Cookie Monster

            I have thought long and hard about writing about this, it seems almost too personal.  I like to pretend that I am above this subject.  I like to think that I am too mature, too confident, too comfortable in my own skin for all this nonsense.  Unfortunately….

            Once upon a time I believed that I was above emotional eating.  I had a breakthrough in junior high, I had a crush on a boy.  A boy that I would never know….all right it was Christian Slater.  (This is going to get so personal.)  I bought a tub of Haagen Daz, ate it, and afterwards all I had was a stomach ache.  So I never did that again.  I thought my brilliant logic had protected me from (as a friend once said) ‘pile driving carbs into my face’ when I was sad.  I smugly believed this fallacy for many years, until…

            I stood in the kitchen, half empty boxes were strewn around me, almost everything was almost empty, but not quite.  I mentally inventoried the contents of the cupboard, half finished bag of almonds, some prunes, six month old crackers. None of it normally tempting, but right now I wanted to eat it all.  We had not closed on our house yet, but the time had come to move out of our apartment and into temporary housing while we waited on the process to be completed.  We had ‘faith’ that it would and acted in such.  Then why, as I stood in that kitchen, was the only thing on my mind shoving food into my face?  An epiphany blew the face of my own lies,

            ‘I am a stress eater,’ the thought rang out in my head.  I love eating.  Some days I think I am just sitting around waiting for the next time I get to eat.  I love food.  I have met very few foods that I do not like.  Okay that’s a lie… So personal…

            Dill. I don’t like dill.  Do not try to convince me of otherwise.  I know that I hate it.  It’s okay, I like almost everything.  So I feel justified in hating dill.

            I have been trying, vainly (pun intended) to ‘lose that last five pounds.’  In that quest I have started tracking my food intake on the website myfitnesspal.com.  My husband thinks I am crazy.  I eat pretty healthy and I don’t feel like I eat all that much at meals… so what’s the deal?  One day I ate 600 extra calories in just random stuff I popped in my face.  Handing out goldfish crackers to my kids?  Some for Mommy.  Someone brought in brownies?  One down the mouth hole.  Bought donut holes to keep kids happy?  I like the classic kind, down the hatch. 

            As we’ve been moving and in a time of huge transition my ability to say no to extra dessert has left the building.  I’ve thought about this.  I’m not overweight.  My husband is still interested.  Why does this matter? 

            But is this healthy?  That I want to shove food down my pie hole when I’m stressed out?  Shouldn’t I have better ways of coping?  Sure the occasional glass of wine or chocolate cupcake isn’t going to cause an early death, but should I go there every time the mercury rises?  I’ve been thinking about how to invite God into this, before when I’ve prayed about losing weight I swear I’ve heard,

            ‘Or you could learn to accept yourself, Lara,’ which is not really the answer I want. 

            Let me level with you for a moment before you start typing very encouraging notes to me about how thin I am, most of the time I’m pretty happy with what I’ve got.  I know that I am more than the sum of my body parts.  I am my intellect, my passions, my personality, my love, and all those parts of me I like.  I just think there should be a better way of dealing with stress with more caffeine and sugar than I would like to admit.  Openly, on the internet.  For all to see in black letters. 

            I bought a copy of the book ‘Made to Crave,’ it’s sitting unopened beside me on the couch.  Ready for its maiden voyage.   All the testimonials on the inside of the cover talk about how happy they are and they started losing weight, and they can’t believe it.  And I think, ‘that’s not the point.’  I don’t want to make this about losing weight all the time.  I don’t want to live my life in bondage to the way my pants feel around my waistline.

            But I do want to stop ‘going into survival mode’ and for stressful periods, mama gets what mama wants.  That is usually chocolate, wine, and large cups of coffee (just in case you were confused.).  We are in another period of transition and stress in our lives, I felt myself pouring that glass and sinking into that hole.  I keep thinking, ‘isn’t there a better way?’