Tag Archives: sadness

Snarling #12wbt: and here comes emotional eating

It’s no secret I’m having a truly crap time personally. I can’t imagine how much more crap it would be if I wasn’t eating balanced meals full of fruit, veg and enough protein. (Thanks, 12wbt!)

Having been given two days off work because I’m literally cracking up under the pressure of grief/stress, and having cried in front of colleagues yesterday (best ever), emotional eating is back in force. Yesterday it was cheesecake, chips and pide.

Emotional eating is HARD. The thinking for me that is hard to circumvent is when I’m already doing all the stuff to defuse it – talking about my feelings, being supported. But yesterday, I frogmarched myself into the staffroom and ate a bigass plate of cake, because I was like “you know what, FUCK not having cake right now.”

But in the end, that sugar didn’t make me feel better. It didn’t do anything towards my wellness. It didn’t heal anything. I didn’t get anything from it, except a petulant satisfaction that I CAN DO WHAT I WANT and LOOK I DESERVE CAKE RIGHT NOW.

One thing I’d like to move towards with slowly processing emotional eating is continuing to find new coping strategies (and I’m already doing that, hence continuing). I’m thinking of getting a snap band and a boxing bag for home to replace my more destructive angry feelings. I’ve started crocheting and hooking my way through feelings is good. It keeps my head calm and my hands busy.


Crochet keeps me calm. I'm new to it, but already am finding it a useful tool for debugging my brain.

But I’m yet to find something that consistently and effectively scratches the itch that emotional eating does.
I guess I just want to find ways to cope that I don’t regret 10 minutes later, you know?

So Much Water: for Jill Meagher

I didn’t know Jill Meagher, and neither did you.

There’s so few words to say about something like this. But I do know this – though we didn’t know her, it is appropriate for us to grieve.

I grieve her death with a particular pain and horror that only survivors of street violence might understand.

I survived my unknown attacker in a blue hoodie, walking alone at night, and for the last couple of months I’ve convinced myself that it was ‘only’ this and ‘only’ that, but yesterday as I stood heaving in panic over my sink, the knowledge that my survival was not lucky or a result of my actions but just a product of the fickle hand of fate – hit me like a tonne of bricks to the windpipe. I could easily, so fucking easily, have been Jill Meagher.

I think of Jill Meagher and I want to crawl back into my cave and stay off the streets at night. I think of the people blaming her for her own death because she had the audacity to walk alone at night, and I want to throw things at walls, wail – the reaction is visceral because despite all my wordiness, I can only feel a great knot of terror, anger and helplessness rise in me. And it stays there – a knotted cord of despair unable to worm to the outside.

Do you know how many women around this country feel similar right now? I can’t fathom the number.

The world is not safe for you if you are a woman. There are men who want to find you and hurt you. I wish we had another truth but there are people, usually men, who want to make sure we don’t live and breathe in safety.

I’ve given up on thinking we can change anything. I don’t think we can. All we can do is arm ourselves, be vigilant, and know that nothing is enough, it isn’t our fault.

Most of all, let us honour our screams, ignore the world and mourn our sister.

Goodbye Jill Meagher. You deserved so very much more.

Please take a moment to think of her respectfully with Everything’s Turning To White (Paul Kelly).

It was too hard to tell how long she’d been dead, the river was that close to freezing
But one thing for sure, the girl hadn’t died very well to judge from the bruising
They stood there above her all thinking the same thoughts at the same time
There’s so much water so close to home

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