Declaration of Foodependence

Declaration of Foodependence 

Food is forever! I crave it. I use it. It defines us through culture. I eat it when I'm happy, indulge when I'm sad and allow it to ease my mind when I'm angry. A handful of this, a carton of that, a teaspoon full of sugar and we're on the ground. Feeling the drunken state carbodration. 

My food habits are the butter and bread that may kill me. The struggle of pleasure as I eat and the signs of obesity are constantly at war with one another. Trying to undo the 20+ years I've spent with my best friend and love of my life is like snatching the breath out of me when I'm already weak. 

There are days when I want to eat and other times when I believe food is my enemy. My body is no longer a temple it is a house where everything is welcome. Honestly if I didn't need food to survive I would starve myself in the mastery of reducing my weight to nothing. The world has me in a uproar constantly seeking beauty in myself that I may never find. 

Don't get me wrong I shouldn't complain. I am able bodied. If I put my mind to it I can lose it and eat healthy and workout and guess what I'll be skinny. Maybe even get an endorsement for flat tummy tea. I'll be the epitome of beauty. I won't be the laughing stock of the world. The girl you made fun of. The quiet mouse too ashamed to speak because of her bodily insecurities. 

I take up too much space. Boys don't like me cuz I'm overweight. Eat your greens and count your calories and make sure you eat your protein. I overwhelm myself thinking about what my body could be if I could eat healthy consistently. Notebooks are filled with goals of losing weight; 30

Day plans and two days later I'm off the boat. Write your food down it helps. Drink this and take this pill it will be alright. 

Everyone was concerned. Parents and grandparents constantly worried about my weight. I remember the day. The day my dad suggested I lose weight and workout. That day I did my first workout tape. Jane Fonda aerobics and I was only in the first grade.  I don't blame my dad at that time I didn't know I was overweight but he did. Maybe he was ashamed maybe they all were. There was another time when I was in 1st grade I asked my baby sitter for more top ramen she joking laughed with her friend and said you don't need no more you already and stopped and said I shouldn't say that. But I was hungry. 

Your flat tummy tea endorsement is a forgery! You get tummy tucks and stuff that I can't afford. You laser your stretch marks so I can't see them. I'm jealous of a body that is my unequal. 

I still walk around ashamed. I give up and find hope and then I walk back to shame and give up again. When shame gives in, I eat my life away. This yo-yoing will never end. I am the perfect blend of rice cakes and gluten free cupcakes; almond milk and Cold

Stone Ice cream. Yep that's me. 

Maybe one day I'll be lean and mean and not stumpy frumpy cow. I don't know. Only time will tell. I should accept myself though. There's only one me. There's beauty in the way God created me. I beat myself up everyday. I look at high school pics when I thought I was fat and tell myself man I would love to back.

 I know there are people judging me now. Telling me to go to the gym, change your mindset, stop whining and complaining. That's okay too. I hope one day I can be just like you. 

Guilty by Association

 woke up from a perfect dream about a little girl named Olivia. She was my shadow at the daycare I worked at. In my dream she remembered me. She remembered my name, gave me the ultimate hug, and hung out with me for a little while. She was my little baby. I loved her sass, cuteness, and her laugh. It made me feel all warm inside. 

And then I closed my eyes again  and felt guilt. Guilt about my father. Guilty that somehow I was wrong for writing a letter that spoke all my truth. I said everything I ever wanted to tell him. Things I held in for years all in the name of mending our broken relationship. 

"If you avoid conflict to bring peace, you create a war inside of you" 

Everything was playing in my head over and over again. How 24 hours later I found out my dad died from a call my mom received asking how the kids were doing. Not knowing we didn't know. My fiancé got a call from my mom asking us to come over as soon as we could. I knew inside what happened but was unsure. She told me he was gone. That day I was a step child. It was like I was the sickness that killed him. I thought he was getting better. So did everyone else I suppose. I visited him twice in the hospital. The first time he had just finished surgery and wasn't doing so well. When he finally woke up and He saw my face his heart monitor kept beeping. The nurse kept telling him to calm down as tears rolled down his cheek. I held his hand. I was the estranged unexpected guest in his room and somehow his pride and joy at the same time. I hated seeing him like that and I cried when I got to the car. Luckily my fiancé drove. I went again and I tried to avoid his wife but she was there. I wanted to see him. I loved him. He couldn't talk he motioned a lot and had a tube down his throat. It was sad. I couldn't imagine it. Another time, I called him. I could hear the happiness by way of tears in his voice and said that I always surprise him. That he was happy to hear from me. That was the last time I would hear his voice. Through a speaker. So I thought maybe if I wrote the letter, I would be able to speak my mind.  He wouldn't have the option of defending, he would only be listening but somehow I was not thinking of everyone else. I thought of my dad and myself. The turmoil, the anguish and the love I wanted back again. It was all real. All real to me at least.

After the letter was sent, I heard from no one. Everything was quiet. But God is amazing and my sister I found out about 3 years prior sent me a text message with an update about his status. But I saw my dad fight for his life before and he made it out. He left the hospital fine. That's probably why when my sister said he wasn't doing too good I thought maybe he would fight through. He's tough. He would make it through again. 

Perhaps If I didn't write the letter, I would've been loved on and been a part of the funeral. Yet I was told that's what my dad wanted. He didn't want my brother and I  to know and he didn't care about whether we came to the funeral or not. I'm not sure if that's entirely true but if it is I came anyway because after all I did love him. Maybe If I didn't write the letter, I wouldn't have gotten evil eyes rolled at me and looks back at me from his wife and her mother at the funeral. Instead I would've gotten side hugs and words of encouragement. That day I wanted to be just like my father.  I wanted to walk up and and punch her in the face. Yes the Walker way.Yes, his first born daughter. Thrown to the side and called a coward. The one child he spent the most time with. Me. I was angry and yes I think I had every right to be. Maybe they did too. However, in great Niqua fashion and in honor of my dad and my grandmother who was crying, I just kept looking at his picture on the screen saying to myself internally: you came here for him to honor him and that's all that matters. Maybe I was hated because I told the truth. That's okay too. Maybe they didn't know the truth and were okay with the lies. Maybe they felt that it wasn't the right time. Maybe all of thee above.

"If you avoid conflict to bring peace, you create a war inside of you" 

Of course I wanted him to walk me down the aisle before I said I do. Of course I wanted him to hold my unborn babies. But not in brokenness. Not in fear that my children would have to hear broken promises as I did. Not in lies and deceit.  There was always a hole in my heart where my dad was supposed to be. People spend their whole lives wishing, hoping, wondering and even searching for their fathers. There were times he reached out and tried to make amends but still he couldn't be honest with me. He couldn't just say I messed up and I'm sorry. Everything was always swept under the rug. I really wanted to hear sorry. I didn't want to leave you. I could've done better. Just because I divorced your mother doesn't mean I divorced you. Maybe it just wasn't possible. It all hurt so bad. Not just his death but all of the things that happened in the past. I couldn't shake it, I couldn't move. 

As all those things played in my head, I cried. I wept. I wept so hard that I woke my husband. He kept asking me what was wrong and tried to console me. I just pushed him away. I didn't deserve to be held. I was a bad person. Guilt held me closer. I continued to weep, told my husband everything until I fell asleep. 

The guilt hasn't gone away but I would venture to say that one day it will. I will forgive myself. I've forgiven my dad. Every now and then he visits me in my dreams and it makes me happy.

I didn't honor my father when he was alive but now that he is gone I can honor him now. I can attach the broken pieces with siblings I didn't know I had and let them know about him. Honor him by singing which is a great gift he passed down to me. Although no one is given a parent hand book, I can change the way I raise my children and learn from both of my parents mistakes. 

God sometimes teaches us through experience. My dads death was a lesson I am still learning. I don't regret writing the letter despite the the hurt and friction it may have caused. The truth sometimes hurts but it always sets you free. 

Guilt is a part of grieving.