I'm with Nina....overshare sounds like a bad thing...and I think freeing up and speaking about who we are and how we feel is good, good, good.
So...yes, let's talk about emotional eating.
Mine goes back so far it feels like part of my DNA. Food was always the way to smooth over the gaps and the pain in my life as a kid and especially as a teenager. It was always there, right? That Ding Dong didn't insult or bully or leave me feeling unimportant or left out or, or, or.....it just sat there full of creamy filling and chocolate, all wrapped up (then) in a neat shiny little foil package, whenever I wanted it (or could get my hands on it....another story).
I've always been heavy...some times heavier than others....but I was never the athletic type (even though I rode horses and swam like a fish) or slim. I weighed 130 lbs and wore a size 12 when I was 12 years old...then kept growing. At my heaviest I stopped weighing myself or buying clothes and became of a fan of the mu-mu/caftan/long, loose and swishy stuff that didn't make me beat myself up with the knowledge that I had gone past size 24.
At one point in my late 20s I resolved that I was going to change, and never look like that again. I was dating a man that was into body-building. We lived on broiled fish (no butter or oil) and salad with a squeeze of lemon....not kidding....that was lunch and dinner. We went to the gym every day and worked out for 3 solid hours. I ached. I felt starved and hungry and deprived every waking moment. I was angry at the entire world and everyone in it that could eat a cheeseburger and still look "normal." I got down to a size 14, and weighed 155. People told me I looked fantastic. I loved hearing that (since I never had), but hated every other moment and myself for having to live such an austere and unpleasant (for me) existence in order to look "acceptable."
Needless to say, I fell off the wagon (and broke up with the body-builder too).
I gained weight....up and down a little....hovered around 200 lbs. most of the time, for years but felt like myself. Gradually it crept up, and up....
I weighed about 245 lbs. when I was diagnosed with diabetes...and it scared me to death. My aunt died the most awful death imaginable from diabetic complications. Mine was showing mostly in my eyes....diabetic retinopathy...and a firm message that, if I did not get my blood sugar under control, I would go blind. Turns out, based on the damage to my eyes, that I probably was an undiagnosed diabetic for about 20 years....back to my early 20's....maybe earlier.
I went on the diabetic diet, walked an hour a day....and lost 50 lbs. That helped, but it wasn't enough to control my blood sugar. They added meds....lots of meds....but thankfully not injected insulin. As needle-phobic as I am, that would be a disaster on too many levels to even think about.
I measured fats in teaspoons, weighed my food, counted my food....hated my food. I developed an intense depression....once again hating a world where "everyone else" could eat normally, or whatever they wanted, or *fill in the blank* and be normal and attractive and relatively healthy....and my body sabotaged me. Honestly, the only thing that kept me from being suicidal was my son. Rooster was 6, and I wanted to live long enough to see him grow up....and I wanted to
see him, too. I couldn't let this thing make me blind. I also couldn't continue to live the way I was. I needed to find that happy medium...that place that Medusa describes...where I could have cake if there was an occasion for cake, or even just a strong desire for it....where food became just food...and not my enemy...where my body became my friend, and not my saboteur.
That was about 8 years ago.
I've regained a little of the weight I lost. I'm working on losing it again.
I've also accepted the fact that I am diabetic, and that (unless there's a miracle) won't change. I need to find a way to live with it, and not let it take me out.
I also have to be able to live my life...eat food...have pleasure.
I have to strike a balance.