May be guilt

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Abstract

ans. We created it. I’m part of that. One of my biggest worry is still weight related. It shapes my days and disturbs my nights. I’m trying to look at it from a different angle: eating healthy and being healthy in a healthy body. I’m not sure I really believe it though. Sugar is my vice: bakery goods and chocolate. Last night I found out I cannot touch bakery sweets anymore. Because I cannot stop. I become a ravenous gluttonous rapacious monster, destroying a week’s hard work in mere seconds.</p><p id="47df">There’s a root to this. A nasty core-shaking, clinging claw-shaped remnant from my past. I weighed the same in high school and I keep remembering these days being told to not eat so much pastry because I’ll get even bigger, I’ll become a pig, a bull, by the <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-pedophiles-wife-c7cbbf8c5c1f?source=friends_link&sk=6b038132fd9683c546e6b6d11a836141">pedophile’s wife</a>. There’s a moment, after one of my parents parties, when I went to the living room, thinking no one was there anymore, to get sweets. And I took not one, but about six of those choux-a-la crème I had worked hard pre

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paring. She was there, smoking, even though we didn’t allow smoking inside, and asked me for how long will I keep shoving pastries down my throat, haven’t I had enough? I did stop once away from all of them, at university. Back then, at my parents place, padding offered safety, or so I thought.</p><p id="403e"><i>Copyright © 2021 by Georgiana Petec. All rights reserved.</i></p><p id="7597">Forever thankful to <a href="https://diacz.medium.com/?source=post_page-----8dde8e75a170--------------------------------">𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘊.</a> and her masterful plan.</p><div id="2403" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/consciousness-1b9808909def"> <div> <div> <h2>Consciousness</h2> <div><h3>Parading clouds signaling there is no stillness</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*NzEioAgC9EI96UM4pyJKHA.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

My brain is not a child with a disability

I’m too compliant, still insecure, such a hypocrite sometimes. I’m trying to catch myself and then replace the scolding with gentle reprimands, because I really don’t know any better. It’s what I learned to survive.

These days I have to teach my brain a different way, kindly, so that it picks up on it without rancor. My brain is not a child with a disability, yet a muscle trained to react in a certain way to protect the body.

I don’t blame others for their expectations. Not even society for its ridiculous shenanigans. We created it. I’m part of that. One of my biggest worry is still weight related. It shapes my days and disturbs my nights. I’m trying to look at it from a different angle: eating healthy and being healthy in a healthy body. I’m not sure I really believe it though. Sugar is my vice: bakery goods and chocolate. Last night I found out I cannot touch bakery sweets anymore. Because I cannot stop. I become a ravenous gluttonous rapacious monster, destroying a week’s hard work in mere seconds.

There’s a root to this. A nasty core-shaking, clinging claw-shaped remnant from my past. I weighed the same in high school and I keep remembering these days being told to not eat so much pastry because I’ll get even bigger, I’ll become a pig, a bull, by the pedophile’s wife. There’s a moment, after one of my parents parties, when I went to the living room, thinking no one was there anymore, to get sweets. And I took not one, but about six of those choux-a-la crème I had worked hard preparing. She was there, smoking, even though we didn’t allow smoking inside, and asked me for how long will I keep shoving pastries down my throat, haven’t I had enough? I did stop once away from all of them, at university. Back then, at my parents place, padding offered safety, or so I thought.

Forever thankful to 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘊. and her masterful plan.