Stress is evil. I can hear it already, “But there is good stress and bad stress.” Then I’ll adjust – bad stress is evil. I’m still just calling it stress.
For the past two days, I’ve let stress get the best of me. When I get in overly stressful situations, I immediately crave the worst foods. The comfort this amalgam of fat and sugar eases the pain, even if just for a short bit.
I can feel my body growing, and dying, a bit with every single bite. Yet I don’t stop because it is the only thing that is stopping me from stepping off the ledge.
What a crock. I’m making bad choices so I feel like I have some control over something and no one can tell me differently. Stress, in this case, was caused by lack of control of a situation that I am responsible for. How do I gain control? Eat like an idiot. A fat idiot.
I don’t write those phrases lightly. I am not beating myself up. I am merely acknowledging what happened. The kicker is, I have the ability to stop the behavior and get back on track RIGHT NOW.
All too often I hear myself, and my fellow residents in FatNation, make excuse after excuse without taking responsibility. “I’m a stress eater.” Fine. But do I have to choose a Big Mac with a bucket of Coke and chase it with a package of Red Vines? Clearly not. I had to get in a car, drive to McDonald’s and order the number 1. Then get back in the car, go to Jewell and hunt for the Red Vines. Twizzlers are everywhere but I was fully convinced I needed Red Vines. Thank goodness I only bought one package because I would have devoured however many pounds I put in the basket.
The first step in this life-long journey is self-honesty. I do not need to eat that stuff. Can I eat it here and there? I’m not sure yet. Maybe. The point is I don’t really want to eat it today, so I need to knock it off.
On top of all these bad food choices, I didn’t exercise like I committed to myself. Again, excuses. The job. I have to work, no choice. Bull. I work a ton and I need to draw a boundary. Tonight I did just that. I’m writing this blog and not working. I’m not a doctor or anything where someone’s life is on the line.
So, here’s the deal. I need to commit to a plan. If you don’t write down plans, they are just dreams. I need to write it down, post it and hold myself truly accountable. That is up to me. Time for FatMan to get his groove back.