Confessions of a control freak

I was really pleased to discover that I'd lost weight when I ventured onto the bathroom scales earlier today. I was so inspired, in fact, that I compounded my virtuousness with a trip to the gym, figuring that lunchtime on Mother's Day would be a good opportunity to visit the place while it was empty of its usual harem of smug yummy mummies.

Some people comfort eat and actually balloon in difficult times, but whenever I'm upset about something I don't eat; don't even feel hungry. Right now I'm very rarely eating lunch, and am subsisting most days on my morning routine of juice, cereal and folic acid, followed by nothing until dinner. I do always have a decent evening meal with hubby, but my current state of mind means I just don't have an appetite most days. Hence the half-stone drop which the doctor would argue I can ill afford (my BMI is 20) but which has left me curiously pleased with myself.

Part of me knows this is stupid. In order to conceive and sustain a pregnancy, I need to be fit and well myself, and not eating isn't exactly conducive to that. Plus my periods are irregular enough on their own without a drop in body weight making things worse.

So another part of me wonders if I'm subconsciously trying to punish my body in a stupid "you won't conceive so I won't bloody feed you" stand-off - in which the only loser is going to be me.

But the deepest part of me fears this is a return of the flirtation with eating disorder that I experienced once before, at 18. I'd just arrived at uni but hadn't yet met the friends who'd make my second-to-fifth years there the best of my life. I was homesick and unnerved, and in a stormy relationship with a not-nice bloke who told me I was fat. I responded by going through a six-month spell where I made myself sick after every meal. I eventually controlled this idiotic behaviour myself, without medical intervention, confessing all to my mum during a trip home in which she commented on my plummeting weight. I promised her I'd never do it again. To this day, I haven't.

Older and wiser, I now recognise this as a desperate attempt to gain the driving seat in a situation that I didn't feel I was in control of. I hadn't settled at uni, wasn't happy with the boyf, and didn't really know what to do about either of those issues, so I picked something that I could control, and went for broke.

The same could be said of the current situation. I'm not in the driving seat in any way - we are at the mercy of the NHS and of biology - and I completely feel like everything is spiralling out of control. When you add in the fact that I just feel so bloody sad most of the time - I know that sounds pathetic, but there it is - it's quite easy to see where the cracks are starting to form.

But like I say, I'm older now, and wiser. In point of fact, I've just had an oat and raisin cookie and given myself a good talking to. It's not much, but it's a start.