I got cocky. After really making progress in self-examination and realistic accountability, I tricked myself into believing that I could have candy and cookies within my reach. I even bragged to my hubs that I was so comfortable with my progress, so over fixating on sweets, that I could exercise reason. I convinced myself that I was over disordered eating.
Well, I was wrong. So goes my attempt to justify keeping sweets around me as I prepare for bariatric surgery. Truth is, I’m no where near fixed on that account. Today I reached out to my hubs for his feedback on this topic. Oh yes, it was uncomfortable to hear what he had to say. He tipped his hand a few days ago when I confessed to polishing off the lemon bars I put in the freezer for his dad. His look was one of genuine surprise. Why surprise? My performance of “Oh, I’m doing so well that I can eat *&#% and not obsess over it” was convincing enough that he bought it. After 34 years of marriage and witnessing my addictive behavior with certain foods, he believed that I was on my way. I took no pleasure in my deception.
My husband is not my accountability broker. I asked for his thoughts. We were in the car headed out for lunch. I knew that today was the day to put on my “big girl panties” as the saying goes, and toughen up. I did it. I steered away from choices that would perpetuate the damned carb cravings that I’m stuck with as a result of my dalliance with danger. I ate the soup and grazed on salad. It didn’t kill me.
The game is, once again, afoot!