Mar 13 • 7M

Oops, I Did It Again!

Even when I lie to myself, my body never betrays me.

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Me after I hit a box of Krispy Kremes.


I gained weight again. Since November, almost 15 pounds. I’ve been hiding it from myself by using pictures from the fall for my IG posts. My friends haven’t commented. Maybe they haven’t noticed. Maybe they’re just good friends. But I’ve noticed. And I’ve tried to ignore it. But I’ve noticed. Yet I try to ignore it. But I’ve noticed. You know this cycle, right?

My inner knowing is speaking to me. I am not listening. So it speaks louder.

My weight gain corresponds with dating Sweet Yogini. I don’t call him Sweet Yogini for nothing. He accepts me as I am. The kind of guy I meet up with wearing sweats and no makeup. A man who writes poetry about us and is brave enough to share it.  Yet I’m so deeply uncomfortable with his devotion. But isn’t this the man we’re supposed to hold out for? The one all those memes are talking about on IG?


Then why am I numbing out this sensation with Shake Shack and Cokes? Why did I pound a box of mini Krispy Kreme the other night? Why is every night officially Brownie night in my household? Isn’t heart ACHE supposed to drive us to numb?

I was married to a guy like Sweet Yogini.

I recently found one of the last anniversary gifts he gave me. He wrote a poem professing his love and committment and had an artist turn it into a piece of art. I texted him a picture of the poem when I came across it. He responded, “You hated that.” And it’s true. 😬 I totally hated it. It made me so uncomfortable, I still don’t think I’ve read the poem with both eyes open even once. I kinda know what it says… Who am I kidding? I have no idea. I couldn’t read it then and I can’t read it now. When Sweet Yogini read a poem about us on our weekend away? We came back to the city two days early. No fight. Just complete discomfort on my part.

Intimacy may be a romantic ideal, but it gives me the willies. Of course, a part of me wants this type of deep love. This is why I keep running into relationships. I have the eyes for it, but not the appetite. Ironically, it reminds me of that huge Reese’s Pieces Sundae at Friendly’s that I used to order as a kid. I so wanted to conquer that bitch and ordered it every single time. But after a few spoons, I always waved the white flag.

I remember the first time I overate.

I was at the rehearsal dinner for the wedding of the first relative who molested me. (There were two. The first one, the one we’re talking about here, only did it once.) At the time, I just thought wow, the food is so tasty. But by the end of the evening, I thought I would either puke or die. I still remember my 9-year-old tummy feeling so stretched, I had to unbutton my pants. Today, I understand I was using food to ground myself. I was feeling anxious but had no outlet, no one to talk about it with. The food gave me another sensation to focus on, instead of my anxiety about my relative and the confusion of being at his wedding. I could just focus on feeling like shit.

For the past few months, instead of feeling my anxiety about intimacy, I’ve been feeling like shit. That same tight-bellied, nauseous feeling that comes from eating to numb as opposed to eating to fuel. Punishing myself for not wanting this fairy tale. This fairy tale we are expected to run toward.

I’m not ready for a fairy tale. Maybe I will never be. Maybe the problem is with the fairy tale. Or the problem is with me. Or maybe, just maybe we need to stop setting ideals on a pedestal to aspire to. There’s no room for our own internal life. Our own wisdom. Our own boundaries.

This week, I told Sweet Yogini, I just can’t be in relationship right now. This poor guy, we should call him Sweet YoYo-ini because of all my back and forthing. Like a trained dog, I’m so conditioned to progressing a relationship at the rate society tells us is appropriate. But now that I’m tuned into my inner life, I notice this pace is just too fast for me. It’s not aligned with my internal comfort zone. I tried pushing myself to “be normal” but my body begs to differ.

At least I’m having the dialogue.

When I was 24, a year into dating my ex-husband, his lease was up on his apartment, and he wanted to move in with me. Everything inside me screamed NOOOOOO! But he was such a great guy, a real “catch” as they would say back then. And he really wanted to do it, so I just went with it. We moved like this for 26 years. I’d feel one way inside and push myself in the opposite direction on the outside. I would let the external expectations, dictate my internal needs. This process of transitioning to being led from the inside out is a bit clunky for me, but necessary. It’s like learning to drive stick when you’re used to an automatic. I forgive myself for the fits and starts. Work in progress. Work in progress.

Aspiring to be in a relationship with a meme-worthy man is kind of obvious. I mean, no one wants a dickhead who treats us shit. We don’t need a meme to remind us of that. But what if you have that wonderful man…and you still need to honor your pace and space? We need a meme for that, sister. For now, my moving meditation is keep tending to my own garden. And like any good meditation, I need to keep gently going back to my focus point without judgement. It’s so hard! Cute boys are kind of distracting and our culture pushes us to couple up. But I need to strengthen my intimacy muscles in solitude for now. Dance lessons in a studio so to speak. Maybe one day I can tango. But for now as Billy Idol said, I’m dancing with myself.

And with you. OBV. 24/7, as always at

xo, atoosa

Soundtrack of my 🤍🖤❤️:

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