student and heavily involved in extracurricular activities. But Jan was concerned that Tracy was also gaining weight.

      When I asked Jan if her marriage was satisfying, she said she was so busy working and raising the kids that she didn’t have time to think about her marriage. Even though she and Sam hadn’t been intimate for over a year and their sex life was “never thrilling,” she described Sam as a good husband and father; but she resented his inability to bring home a consistent income.

      Jan added that she felt uncomfortable both in her body and with body contact. “I don’t feel good about how my body looks, and I don’t feel very sexual or sensual. Even though I’d like to have a hug here and there, I don’t feel up for anything more than that. I feel bad because I know Sam wants to be intimate. I felt more connected to my body when I was younger and more active. But I haven’t had that connection to myself in decades.”

      As Jan shared her concerns with me, she showed little emotion, even as she described her daughter’s outbursts, the challenges of running a busy medical practice, and her resentment of her husband. She recounted her story as if she were reading a news report — her mouth was moving, but her body was stiff and motionless. There was a deeper disconnect that concerned me, and I was feeling the pain she couldn’t allow herself to feel. Clearly, she was stressed out and eating emotionally, but she didn’t seem to be feeling any emotions.

      Running Away from Emotions

      Most of us find it difficult to tolerate emotions for very long. Sure, we’re okay with pleasant, even arousing, emotions, like joy, contentment, happiness, and excitement. But we’re uncomfortable with deflating emotions such as sadness, hurt, loneliness, and hopelessness, or low-arousal psychological states such as boredom and apathy. Some of us are uncomfortable with anger — ours or anyone else’s. We have limited tolerance for what have been called the master emotions, shame and guilt. When we experience these painful emotions, or witness someone else experiencing them, we want to run away as fast as we can. We’ve been taught to quickly access our rational, upstairs brain and distance ourselves from unpleasant feeling states.

      We don’t have much patience for uncomfortable bodily sensations either, as evidenced by all the drugstore shelves filled with pain-relieving pills and ointments. To seek pleasure and avoid pain is instinctual, part of our most primitive neural wiring. Part of the problem is that most of us have never learned the purpose and value of emotions and sensations. We haven’t been taught to pay attention to and embrace the wisdom of our bodies.

      What were you taught in childhood about emotions and bodily sensations? Did anyone actually take the time to help you identify and name these important signals from within? When you expressed your emotions, were you heard and were your feelings validated? Did anyone try to talk you out of them? Did it feel safe to express all your emotions, or were you criticized or shamed for having particular emotions, such as anger, disappointment, or grief? Were sensations such as butterflies in your stomach, or headaches, addressed or minimized? Did your caregivers allow time for processing feeling states, or did they rush to solve your problems? I always knew my emotions were about to be dismissed and I was about to receive a lecture when my mother began a sentence with “Look, Julie. . .” How did your caregivers handle their own emotions and bodily sensations?

      If it isn’t safe to express our emotions within the family, we resort to acting them out. Thumb sucking, bed-wetting, temper tantrums, moodiness, defiant behaviors, hurting ourselves, and substance use or abuse are behaviors we turn to instinctively to cope with emotional pain. We also unconsciously adopt defense mechanisms to push unpleasant experiences and memories out of awareness. Perhaps when painful memories surface, you distract yourself from the pain you feel by minimizing it through rationalization or intellectualization: “My parents did the best they could. Everyone has had challenges. It’s the past, and I’m over it.” Maybe you have a long-standing pattern of disconnecting from yourself and going numb: this is known as dissociation. You may notice that you have trouble remembering painful childhood events: this is known as repression.

      Emotions and bodily sensations are like street signs, precious signals from within that point us in the direction of our needs. They do not go away when we disconnect from them. They do damage behind the scenes, until they finally get our attention, one way or another.

      Hidden Hurts

      I asked Jan what she remembered from her early childhood experiences, as I was sure that her emotional disconnect had begun a СКАЧАТЬ