I have been weight conscious for the last 20+ years. I’ve had successful years, and I’ve had years where I pack on a few pounds. The last few have been in that later category. I’ve spent much of 2012 trying to figure out why that keeps happening.
As I said, I’ve been weight conscious (a.k.a dieting) for the last 20+ years. I have researched the ins and outs of nutrition and the latest theories on what you should or should not be eating and why. I’ve applied numerous strategies to understand the effects of food and blood sugar levels on my body. I’m not saying I couldn’t learn something from a nutritionist, but, I am at the head of the class when it comes to nutrition, calories, proteins, nutrient dense, and other health conscious terms. The problem isn’t knowledge.
Lately, I just don’t seem to care. I don’t care that I’m eating wrong. I don’t care that I’m gaining weight. I’m not in denial. I know what I need to do. I know that what I am eating is wrong for becoming healthier. My husband is going gung-ho on eating healthier while I just reach around him to get at the chip dip. I don’t care and I don’t even feel that guilty about it. I am a food addict. When I have it, I just want more.
But, why don’t I care anymore? This is the question I ponder. I think about losing weight. I talk about losing weight. I joined a biggest loser club at work. I exercise. But, these actions feel like lip service rather than a sincere statement.
I will go three to four days eating correctly. On day five, I look for the loop holes. I look for justifications and excuses. I acknowledge and accept that I am a food addict so, please, just pass me the fries.
I acknowledge… and accept… that I am…a food addict.
I say, to myself or to those around me, as I grab for my third brownie, I am a food addict. As in, it’s ok that I am eating this brownie because as a food addict, I can’t control myself. You shouldn’t judge me because this is a disease that I can’t control.
My deep introspection made me realize that I have reached a new phase in addiction. I’m like the drug addict who stood next to his angry father, after discovering that his son had been stealing his prescription pain medication, manipulating him to diffuse the anger by confessing “Dad, I’m an addict.” At the same time, you can see on his face that he is not one bit sorry for being an addict. While the father is and forgives him. I have learned how to use my addiction as a justification. I’ve learned how to use this addiction to manipulate myself into thinking it is ok to be an addict. It’s not my fault.
Ok, so, I have been in denial. I’m in denial that it’s ok just because I have accepted my food addiction. Where in truth, I’m using my acceptance to justify not changing or having control. The acceptance means I have no accountability and no responsibility for the consequences of my choices.
Food addiction has become my crutch. Acceptance my enabler.