Chowing down on comfort

If you’re about to begin a new lifestyle like TSFL, and have made the decision to treat your body as something other than a toxic waste dump, I have no doubt that you are full of apprehension regarding the challenges you are about to face. You wonder if you’re going to get hungry during the day, if your mood will suffer due to the reduced caloric intake, and if Joey at the Krispy Kreme down the block is going to lose his job after the loss of your business causes the entire Krispy Kreme empire to collapse.

For most of these, there is easy and simple reassurance. Yes, in the beginning, you’ll get hungry during the day, but as your body adjusts and adapts, those cravings will go away. Your mood will more than likely improve as you don’t spend the majority of your day feeling like a bloated whale that is vacillating wildly between wanting to puke and having to select with Tolstoy novel you’ll be reading during your next 20 minute trip to the toilet. Joey will be fine. For every one of us that decided that glaze and fried lard shouldn’t be part of our daily snacking, there is a veritable army of future diabetics and Rascal drivers that are standing by to take up the slack.

But there is one fear that I don’t have an easy answer for. It’s the kryptonite of anyone who is reaching for the water instead of the soda. Some of us eat when we’re bored. Some of us eat when we’re out with friends. Some of us eat because we don’t want to offend Grandma when she piles the fried food improbably high on our plates.

But we all eat when we’re stressed.

Food, for just about anyone, is comfort. The act of sinking your teeth into a sugary or salty delicacy triggers a brief, sublime moment where it seems that everything is okay. It’s an easy way to get a win for the day, to feel as if no matter what is going on in the world around you, this moment is perfect. The fact that we intellectually know that’s bullshit, that eating food that will make us feel awful and load us full of cholesterol and stomach-cramping regret is a bad decision? That’s really hard to remember when the pizza is steaming there in front of you.

In the last nine days, the planets have aligned very carefully to form a giant, extended middle finger at my world. My father found himself in the hospital on a Wednesday. On Friday, I made a colossal mistake at work that had me working extra hours over the weekend to repair the damage. On Monday, I was called into my boss’ office and informed that my position had been eliminated and I was out of a job. On Tuesday, I was called and asked to come back to the same company to fill another position that had been vacated that morning.

My father is doing well. I have a job, and I can support my family. But there’s a breaking point for nearly every person. The fear of losing those we love and not being able to support those who depend on you is all-encompassing. It permeates everything that exists in your tiny little corner of the world. At that moment, whether you eat a green salad or a Big Mac with cheese seems to be about the most trivial decision on the planet.

I didn’t cave. I sat in the hospital room and ate a limp green salad from the snack bar downstairs. I sat at home, stunned by the loss of my job, and sucked down a Medifast shake. But it’s never going to be easy. For those of us who have spent a lifetime turning to junk food for comfort, it’s tough not to seek out that solace once more.

Here’s the deal. Things are turning out okay, but last week had the potential to turn 2013 into a shitstorm of a year. If that happens, one major positive that I’m going to take away is the fact that I’m no longer fat. If I turn to a doughnut for comfort, I lose that achievement, and 2013 slips further down into the horrible gutter.

I do apologize for the lack of posts this last week. As you can tell, it’s been a hectic one. I hope to be back to my usual ebullient  narcissistic self soon enough!