I had a bit of a ‘moment’ yesterday. I had planned to finish work, dash around with the hoover so the house was vaguely clean, and then bask in the glory of having a housework free weekend to waste at my discretion (sit and write).
There were a number of boxes in the hallway that needed sorting out, mostly from my late mother-in-law’s house.
At some point between sitting on the floor looking at the boxes and prowling around the kitchen I must have blacked out, because I have no recollection of how I came to be randomly opening and closing the kitchen cupboards.
The act of accidentally shutting my finger in the knife draw jolted me to my senses and the conversation in my head went like this:
Sensible me: What are you looking for?
Upset me: Ugh for god’s sake – carbs or sugar. AND sugar.
Sensible me: What time is it?
Upset me: I dunno, like, 5:20.
Sensible me: When did you eat last? Did you have a snack?
Upset me: Um…yes, god, alright, I did, about 4 o’clock, what’s your point?
Sensible me: What did you have?
Upset me: A pear and some feta. Happy now?? Are you gonna just stand there or will you help me?
Sensible me: What are you looking for?
Upset me: I left a single finger of Cadbury’s Twirl in the back of one of these cupboards about 2 years ago. I’m trying to find it.
Sensible me: You ate that about 18 months ago. You stood by the bin, shoved it in your face and hid the wrapper. You then spent the next hour feeling sick and ranting about the bastards from Kraft who have ruined Cadbury’s and your life. Remember?
Upset me: Maybe. Shit. So, there’s no chocolate here then?
Sensible me: You could have some 90% Lindt?
Upset me: Oh fuck your 90% chocolate.
Sensible me: What’s going on here? Are you hungry?
Upset me: Ugh WHATEVER. No. OKAY. I’m not hungry.
Sensible me: So are you going to tell me what this is all about?
Upset me: I was going through Grandma’s boxes of craft projects thinking that she was the last person who opened the boxes and I got upset. Then I thought that one day, when I’m dead, someone is going to be going through my craft projects too and that upset me even more and then I realised that I’m going to die and my knicker drawer is untidy. (*Starts crying*) I’ll be dead and people will say that I had an untidy knicker drawer (*sobbing*).
Sensible me: Whoa. Blimey. Right – (*deep breath*) let’s sort this out. Firstly it is OK to be upset. Shoving carbs in your cakehole isn’t going to make you less upset it will just repress how you are feeling and distract you for a while. You aren’t hungry you’re emotionally distressed. You’ve worked so hard for so long now, are you really going to do this to yourself? And the knicker drawer? Seriously? Who do you think you are? Marie Kondo?
Upset me: *sniffs* Are you sure that I ate that Twirl?
Sensible me: Come on now, you know that won’t help. I’ll do a deal with you…let’s go and finish the hoovering and clean the downstairs loo. If, after that you still really, really want a Twirl I will drive you to the Spar and buy you one. Twirls deserve more than to be scoffed by the kitchen bin – we’ll come home, make a cup of tea and sit in the garden, loud and proud, and eat it. We’ll photograph it, enjoy it and figure out how we can work it off during training tomorrow.
Upset me: Um…ok…thank you, that’s very kind of you, but I don’t really like Twirls – Kraft ruined Cadbury’s and the chocolate isn’t the same. AND I still haven’t forgiven Cadbury’s for abolishing the Spira in 2005. *Sigh* Do we really have to clean the downstairs loo?
Sensible me: Yes we do. Now, are you hungry or can you wait until dinner?
Upset me: No, I’m not hungry but thank you for asking. I’ll be fine. Sorry I told you to fuck your 90% chocolate.
And that was it – the moment of crystallization when I really realised that no matter how upset I felt, I could choose to shake myself free from the chains of mindless eating.
What we choose to feed ourselves is just that, a choice. No one stands next to us and forces us eat the sugary, fatty, processed, crappy food that will poison us and lead us to an early grave.
No one makes us throw alcohol down our necks. No matter how socially acceptable drinking is, the alcohol in our drinks (ethanol) is a chemical that is added to gasoline (yes really) and is a cancer causing poison.
Yesterday I also realised that a guilty Twirl (or my usual “go to” carb of a piece of gluten free, marmitey toast) wouldn’t make me feel better; in fact it would simply add another layer of shame and disgust on top of my emotional distress and, in turn, it would make me fatter and lead to yet more self-loathing.
The thing is, I just can’t do this to myself anymore. I’m better than this.