A binge is a message -- By Geneen Roth

Why Am I Eating This?
A binge is a message--stop and listen to it.

By Geneen Roth, Geneen Roth is the author of six books about emotional
eating, including When Food Is Love.


A few nights ago, I was walking to a party in Manhattan. Halfway
there, I stopped and bought a hot pretzel from a street vendor.

That should have been my first inkling that something was amiss.

Why? Oh, only two minor reasons: I don't like pretzels and I wasn't
hungry.

For someone who has devoted half her life to understanding the reasons
why people turn to food and binge eating when they're not hungry, this
last teeny fact--lack of hunger and eating anyway--is always a red
flag. Usually, when I want to eat and I'm not hungry, I take some
time--at least a couple of minutes--to ask myself what I am feeling.
Usually, I know that no matter what's going on, it's always better to
feel it than to use food to swallow it.

But that night I seemed determined to go unconscious. I pulled off a
hunk of the pretzel, slathered it with mustard, and took a bite. It
didn't taste good, so I took another bite just to make sure that I'd
tasted it right the first time. Still gluey, still bland. I asked the
next homeless person with a "Need Food" sign if he wanted the pretzel.
He told me he was allergic to wheat, so I gave him a few bucks, threw
out the pretzel, and continued on my way to the party.

The moment I arrived, I headed straight for the food. It wasn't
exactly a binge eating paradise--sesame shrimp, polenta cakes, Swedish
meatballs (none of those yummy, deep-fried, trans-fat, or
insulin-hysterical foods), but I made do. Every time a tray came past,
I took what was offered. Then I started following the trays around,
after which I stationed myself in the kitchen and greeted the trays as
they were taken from the oven. I felt like an overstuffed sausage. As
I waddled from room to room, my belly preceded me.

On my way back to my hotel that night, I realized that this was my
first bout of binge eating in 5 or 6 years. If my husband, Matt, had
been around, he would have eyed me and said, "A coupla polenta cakes,
some shrimp, and six bites of cookies hardly doth a binge make..." But
then I would've had to remind him that binge eating is not defined by
the amount of food you eat but by the way you eat it. Two cookies can
be a binge if you eat them with urgency, desperation, and the pressing
need for an altered state. Food is a drug of choice, and when you
binge, you are using your preferred substance to deny, swallow, or
escape your feelings.

I tell my retreat and workshop students that kindness and curiosity
after binge eating are crucial. And so, the next morning, I was kind
to myself.

I was curious. I wanted to know what was going on. Why food had
suddenly seemed like my only salvation.

And here's what I discovered:

I was tired. I was feeling raw and vulnerable from having spent the
day with a dying friend. I wanted to be alone, but I didn't feel like
I had a choice about going to the party, because I'd already agreed to
meet a friend there.

I made a quick decision to go, except, of course, that because I was
binge eating, I didn't really show up at the party. I was preoccupied,
edgy, self-absorbed, and then numb. Not your ideal companion.

What If You Didn't Eat?
Recently, a student of mine--let's call her Rita--had a daughter, her
third child in 6 years. I met her when the baby was a year old. Rita
told me she spends every night binge eating. I asked her why. She
said, "I want to get my own needs met, have someone take care of me.

Sometimes I think I'm going to go crazy and throw my kids out in the
rain just so they'll leave me alone. I feel so awful about myself when
I think these thoughts, but then I remember that I can microwave some
popcorn, pour half a cup of butter on it, and sit in front of the TV
and eat. I remember I have food. That calms me down."

I asked her what would happen if she didn't eat. She said, "I'd end up
feeling awful about myself for having these feelings about my kids." I
said, "Seems like you end up feeling awful about yourself anyway."

"Yeah," she said. "But at least it's for eating and not for being a
terrible mother."

"Who says you're a terrible mother for wanting to leave your kids out
in the rain? Wanting to do it and doing it are different universes," I
said. "What if you let yourself have the full range of your feelings
without judging them or believing that having feelings means acting on
them? What if when your kids went to sleep, instead of eating popcorn,
you sat on the couch with a blanket and just stared into space? Did
nothing for a while? Gave yourself some kindness that didn't also hurt
you at the same time?"

That was 3 months ago. She's had a few binges since then, but she's
also had evenings of letting herself be exhausted without eating,
temporarily hating her kids without having to hurt herself (or them)
for it. She's realized that when she wants to turn to binge eating,
it's a sign she needs to slow down, take some time for herself--even
if it's only 3 minutes--and pay attention to what's actually going on.

Wanting to binge means: Stop, slow down, be curious about why food
seems to be the answer to everything. Wanting to binge is a way to get
your own attention. When you want to binge, it's as if you were
jumping up and down with a banner that says, "I need you to notice me
now!"

So go ahead. Notice yourself. Be kind. Be tender. Be curious. You'll
be surprised at what happens.

Trust me--it'll be good.)
Three-Minute Warning
The next time you want to succumb to binge eating, tell yourself that
you're going to take 3 minutes--only 3--to be with yourself before you
eat. Then, sit down, breathe a few times, and with as much kindness as
you can muster, ask yourself gently what is going on. What do you
need? Whom do you need it from? What would be the kindest thing you
could do for yourself now?

If you still want to eat after you've done this, notice how the food
tastes in your mouth. Notice how you feel after you've eaten. Ask
yourself if eating felt kind.