Conscious Choice: Eating: Try This Spiritual Approach

July 2003 | Body & Mind Health

Eating: Try This Spiritual Approach

by Julia Mossbridge

Like many of us, I’ve struggled with a feeling of scarcity around food...lunging for the last piece of pizza was part of my dinner routine, whether I was full or not. One month ago, after eating a particularly huge dinner, I went to bed feeling miserable — my belly visibly stretched. I knew that I wasn’t overweight, but at the same time, it bothered me that I didn’t eat with awareness. That evening, I vowed to get to the root of this problem.

I made an agreement with myself that, for the next 30 days, I would go on the diet outlined in the book One Bowl: A Guide to Eating for Body and Spirit, by Don Gerrard. The rules of the diet were simple: 1.) choose a bowl that holds a cup to a cup-and-a-half of water and eat out of it for every meal; 2.) eat only when you feel hungry; 3.) put exactly what you desire in your bowl; 4.) stop eating when you feel full; and 5.) eat alone when possible.

The diet was, of course, challenging. But it was also enlightening, empowering, and (shockingly) fun. Two important words of advice before you try this at home: always ask your physician before you try any new diet and never try to eat a jumbo burrito out of a bowl.

Day One: Not being stuffed scares me. I’m not sure what I’m scared of — do I really wonder whether I’ll have another meal? It’s like some primal fear, one that I have had all my life. After this is all over, I promise I’ll stuff myself again.

Day Three: I’m not sure I’ve ever been this horny. Feels exhilarating! I wonder if I’ve been pushing down my sexual energy with food? It makes sense — the second charka is where the gut is and it’s also considered to be the source of sexual pleasure. Amazing. This diet is like Viagra — only it’s free.

Day Seven: I think I’ve gone overboard with this thing...I’m eating too little. It’s almost like I have a deprivation complex: I’m eating so little that I’m still hungry after I eat. I’m not actually following the rules of the diet, since I’m supposed to eat until I’m full. The funny thing is, this feels the same as eating too much and stuffing myself — either way I’m depriving myself of the simple satisfaction of my hunger. Why do I think I don’t get to simply be aware of my need and meet it? Does this have to do with my family? I thought my family was pretty free of food hang-ups!

Day Thirteen: Wrong. I had brunch with the family. It turns out that when I don’t eat enough or I don’t eat what was made for me, I don’t please the chef. And when I don’t please the chef, I am not loved. Apparently. At least, that’s how it feels. So is it that I feel like I can’t be aware of my own need around food because they might collide with the needs of others? Or am I afraid if I am aware, my needs won’t get met?

Day Twenty-Three: Well, it’s a little clearer now. I avoided eating alone for the first two weeks because I was afraid of something, I didn’t know what. But I’ve started eating alone sometimes, and I think I am starting to understand it. I was afraid to feel the simple need of hunger and to have the experience of gratifying that need exactly how I want to gratify it. Eating some peanut butter and apples made me cry. That’s all I wanted, and I let myself have it. This diet is wonderful. Of course the problem is that now I can’t go back to eating without awareness. I have to sit here and experience all my grief about not meeting my needs. This diet sucks.

Day Thirty: My bowl and me...I love both of us. I found my bowl at a garage sale a few years ago and never used it until this month. It’s an Irish pottery bowl with a Star of David in the bottom — just like me, Irish-Jewish. It’s almost an externalized stomach; I respect and honor my bowl and that makes me respect and honor my body. What I put in it is sacred. I’m sad this is the last day of the diet. I will miss my bowl.

Day Thirty-One: True to my plan, I stuffed myself today. Duck tacos...on a plate. Yum. I’m stuffed, but I also have a new feeling. I feel relieved. It’s finally dawned on me that my bowl is not an object, it’s a way of treating myself. And I can go back to it whenever I want.

Julia Mossbridge, a Chicago-based writer, is also a mother, cognitive neuroscientist, and author of Unfolding: The Perpetual Science of Your Soul’s Work (New World Library www.unfolding.org).

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