Housecreature

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I’m a housecreature, a housecreature who can’t get the hang of Wordle and gives up after two attempts. I sweep, wipe, scrub, repeat. I am a caffeine-dependant Dobby, only paler. I feel cold and dry all the time, my face wanting closing in on itself.

Recently, I’ve been overwhelmed with kids and decisions and work and demands for my time and attention, all the while being an emotional bungee, mood like the North Sea. I’ve got whiplash from my own emotions, let alone those of my kids.

The other night, it occurred to me that a drink (wine) would ease the feelings. When this sort of thought arises, I recognise that it’s normal to fancy a drink at the end of a stressful day/ week, to help unwind. What’s not so normal is to have a drink, then become utterly helpless, at the mercy of the reaction the alcohol has on your mind and body. It’s not normal to be rendered incapable of using self-control or judgement, for the night to unravel, the need for more to surpass all reason and logic, for the gremlin to take over and set you on a path to self-destruction. Stumbling and crashing onto floors, blearily squinting at friends remonstrating me for ruining yet another night out cos they had to get me home before I did something stupid; retching, heaving pounding hangovers that took me out for a day at a time.

I’m incredibly lucky to have stopped drinking alcohol when I did, in my early twenties. Moderation just isn’t an option for me. Abstinence has saved me from years of habit being built up. Over the non-drinking years, I’ve got better at recognising how intense and uncomfortable some thoughts and feelings are – accepting I might just have to wait them out, rather than blot them out.

So the other night, because I was able to stop the thought in its tracks, I skipped the chaos option and threw myself with moderate abandon at a tub of vegan Nutella, instead. And, better still, I enjoyed it, and it didn’t tip over into a binge. I appreciate that this might sound an absurd non-achievement for most people, but for someone with a history of binge-eating disorder too, being able to enjoy a treat food without it turning into a frenzy is huge.

It used to be beyond my wildest dreams that I’d be able to keep treat foods in the house without them getting hoovered up in minutes, but this whole ‘unconditional permission to eat’ thing is a revelation. When you remove the rules, there’s nothing to rebel against. Then there’s really nothing left other to work with your body, your appetite, rather than against it.

In some ways, learning moderation with food was harder than quitting alcohol. It’s an altogether grey-er area. But I’m pretty much at peace with the grey now.

Once the kids were in bed, I turned to another handy pressure-valve release and had a small-to-medium cry, after which I watched TV. By the time I was ready to sleep, I felt way better. The mind-pressing was gone, as were the hot and sea-sick swirling feelings.

I’m a housecreature. A housecreature who is appreciating the slightly warmer weather and finally being able to shed a layer or two. One whose achievements might not be huge on paper, but which ensure general safety and sanity.