I survived Thanksgiving.

Yes, I know… first word problems… it’s in my head… I’m ungrateful…. I just don’t get it…

No, I get it.
I know that Thanksgiving is a blessing. It shouldn’t be feared. I’m fortunate to have a wonderful family, a warm place, and enough food to have leftovers for days.

But I dreaded. I lost sleep. It filled me, along with other things going on, with a special type of anxiety.

I was assured that there wouldn’t be any pressure. I wouldn’t be judged. That I could just consume what I wanted.

Of course, I didn’t believe that. I still don’t. They worry and through that worry, I think they judge how strong I am and my resolve.

Last year… last year I did okay. I had some turkey and a smidge of potatoes. I think I had some gravy and half a roll.

Well, that’s a lot for me. The act caused guilt, self-flogging, and restriction for days. Weeks. Nearly to Christmas.

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Fast forward a bit.

Made it past Thanksgiving – somehow.

I couldn’t have the potatoes, gravy, or stuffing. I ate a bit of turkey before I felt exceedingly cold.

That was it. I shut down.

Shamefully.