When it comes to weight loss, managing Type 2 Diabetes, or really any likened journey, we often hear about how it is a good idea to have a support system to help us along the way.
I tend to agree with that advice and am happy that after the initial “c’mon, I know you want one” from my dear sweet husband regarding Red Lobster Cheddar Bay Biscuits on my birthday back in 2011, that he did become my biggest supporter. Looking back, I see that I had an entire network of support, lots of folk at the Atkins website, many peeps on the Fat Head page on facebook, the top secret ninja Atkins group of lovely ladies and a few dudes that don’t post much, my mom, and Jan (my mother in law). Whether I just needed someone to tell me “you’re doing good” or just listening to me vent my frustrations.
A group of people on your side, tossing ideas and or encouragement, depending who is in the conversation, is a great thing to have, I know it helped me immensely.
Sometimes though, you can have a gazillion strong supporters, cheering you on, picking you up when you’re down, helping you over those hurdles when you just don’t have the what for to get over them yourself.
There came a time in my journey when the very problem that haunted me loudest was a problem that was in my head. I don’t remember where it was or what we were doing, but my thoughts kept drifting towards the deprivation of not being able to have this or have that. Frustrated because I couldn’t just go for a burger, I had to be the complicated one who needed a “special order”. While my head most likely made the funny looks given to me by cashiers seem worse than they really were, I couldn’t help but feel different, and well, I didn’t want to be different.
One day I was reading about someone who felt deprived, people were telling her/him (I don’t remember, it’s been over a year) how they just needed some magnesium or physillium husk or something to keep the cravings away. At the time, I read it as they wanted sweets and even offered my no help at all bit about how when I want sweet I get sour like pickles and it goes away.
I don’t remember who gave the reply that made me think, well, that is rude (at the time), but they said something like It’s just food, get over it!
When embarking on a journey of a lifetime, the newness eventually wears off. The idea of never having another doughnut may not even pop into one’s head until we’ve lost all the weight and have made the decision to never go back to our beginnings. Doughnut or baked potatoes, anything really that we once loved can feel like a big loss in our heads.
When deprivation knocked on my door, I remembered back to that conversation I’d been in previously. I realized what the poster was talking about because I was feeling it. I realized that there was a big difference in being rude and being brutally honest, and decided it was time to be brutally honest with myself.
Food is fuel, plain and simple. Food is not sexy, food is not comfort, food is not love. Yes, I cook food for my family because I love them, I do not want them to go hungry, but if the love wasn’t already there, no food would have been able to make it magically appear.
One of the hardest things to do is to disassociate food with feelings of pleasure. I can’t tell you what will work for you, but for me, I started eating foods I thought I didn’t like. A tin of sardines gave me no pleasure, but they filled my belly.
In thinking of my food as fuel, and fueling my body with something I once said I’d never eat, I saw that it’s really the same as that pasta or french fries, I eat, I stop, it’s gone.