{Tales From An Emotional Eater} I Only Eat Dessert On The Weekends Now

I eat my feelings. We’re talked about my emotional eating before, but here it is again.

I eat when I’m happy, I eat when I’m sad or when I’m stressed or when I’m tired. I eat to make myself feel better, to pass the time, to reward myself, to acknowledge how hard I work.

At the end of a day filled with obligations—driving my daughter to school, cleaning the house, working, studying, writing, paying bills, making dinner, washing clothes—it feels good to kick back and inhale a cupcake or two. The cupcake doesn’t want anything from me. It’s not asking me to wipe its butt. It’s not asking me to check its homework. It’s not asking me to give it a bath. That cupcake, as silly as it sounds, is only there for me to enjoy and not fuss over.

It was an outlet for stress. When I ate something after a long day, whether it was a warm and gooey dessert or a spicy pasta dish, it was there to help me relax and get through another day. It was much easier to shove a brownie in my mouth than it was to lace up my shoes and walk around the block. Because that takes real effort and I didn’t think I had any “real effort” left at the end of the day to give.

So I ate.

But recently my daughter has started asking for “after meal treats” (her phrase meaning “dessert”) every single night. When I told her, no, she could not have a Popsicle after dinner, she flipped out, much in the same manner I would if my favorite bakery suddenly ran out of my favorite cupcake flavor. I could tell she had been looking forward to it in the same way I look forward to my “after meal treat” too.

I gotta do better.

So last night I was at the end of a long day. I wanted a cupcake. Old habits die hard. The kids asked if we could take them to get ice cream and the ice cream shop we go to has these mini ice cream cupcakes that will knock your socks off. But I resisted. And did not get any.

Instead, when we got home, I quickly threw on my shoes and went for a run. When I came back, my husband was sitting on the couch, feet up, finishing off the ice cream that he got. I didn’t even want it, I was so worn out from the run.

I know it’s going to take a while before I can truly say I’ve got my emotional eating under control, but I’m aware of it now and know I need to make better choices. So I will.