The Journey Begins

Food has always been a "thing" for me. I grew up with the world's biggest sweet tooth and over indulged in chocolate bars, cookies, ice cream - you name it - whenever the opportunity came my way. Sleepovers were spent eating entire bags of peanut butter MnM's and waking up to a box of Dunkin' Donuts.Thanksgiving dinner was always portioned small and ended quick so I could dive into the blueberry pie. I had no problem devouring a solid white chocolate bunny each Easter morning, and I tried to convince my parents on a weekly basis to buy Lucky Charms cereal - and that I would totally eat the cereal parts, too. Funny thing about these gluttonous memories is that they are not all filled with smiles and full bellies, but also with restrictions, binges, and overexercising.

From an early age, I remember "preparing" for such days by skipping breakfast and lunch in order to indulge in dinner and dessert. I remember justifying my eating by planning the following day's work out, or worse, knowing that I always had the option to throw it up later. I struggled with the fact that I was more of an abstainer (someone who is better off avoiding certain foods completely) rather than a moderator (someone who is able to have a some and feel satisfied). This would often lead to binges, and eventually, to the removal of said food group from my diet; both because I felt so guilty about the amount I indulged in that I was okay never having it again, and also to justify finishing off that tub of ice cream or pot of spaghetti."This is fine, because after today I'm never eating dairy or wheat again". I even remember one Easter that I begged my parents (I mean...the Easter Bunny...) to fill my basket with health foods from Trader Joe's, and even more vividly remember reading the portion size on the label and restricting myself to the tiny amount of organic cheese curls I was allotted.

These thoughts and actions came and went over the years, but when I became a mama for the second time, they all trickled back in. Our daughter struggled with digestion, and because she was breastfed, my diet was the guinea pig for her belly. No dairy, wheat, or soy was to be included in anything I ate, and, being a runner, I was advised to count my calories to be sure to keep up my milk supply. This was by far the unhealthiest relationship I had with food. I felt deprived of things I loved, and was eating more than ever to try and fill the void of what I could no longer have. If I went for a long run, I forced myself to eat when I wasn't hungry to make up for the calories burned. On days that involved less activity, though I didn't need to, I still counted those calories. The worst part about it was that when you went over your allotted number, the count went from green to bold and red with a big negative symbol in front. This played games with my mind like you wouldn't believe. Instead of simply stopping after that little extra dessert or glass of wine that put me just a few calories over, I completely through the day away. "Well, I've already failed, might as well have more". Before I knew it I was on my 3rd refill of tortilla chips and more than ready for the 4th. I wasn't enjoying this eating, I was just eating. I felt controlled by those numbers in my calorie counter, and I was good at playing the victim. On the outside, I made excuses: I had to eat this much for my daughter. But, on the inside, I beat myself up. I talked negatively to myself, harvested some heavy guilt the morning after a binge, restricted that day's meals, and planned a double digit run to take care of the rest.

With guilt comes it's ugly twin sister, stress. The amount of time I wasted feeling stressed about what I was going to eat, what I did eat, or forcing myself not to eat was an endless, viscous cycle that zapped my energy to properly deal with anything else. My kids suffered from it because I was impatient. My husband suffered from it because I was moody. I suffered because I didn't know how to love myself. This cycle had to change. I had to change. I had to practice self love in order to become happy from the inside out. I knew this was the first step because in order to create a better relationship with food, it had to come from a place of self respect. I had to love myself and my body enough to eat in ways that honored it. And so, I began my journey to happiness. I read book after book on health foods, habit formation, and happiness. I became a Wellness Coach to further educate myself through the process and to help others along the way by sharing my new found passion. I started sharing photos of the wacky foods I would create on social media, and slowly but surely found myself heading in the right direction for a better relationship with food - and myself.

I loved my job as a Sports Massage Therapist, and looked forward to building a clientele as a Wellness Coach, but I still felt a pull to do something more - I just couldn't put my finger on what that "more" was exactly. I took advice from happiness books and sat there identifying the things that made me effortlessly happy. I thought about what I would do for fun as a kid, what I was drawn to do in my spare time, what the perfect, kid-free afternoon looked like, and reflected on times where I felt a surge of excitement. All of these things could be summed up with two words: writing and food. Whenever I wrote a blog post that flowed naturally, I felt accomplished, excited, happy, and a willingness to share. Whenever I created a weird dish of what I liked to call "happy belly" or "Lauren food", I felt a creative power that I enjoyed sharing on social media sites, with foodie-loving family members, or testing out on my husband and kids. That surge of excitement was amplified when I received private messages from friends old and new who read my blog or tried my recipe and had overwhelmingly kind things to say. So, there I was, a food and writing-loving Sports Massage Therapist and Wellness Coach who identified her passions, and yet, still didn't know exactly what the hell to do with it all. Writing a book on happiness never fully appealed to me, since there are already so many out there and I didn't feel mine would have any new or different information. Working at foodie heaven Whole Foods came to mind (that's how I know I'm a little more obsessed with food than your average Joe, I would take a minimum wage job just to be surrounded by the good stuff!!) - but, that didn't seem to fill the space for that "more" I was yearning for. Thoughts of opening a healthy cafe in our town came to mind, where I could serve up collagen and ghee filled coffee and offer a small variety of Lauren-food snacks and meals, but I didn't want the headache of renting a building, having employees, or competing with some of the successful shops in surrounding towns. So, what the hell was this "more" that kept pulling at me?

A cookbook. A personal story sharing, Wellness Coach guided, self-loving, foodie-food cookbook. The thought came to me like a lightning bolt while reading Elizabeth Gilbert's creative masterpiece Big Magic. It was just like she described: an idea came knocking on my door and swept me off of my feet when I opened it. It was like this idea was created and meant just for me. It combined everything I loved: an ability to share personal stories of struggle and strength, while sharing Wellness Coaching ways to build life long happiness habits, and an ability to eat better to be better by sharing some wacky, healthy recipes that helped me heal my relationship with food. This was it. This was my "more".

I dove into the world wide web and immediately started making lists of what a successful cookbook  entailed. My fingers couldn't keep up as I typed idea after idea for story/coaching/recipe pairings. The energy surging through me was an excitement I had never experienced before. This was my chance to put my passions out into the world. Whether it becomes a huge published success or stays small and humble through a food blog, I didn't care. I was excited to take this idea and run with it, to have writing inspiration that would never run out, and to help others become healthier along the way.

Most people assume that I would never have issues with food, care about calorie intake, or second guess dessert, because despite these descriptions of binge eating, I am and have always been rail thin. Too thin, even, that as a teenager I was embarrassed to wear shorts because my knobby knees and pale legs resembled birch trees more than my peers' shapely figures. A conversation with my sister in law about my food struggled left her feeling shocked, and also created an awareness that food disorders go deeper than just body image. That's exactly what I am hoping to share in these posts, and what may someday be a book - that I was a victim of food. I compared myself to others in an unhealthy way, thought poorly of myself, judged every food decision I made, and felt completely controlled by food. It wasn't until I accepted myself for who I was - someone who really loved food - that I was able to love myself enough to overcome these disordered eating habits, gain control of my thoughts surrounding food, let go of the comparison to others, and allow myself to just be. I will always be a work in progress, as we always have room for growth, but I was able to take a struggle and a passion and combine them, and now, I have the ability to share these things with the world. So grab a fork, have lots of coconut oil on hand, tell yourself you're beautiful, and let's do this.