Gently I lowered the
door of the oven. For weeks now we had been propping it closed with a broom. It
was impossible to estimate how long it would take to cook a cake or a roast.
The seal had gone and the hinges were rickety and now as I gingerly opened the
door to check the dinner, it fell to the floor. Now we really had to do
something about this kitchen.
It was a quiet day in the city. Bruce and I walked arm in arm. I glanced
towards the shop window and momentarily confused I wondered who owned that
incredibly fat stomach. “Must be Bruce”, I thought. “Oh my God, it’s me!” Now I
really had to do something about my weight.
His face was contorted with rage and sadness. “You are impossible to
live with, he said, I’m drowning in a toxic hell.” The barb sunk in. It wasn’t
just about us. It really was me. I feel so hurt and angry and unlovable all the
time. Now I had to do something about me.
The drawing was on the
kitchen table; our
I bought the book. The one that said you can change your body by eating
healthy, vegetarian food, cutting out alcohol, coffee, dairy and wheat. I liked
what I read. The book appealed. I had a plan that provided the map. I knew I
could do this.
The Process promised a huge change. Commit yourself for 8 days and you
will deal with years of negative patterns and behaviours. Research showed this
program had lasting results. If I was going to do the work, I wanted to know
this was the one.
The night before they
demolished the old kitchen, I lay awake all night. We live in a two storey
house. Our bedroom is upstairs. Would they do it properly? What if something
collapsed while they were ripping out the downstairs. The makeshift kitchen was
in the laundry and every room was full of stuff.
Giving up coffee was the hardest. The headache thumped inside my brain
for days. I drank copious amounts of water and waited for the poison to leave
my system. The five o’clock signal for my daily wine was hard work. An argument
raged in my head.. Yes/ No, Don’t be a wimp / You deserve it – its OK / Think
of the long term / Come on I need a reward.
Walking in the door of the retreat, I was terrified. Turn off your
mobile phone and say good bye to the outside world. Eight days without contact.
How will they cope without me? What will they do if there’s a crisis? Can I
really devote eight days to working on me?
After one month, we
still have a gaping hole where the new kitchen would be. Boards were nailed in
place each night to cover the space. Our barbecue is balanced on two planks and
is our new portable kitchen. We wok our vegetables on a little gas ring and
barbecue the meat. One month, 30 days; the adventure, the novelty still held
promise and hope.
One month into the diet and I was noticing the difference. Each morning I
stepped on the scales and gram by gram my weight was coming off. Caffeine-free,
alcohol-free, dairy-free and wheat-free; I felt virtuous, excited and
energised.
One day into the Process and I had cried buckets. Volker had asked me so
gently, “Tell me about your pain.” Tears welled up. I was so relieved to
unburden myself. “I feel so unlovable. I feel as though there is a hole where
love should be and I don’t know how to fill it.”
Two months on and the
kitchen is taking shape. Our little camping adventure is wearing thin. The
kitchen / laundry is cramped and hard to keep clean. Dust layers every surface.
Every morning work men arrive at 7am and make my house their building space. As
I rush out the door, it seems there are another 5 decisions to be made. How
long will it take to have my house back?
Three months on and people notice my new look. I constantly have to
hitch my jeans as they slip over my thinner hips. The endless restrictions are
becoming tiring. I enviously eye the frothy cappuccinos at our local café and
admire the new wines on show at the cellar. The boys are complaining that the
menu is getting boring. I wonder how much longer I’ll stick to this regime?
Seven days into the retreat and I have broken through the surface. I am
coming up for air. I can feel the tensions and hurts melting away. Love is
seeping back into my soul and tenderness is growing in places where pain used
to be. I want to luxuriate in this and stay cocooned in this protected world
forever. I wonder how I will be in the real world?
Three years on and the
kitchen is the hub of our house. We welcome guests, share feasts, celebrations
and close times. We have opened our house to let the light and garden fill the
space and brought people into our lives.
Three years on it is time to lose more weight. I dropped 16 kilos the
last time and kept it off. I knew I hadn’t lost all I needed to lose. I took a
breather and now I see I want to do more. I look out at the possibility of
being a lighter and fitter me.
Three months on and I am back in my real world. While the pain has been
cauterised and seeds of love sown, I see light at the end of this tunnel and
the journey to fill my soul with love has begun.
 |
| At the heart of the banksia Nov 2011 |
