Today is my birthday. So far, it’s been a very lovely day. Everyone at work was sweet and cute about it. I got flowers, gifts, and cards.
And yes, there was cake.
I used to hate my birthday. Mostly, because I was lonely and sad and unhappy. But also, I used to be terrified of cake. I was terrified of food in general and of course, of gaining weight. But the idea of eating cake during the day. After a meal. Horror.
For many, many birthdays, I refused to eat it. Often, I would tell people ahead of time – don’t you dare get me cake. I pretty much cried when anyoene gave me any food. And expected me to eat it!
It didn’t matter where I was or who was offering it – my boss, a boyfriend’s mother, a boyfriend – I pretty much told them, in a variety of words, to fuck off and get their food away from me.
The world was trying to make me fat, I was sure, which I found confusing because the world had been so cruel when I WAS fat.
Now, although I doubt the world cares what I weight, I do what I want – easily, comfortably and happily.
Today, I had a moderate lunch AND a slice of cake and thoroughly enjoyed both. Tonight, I will have a moderate dinner and yes, there will be cake again. And I will have a slice. That second cake was made with love, and I refuse to hurt a loved one’s feelings.
Tomorrow, I most likely won’t have cake. But for today, I’m good. It doesn’t matter if I eat a bit more than usual one day. It doesn’t mean I’ll end up bingeing. It doesn’t mean I’ll make myself starve. And it certainly doesn’t mean I will berate myself for enjoying cake on my birthday.
In coming posts, I will write more about where I was, where I am now and how I got here to this place of peace.