All the gurus will tell you. If you want to lose weight, you have to figure out why you eat. There is a whole litany of psychological and behavioral mumbo jumbo out there about getting to the root of the neurosis.
So, Mara.... why do you eat? As you could imagine, this week, as the calorie deprivation set in, this question has been pestering me. Why? Why? Why? Why do I eat? Why don't I stop myself? Why did it get to this point?
There is a lot of talk about self-loathing when it comes to weight loss. Depression, fear, anxiety, not finding love from other places except from food. Heck, food makes you feel good. It tastes good! Like a drug, it is an addiction.
See, none of that really sits well with me. I don't hate myself. I don't think I am depressed (although, perhaps at times have had an inclination towards it), I have love in my life. I am (generally) a confident and happy gal. I am not afraid of the world.
My problem is: I like to celebrate. I want to celebrate every day! Hey! It is Monday! That's worth a brownie! I love Fridays in the summer! Lets get ice cream! I don't want to cook - how about Culvers for dinner?! Blizzard of the week? You bet! And on and on.... and soon, it was every day.
And then add a feeling that I deserved it.
In 2003, I quit a serious smoking addiction. I smoked. A lot. Most days, a whole pack. I smoked first thing in the morning. I smoked first thing at night. I smoked in the car. I smoked at 10am. I smoked at Noon. I smoked after lunch. I smoked before dinner. I smoked at the bar. I smoked. Friends at Bucknell will remember me as the girl sitting on the bench (every bench), smoking. It was an addiction for me. When I thought about quitting I would break into a cold sweat. The withdrawl dreams. The anxiety. I had lost control.
When I successfully quit the cigs, I celebrated! I bought a new car. I ate... and bought clothes, etc. etc. And I ate.. and celebrated. I mean, really - I quit smoking!!! That's huge... but now, all that is left, is me - huge.
My addiction transferred from cigs to food. For as often as I put a cigarette in my mouth, I now put food. I think a lot of smokers go thru this. But, unfortunately for me, add 7 years and 2 babies, I have a leftover. And it isn't in the fridge...
7 years ago I got serious about my health and cut Mr. Malboro from my life. Now it is time for Mrs. Dairy Queen to take a similiar exit.
(and all that psycho babble mumbo jumbo seems to be pretty close to the mark afterall)