Watch out for Flying Dishes
There are some days when you just want a cookie.
Then there are some days when you just want six cookies.
Yesterday was one of those days.
I heard it said in Weight Watchers one time that if you drop a plate in your kitchen, and it breaks, you don't open up the cabinets and proceed to break all of the rest of the plates because you'd already broken the one.
Well, I do. Except that the plates are cookies. And I'm not breaking them, I'm shoving them in my mouth. My brain actually justifies: "Well, since you've already had the one, may as well have that one too. And that one. And now would be a good time to try that one. Who knows when you'll give yourself this chance again? Grab that one while you're at it."
I don't know how to explain this phenomenon other than to say that it is an addiction. In the same way that a person can be addicted to anything else. My relationship with food, and/or eating, has all the symptoms of an addiction. Secret binging. Massive guilt over relapse. Fear of situations presenting me with the temptations of delicious treats.
So yesterday, in spite of having had cottage cheese and strawberries for breakfast and a grilled chicken sandwich (from which I scraped the mayo and replaced with mustard) and water for lunch...in spite of not touching Chloe's fries or tasting her ice cream sundae - I caved. First, I decided that I was being pretty hard on myself. Then I convinced myself that I would never be happy if I couldn't eat a little cookie every now and then. Then, somehow, I concluded that the key to my weight loss would actually be to relax and have that cookie. So I ate the cookie. And then another one, and another one. Moderation be darned, frantically, my hands searched for something else sweet to follow the last thing...until I calculated and thought, "oh goodness, what if someone - one of my supportive friends - walked in and saw me right now?" So I stopped, but the dishes were already in pieces all over the floor. At dinner, I ordered fried instead of grilled (Crash!) and grabbed a cookie on my way out. (Crash, crash!)
But were they good? Sort of. The first one was. The last few were just calories - the addict in me trying to take advantage of the window of opportunity I'd opened.
I don't know where this leaves me. I would like to get to a point where I really can have just one cookie. Or whatever the treat of the day is. Maybe I should just keep stuff around that's REALLY worth it, so that if i blow it, at least I've blown it on the good stuff, rather than old shortbread cookies. Or maybe, like a person in recovery, I really can't have a taste. Or maybe I just can't have a taste alone.
Having said all of that, today was the first time that someone who hadn't seen me for awhile said I was looking skinny. I almost bear-hugged her. Maybe the cookie-binge diet IS actually the secret.
Then there are some days when you just want six cookies.
Yesterday was one of those days.
I heard it said in Weight Watchers one time that if you drop a plate in your kitchen, and it breaks, you don't open up the cabinets and proceed to break all of the rest of the plates because you'd already broken the one.
Well, I do. Except that the plates are cookies. And I'm not breaking them, I'm shoving them in my mouth. My brain actually justifies: "Well, since you've already had the one, may as well have that one too. And that one. And now would be a good time to try that one. Who knows when you'll give yourself this chance again? Grab that one while you're at it."
I don't know how to explain this phenomenon other than to say that it is an addiction. In the same way that a person can be addicted to anything else. My relationship with food, and/or eating, has all the symptoms of an addiction. Secret binging. Massive guilt over relapse. Fear of situations presenting me with the temptations of delicious treats.
So yesterday, in spite of having had cottage cheese and strawberries for breakfast and a grilled chicken sandwich (from which I scraped the mayo and replaced with mustard) and water for lunch...in spite of not touching Chloe's fries or tasting her ice cream sundae - I caved. First, I decided that I was being pretty hard on myself. Then I convinced myself that I would never be happy if I couldn't eat a little cookie every now and then. Then, somehow, I concluded that the key to my weight loss would actually be to relax and have that cookie. So I ate the cookie. And then another one, and another one. Moderation be darned, frantically, my hands searched for something else sweet to follow the last thing...until I calculated and thought, "oh goodness, what if someone - one of my supportive friends - walked in and saw me right now?" So I stopped, but the dishes were already in pieces all over the floor. At dinner, I ordered fried instead of grilled (Crash!) and grabbed a cookie on my way out. (Crash, crash!)
But were they good? Sort of. The first one was. The last few were just calories - the addict in me trying to take advantage of the window of opportunity I'd opened.
I don't know where this leaves me. I would like to get to a point where I really can have just one cookie. Or whatever the treat of the day is. Maybe I should just keep stuff around that's REALLY worth it, so that if i blow it, at least I've blown it on the good stuff, rather than old shortbread cookies. Or maybe, like a person in recovery, I really can't have a taste. Or maybe I just can't have a taste alone.
Having said all of that, today was the first time that someone who hadn't seen me for awhile said I was looking skinny. I almost bear-hugged her. Maybe the cookie-binge diet IS actually the secret.
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