I am under no illusion. I am well aware that I stress eat.
Yet, I was caught completely unaware when I stepped on the scale at my in-laws (the only scale I step on, since I have such limited access to it), and had put on 4 pounds in a month.
While 4 pounds isn’t the end of the world, it still threw me. After all, there is no real reason for me to be gaining weight, especially as we are out of the Christmas treat season (but still manage to have lots of treats in the house), Scott’s latest prescription means he can’t drink (but yet I still manage to have an open beer in front of me now), and we’ve been working out 5 days a week (but that seems to have ramped up my hunger).
Whether it’s been because of lack of sleep, necessitating a trip to Starbucks; a kid who has stolen my breakfast, requiring a pit stop for a deceptively unhealthy oatmeal; or a “I miss my kid/ I can’t believe that person didn’t read the email before they replied / this is the world’s most boring project” extra spoonful of sugar in my afternoon tea, there is always an excuse at the office.
Those four pounds aren’t a big deal. They’re a week or two of making sure I drink enough water, I hold off on evening snacks, and maybe schedule in an extra run or two.
It’s the emotional weight that concerns me. It’s the wanting to be at home with my kid. It’s the wanting to be moving forward in my job but not being sure which way ‘forward’ is. It’s not knowing what my next personal goal is. It’s the recent dose of bad news about a friend’s health.
But cookies and tea won’t solve any of those problems. And it’s time to stop pretending they will.