Food.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t crave it.
…My body needed it.
…There was nothing that I wanted to eat.
My mother prepared some of my favourite dishes for me in a hope that it would encourage me, but nothing seemed to work. I held some food in my mouth, chewed it a little, and tried to swallow it. I never seemed to get past the stage of chewing it before it would tumble out of my mouth, and back onto the plate. I felt as though I was being ungrateful, but there was nothing I could do about it.
This is what happened each day, for each meal, for the next 2 weeks or so.
The loss of appetite was enhanced by the overwhelming feeling of guilt. I explained earlier that I felt guilty for every little thing, and I think that sitting down and enjoying a meal was one of them. Shock was still settling in too, and when that happens, you’re certainly not yourself.
It took many weeks for my appetite to return. People had been dropping pre-prepared meals off at the house, and our fridge and freezer was full. The first meal that I ate was lasagne. I remember eating it in the kitchen away from everyone else. I actually cried while I was eating it. I’m not sure if that was the guilt thing coming back, but I sobbed the entire time that I ate it…
I soon went back for seconds, and that was closely followed by a third helping. After that meal, I was back on track for putting some weight back on. I can’t remember how much I’d lost exactly, but it was enough that my clothes hung off of me, and people would say “wow, you look great!”
Yes. That’s a way to lose weight. The grief diet…
Has anybody experienced the opposite of that? Perhaps you, or someone you know, chose to comfort eat and perhaps went about it another way. Perhaps there was no affect- Perhaps others were able to keep to their routine…
theunmarriedwidow 