Even after working hard for almost two years to overcome my toxic overeating habits, there are still a couple of things I find very difficult to deal with. One of these is the abundance of choices I have.
It's not the fairly common problem of "I can't throw food away, and so I eat it." This isn't such a problem for me, though I understand it. It is undeniable, after all, that to throw away perfectly edible food is wasteful, and maybe even offensive. The error is in the assumption that it's somehow less wasted if it is eaten by someone who doesn't really want or need its food value. It's wasted either way. The way to avoid wasting food is not to buy, open, or prepare extra food in the first place. The way to respond to food-that-will-go-to-waste is not to dump it surreptitiously into the nearest available esophagus, but to take notice of it, learn, and make less food next time.
I know this isn't my problem because I get this agitated feeling of needing to eat up what we have at the beginning of the week. Not at the end of the week when the refrigerator has lots of odds and ends of leftovers that "need using up." No, at the beginning of the week, right after the grocery-store trip.
When the crisper is full of fresh fruit and vegetables; when the pantry is stocked with crispy crackers and tasty tinned things; when we have fresh milk and eggs from the farm, maybe a couple of wedges of local cheese; when a new flavor of ice cream appears in the freezer at eye level; when there are tomatoes on the counter and bananas in the fruit bowl, and homemade sourdough and honey-oat bread in the bread box: that is when my head spins and I want to taste everything all at once.
This morning, for instance — we shopped yesterday — I felt panicky about the strawberries. Strawberries were on sale, and we haven't had them in many weeks, it seems. Mark had bought just one box. I just knew that if I didn't get some of those strawberries today, the children would eat them all up right away and I wouldn't get any of them at all. But I didn't remember that until after my full breakfast of toast, fried egg, and tomato juice… and I didn't really need to eat the strawberries on top of that, just to make sure that the kids didn't eat MINE all up.
(I managed, though, by making fruit-and-yogurt parfaits for the children's breakfast, using up MOST of the strawberries, and saving a bit back for my afternoon snack, already sliced, in the back of the fridge. Still, it was touch-and-go there for a few minutes…)
When lunchtime rolls around I'm often paralyzed by choices. Should I have a green salad or steamed greens? Should I have homemade bread (it won't stay fresh forever, you know) or crispy, satisfying Swedish crackerbread? And what to put on it — Mediterranean-style sardines, or a BLT, or cheese melted in the toaster oven? Should I have the local raw-milk Monterey Jack that's been piling up in the fridge since the kids decided they didn't like it anymore, or should I eat that wedge of aged Gouda Mark bought me as a special present? Should I finish my meal with a tiny bowl of premium strawberry ice cream, or one of these ice-cold clementines, or maybe a piece of dark chocolate?
No, wait, if I was actually paralyzed by choices, I wouldn't have a problem. What I am is overwhelmed by choices — and I want some of everything. I need to eat the strawberries before the children get them, I need to eat the Gouda before mold grows on it, I need to eat up the Monterey Jack before next week's dairy delivery arrives and brings me more, I need to eat the tomato before it goes all yucky, I need to eat the sardines because Omega-3 fatty acids are good for me, I need to eat the homemade bread before it dries out, I need to eat the crackers because they are lower-calorie than the bread, I need to eat the ice cream because, uh, do I need to have a reason to eat the ice cream?
But I don't have too much trouble at dinner. I plan dinners, prit-near compulsively. If the week's menu plan says spinach-ricotta pie, marinara sauce, carrot salad, well, that's what we're having. No problem.
Lesson possibly learned: Plan breakfast and lunch too. Ya think?
Another problem. When I'm tired I have a lot of trouble resisting all those choices, and the new baby has deprived me of much sleep recently. Two nights in a row of bad sleep left me wanting — and eating — handfuls of chocolate chips, and wedge after wedge of the Irish soda bread my nine-year-old made for his science project — all white flour too. Slathered in butter. I'm not sure whether I was trying to give myself enough energy to get through the day, or wallowing in resentment; it seems that the reasons change with every handful I stuff in my mouth, whatever I am most tempted to soothe myself with in the moment.
Lesson possibly learned: try to get enough sleep, and keep an extra pot's worth of coffee ready to go in the pot. Even if it's half-caff or decaf, the placebo effect (plus the something-in-my-hands-to-sip) might help keep me from self-medicating with sugar and refined flour.
I'm actually doing pretty well by the numbers — five more pounds to BMI-normal — but I'm trying to clean up my act as my first goal. I'm still only partway there.
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