With only seven weeks left I feel like my life has become consumed by numbers and doctors appointments. Thirty-two, the number of weeks I am into my pregnancy. Thirty, the maximum number of carbs I can consume at breakfast. Forty-five, the maximum number of carbs I can have at lunch and dinner. And 110, the level my blood sugar should be two hours after these meals.
Before my husband and I pulled the goalie, I made sure we were both ready to handle my pregnancy with my bipolar disorder. I made sure I had the support I needed to be healthy throughout pregnancy. When it came to my mental health, yes I was prepared and that preparation paid off.
What I wasn’t prepared for was a gestational diabetes diagnosis.
I have known several women who have gestational diabetes. It even runs in my family on my dad’s side. I knew that this wasn’t the end of the world and that my baby would be fine.
But I also knew I had a history with disordered eating. There was once a time in my life where numbers and food consumed my brain. It started out as something as innocent as trying to keep my grocery bill within budget. I was in an urban ministry program where we had $21 a week per person for food. I think this was the food stamp budget at the time and the budget was partially intended for us to really see what it’s like to live in poverty.
Our household of five had $105 a week to spend on food. To put in comparison, that is about the same amount of money a week I currently spend on food for myself, my husband and our Jack Russel.
Growing up where frugality was next to godliness I was determined to make this budget work. And I was also determined, as all my teammates were, to eat healthy, lean meat and fresh produce. This meant weekly trips to Aldi’s and portion control for my Midwestern appetite.
The further I was into this year-long ministry program the more I cut back on eating. And the more positive affirmation I received. I didn’t own a scale so I wasn’t accountable for any weight lost. For me, it was never about the weight. It was always about this search for purity, perfection and and above all else control.
But at some point I realized I was no longer in control, but rather a slave to the numbers and food and obsessive thoughts that circulated my mind. I had lost almost 16 percent of my body weight when I reached out for help. At the time I hadn’t been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and there was so much going on in my mind that I couldn’t explained.
I gained back my weight before I came home and haven’t really talked about my disordered eating to many people. I certainly don’t talk about it in detail because I don’t want to create a how-to guide for anyone struggling with this.
But the thing is, I know that there are other people out there who struggle with eating disorders and disordered eating. And I know that there are other people with bipolar disorder who struggle with obsessive thoughts that lead to neurotic obsessive behaviors.
To those people I want to say, you are not alone. We are not alone.
Right now I’m back in the ring, battling these numbers, wrestling to gain control through food. I’m trying to eat as much nutritious protein and fats as possible and keep my carbs within the bounds of my diabetic diet. But my blood sugar continues to be unpredictable. With every high or low reading I fight the urge to obsess. And honestly, I just need to tap out of this fight.
I’m not sure that I can learn how to stop obsessing about these numbers in the next seven weeks. Lord knows I’m trying.
What I do know is that this battle will come to an end in seven weeks. I only have seven weeks left. Just seven.
