My response to food, or my use (or abuse) of it, is another story.
Let’s start by acknowledging that I eat when I feel pressured, anxious or – I really dislike this word – stressed. And let’s further acknowledge that the past month has been nothing but pressure, anxiety and stress. When the most relaxing thing you’ve done in several weeks is fold laundry, you can bet that tension is high.
Let’s throw another wrench in the works – a bit of family drama, say – and sticking to a strict Phase One of South Beach was beginning to be more of a burden than a blessing.
I do fine for a while, and then I reach my own personal tipping point. It happened Tuesday evening, when the Universe handed me the three things I needed to go on a bender, of sorts:
You will not find chocolate anywhere on anyone’s list of allowable Phase One foods.
So I guess I started over yesterday. Again. (Because I didn’t eat all of the chocolate Tuesday night, no-no-no, I saved some for Wednesday. Stupid, stupid, stupid.)
Coming up: More family drama, a family reunion, my dad’s second (of three) surgeries, two out-of-state trips. Pressure. Anxiety. Stress. Time. Money. Opportunity.