nutrition

Tofu Breakfast Scramble (with something better than Nutella)

Ever get tired of eggs?

Or maybe you're vegan or you don't eat them for other reasons like maybe allergies? Or maybe you just don't LIKE them.

Well, have you ever tried tofu scramble? When spiced nicely and cooked well, mashed tofu can simulate the egg experience or just be its own protein-packed nutritious breakfast all on its own without trying to be like anything else. ;) 

Here's a simple recipe that takes just a few minutes and leaves you feeling satisfied for hours. I suggest matching it with a small side salad and/or multigrain toast with a full fat spread and/or natural sweetener. When you eat a tasty breakfast like this, shitty donuts will have no power over you mid-morning.

(PS you can also eat this for lunch or dinner)

Give this a try and let me know what you think in the comment below!

TOFU BREAKFAST SCRAMBLE

1 package extra firm tofu, rinsed, drained and cut into quarters

1/8 tsp each curry powder, garam masala, garlic powder, all-purpose seasoning 

1/8 tsp coconut oil or olive oil

Warm oil in a small pan on the stovetop. Place 1 or 2 quarters of tofu into pan. Mash with a fork. Bring heat to low or medium low. Add spices and mix well. Cook over low heat for 2-5 minutes until tofu is lightly browned.

 

These are better (for your body) than Nutella. With cleaner ingredients they taste just as good!

These are better (for your body) than Nutella. With cleaner ingredients they taste just as good!

The Body Image Monster Didn't Win Today

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  I consider days when my body image monster doesn't win to be major victories.

I've battled body image issues my whole life, or more specifically once puberty hit and peer validation became a thing. Prior to that, I was just a kid of the 80s running around. Adolescence marked the beginning to the boxes we place ourselves and others into. It was when I became increasingly more aware and self-conscious of my physical form and it wasn't fun for me. The more I talk to people, I learn just how common this shared experience is.

Hell is a place on earth and it's called middle school.

I remember standing in the dressing room while shopping for bathing suits. Or shopping for something to wear to the final dance for my 8th grade graduation. I wailed. I pleaded. I sobbed. I didn't want to look. I didn't want to choose. Nothing felt right.I hated my reflection on those days. They were pure torture. It may be why I still have issues shopping for clothes. The dressings room bring up some PTSD, maybe, even though I'm no longer shopping for ill-fitting dresses or bathing suits.

Things got minimally better as I grew older. Grunge came into fashion and that meant big baggy clothes I could hide in. As fashion trends change, and since powerfully choosing to wear clothes I really love, I find myself sticking to old standbys from the GAP (not skinny jeans) or brands like Frank & Oak, my new favorite. I choose what feels good or what I like.

I've worked hard to get myself into the best shape possible, but the body image monster is always hanging out, like the proverbial raincloud above my head or a guest who just won't leave after the party is over. No matter what I eat (or don't eat) or how often I run or work out, I just don't have the body type where I will slide on a pair of slim fit pants and need a belt. Only once have I've known the feeling of having my sits bones actually hurt when I sat down--when I dropped down to 118 pounds in high school during the nadir of my eating disorder. It was unpleasant, the whole thing, and not something I wish to replicate.

I know I will have supreme inner peace and probably come close to nirvana when I accept my body fully for all it is and is not, but the body image monster is constantly goading me to suffer, instead. I haven't given him a name or a shape or other characteristics, he's just "there" as a feeling.

But he didn't win the other day. He's winning less and less each day, actually.

I had a day last week where I was laying on my bed, staring at my hand and I started sobbing out of nowhere. It may sound a little silly but the realization of how many years, days, minutes and seconds I've spent staring at my hand just knocked the wind out of me. I've been through so much and so many changes, and there's my hand--always there when I look for it. My body is so familiar to me, more reliable than any person, place or thing in my life; it's my oldest and best friend.

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I try to remember that realization and this sentiment when I lose touch with my gratitude for my body that works so hard to keep me alive another day. I've lost so many dear friends and family members to their battles with their physical forms and I know I'm not alone in this. By appreciating our own bodies a bit more, perhaps it's like sending a prayer for the extra day or week our friends and family members would have liked to be here, imperfect body and all.

1) Avoid mirrors. I didn't own a mirror for years and I have definitely noticed a huge shift in my own struggle with body image the more mirrors I have around or when I search for my reflection in a window. Sometimes I spend minutes spinning around, trying to get a good angle, before leaving the house. Some days, there are no good angles and I've found the best days are when I don't go near a mirror before leaving the house. Perhaps it's denial but whoever said ignorance is bliss is a good friend of mine when it comes to what I look like some days.

2) Wear what fits you now. Sometimes I rejoice when I can fit into pants I wore three years ago. Some days I feel like I should have a scrolling banner attached to the length of my body and be lifted horizontally into the atmosphere. I know my body has undergone a massive biological and physiological transformation in the past two years. I know different companies make clothes in many different environments from many different fabrics according to specific dimensions or measurements. Despite the reality that each human body is incredibly different in so many ways, we all try to look the same and fit into pieces of fabric sewn together. Still, my BIM (body image monster) tells me I'm a failure. When he does this, I grab whatever feels most comfortable now, no matter the size, and give him the finger.

3) Eat food. During the year or so of my eating disorder, I followed some ridiculous logic. I starved myself most of the day and then consumed specific foods I deemed "safe" or "allowed", most of which were high in simple carbohydrates. Since I was often so weak from malnutrition, I wasn't exercising to burn off all that energy so all those simple carbs went right to my fat cells. I little silly but hey, it happened. Now, I know better. Despite some frustration with my aging body and metabolism, I know eating more food of many different kinds (mostly vegetables and fresh fruit), not limited amounts of the same things, is the solution to maintaining a healthy weight. And so I eat whole foods in healthy amounts and consider my job done.

4) Relax and relate. The body image monster is such a funny guy. He tries to tell me that people I see who are thinner or more fit (the skinny jeans wearers, namely) are happy and content in their bodies. Such a sassy devil, that one. He's funny and really wrong. When I find myself comparing myself or making assumptions about other people, I think of how many people have confessed their own body image struggles to me. I relax and remember not to be deceived by appearances. I relate to the internal conflict of self-acceptance many people face each day, no matter their appearance. I would say everyone, but I try to avoid generalizing with my assertions. But it has surprised me how many people struggle when others might think they would have no reason to at all.

I think it's also helpful to zoom out and consider our bodies as one aspect about us. We are more than our physical forms. We are our character, our courage, our talents, our habits (both good and not-so-good ones) our accomplishments and the way we show up for people and relationships we care about. We are unlimited potential and when we confine our worth to the shape we are in, it limits what we can provide others and give to ourselves.

I share this with my clients who make assumptions, either related to body image or anything else, and they find it really helpful perspective. It's inspired me to write another post about what we think we see and what we attach to it. That's coming up next week.

Do you have a body image monster? What have you observed about him/her/it over your life, as you've grown and changed?

What have you found to be effective in defeating and overcoming the negative self-talk of your body image monster?

Hiding Hinders Healing: What Helped Lift My Depression

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I was sitting down to write a paper for grad school about How We Determine Our Worth and I saw the news about Robin Williams. He allegedly committed suicide after years of battling depression.

I've long considered writing about my own experience with depression but since it felt more situational and wasn't a clinical diagnosis, I felt it wouldn't be as valuable.

And then I realized that was dumb.

My depression was real. I felt it so deeply I wanted to commit suicide multiple times and I expressed those feelings to friends. I wasn't kidding or joking or trying to get attention. I felt helpless and hopeless beyond belief and beyond comfort many, many times.

My depression was legitimate to me, with or without some clinician signing off on a diagnosis or prescription.

I've been able to find my way out from under the weight of the depressive bouts on each and every occasion over the years without prescription medications. I seem to be on a good upswing because the bouts have become much fewer and farther between, lately. I figured that it may be helpful to someone to read what helped my depression so I've decided to push past the thoughts about the depression other people feel and experience and write about mine.

I talked about it. Perhaps one of the toughest parts about depression is speaking about it. There may be fear or shame there because it may carry a stigma implying individual weakness. "Just pick yourself up and move on," people might say. I felt that fear and shame but I still spoke about it. I said it to my therapist. I said it to my friends. I said it to myself. "I feel depressed," I'd say. "I am depressed."

I felt it. Much like talking about it, simply feeling it helped. I allowed myself to be or feel depressed and didn't make excuses or feel like a failure because I was experiencing depression. I knew it was something people feel and I was now feeling it. It sucked and I often wished it would pass more quickly, but I never beat myself up for feeling it and that may have helped me not sink further down. On one occasion this past year, I backed myself into a closet and cried loudly until the tears stopped. I felt a little concerned while it was happening and wondered if calling 911 made sense but on the other side of it, about 30 minutes later, I felt a tremendous weight lifted.

I assessed my current situation and determined that it might be making me feel depressed. It might not be you. It might be your job, your relationship or something else that is not a good or right fit. In more than a few instances, changing my situation profoundly helped my depression.

I ate foods that seemed to improve my mood and (tried to) avoid ones that made it worse. When I ate sugar, my depression came on like gangbusters. What was mildly annoying or bothersome or frustrating one day would become utterly and profoundly hopeless within hours of ingesting too much sugar. I felt painted into a corner by paint that would never, ever dry. "This will be like this forever!" I'd say. And then, I would drink a lot of water and eat more vegetables (especially dark, leafy greens) and the sugar would pass through my bloodstream. The same situation that had me paralyzed hours earlier would feel slightly less horrible. And then, mildly horrible. And then, not so bad at all. I tried to remember this the next time I was tempted to eat a lot of sugar in one sitting but it didn't (doesn't) always work.

I made sure I got sleep, even when it was erratic. Experiencing insomnia brought on by anxiety or depression is hell. I've been through it a few times in the past few years and each time I become incredibly angry. We need sleep to function, it isn't something we can skip on and expect to really thrive. I hated that I wasn't sleeping, especially when I tried everything I could think of to remedy the insomnia. Essential oils. Baths. Not eating or drinking after 8pm. Cool temperature in the room. Blankets. No lights on. Earplugs. God, everything. But I persevered and eventually the circadian rhythms righted themselves and it dissipated. The most helpful thing may have been my tenacity with a regular bedtime, no matter how long I stayed asleep or how many times I woke up during the night.

I wrote about it. I wrote about my depression and didn't publish the blog posts. I got the words out with a pen in a paper journal. I sometimes resorted to drawing angry or sad faces with a crayon.

I listened to music that inspired me in some way. Sometimes it was African lullabies, sometimes it was Disney songs. Sometimes it was cathartic singer-songwriter stuff, in moderation of course. Listening to the suffering of others sometimes helped me gain much-needed perspective on my own situation. Often it helped me feel connected to someone, that person who wrote that song, even if that person was a total stranger who didn't even know I existed. They knew what I was feeling, though, and I felt less wrong or bad or hopeless that I would ever feel anything but those things.

I reminded myself that it might be depression. During especially difficult moments, the kind when I wasn't sure I needed to keep hanging out here on Earth, I remembered that it wasn't total and complete reality that would linger forever. It might be depression, instead, and it might pass.

I remembered my accomplishments. When I felt like I'd done all I could with my life and wanted to pass Go and collect my $200, I reminded myself of what I had accomplished. I considered all I've overcome. I reflected on the lessons I've learned and wondered what else was left for me to experience. "If my life has been this rich," I'd think, "what if there's even more ahead?"

I reached out for help from people I knew would listen. When I was depressed, hanging out or speaking with someone who didn't understand it or have compassion for it made it much worse. Calling someone who didn't judge or condemn it, and even understood it, helped me much more. Even though I don't experience ongoing depression and mine seems to come and go, I still relate to the fundamental quality of it. I remember it. While I hope that all people can find and experience relief from it, I can still hold the space for them as they find that relief. Not everyone can do this. They can't sit with their own feelings and probably can't hold the space for you. I don't spend too much time around these people, anymore.

If you feel depressed or experience ongoing depression, I encourage you to try some of what helped me, in addition to whatever you're doing that helps you wake up and put your feet on the floor each day.