Let’s just say right now, my commute is not ideal. I suppose it could be worse, like perhaps if my car was infested with scorpions or poisonous snakes but to commute in Seattle your odds are better off with the scorpions and snakes. In a sense, it is kind of like commuting with scorpions and poisonous snakes because I spend 2 1/2 – 3 hours commuting with my husband. Well that information right there could probably tell a psychiatrist quite a bit about what causes my tendency for making unhealthy food choices! After an hour and a half of bumper to bumper traffic and tense dialog I am not thinking “Wow, wouldn’t a carrot stick be wonderful right now!” I am usually thinking, “Wow, wouldn’t some nachos and a Vodka-Cran hit the spot!” This week, however, I am working hard toward getting back into the healthy eating mind-set. I have begun to pack my lunches again and I am trying hard not to succumb to the testosterone induced, unhealthy eating habits that are a way of life at my place of employment.
One of my greatest obstacles is my lack of support at home and at work. My husband loves food. For my husband, food is not just something that fuels your body, it is almost a sexual experience. He drags each meal out for several hours and when everyone at the table is finished and have moved on with their lives, he is still gleefully savoring every last morsel on his plate to great excess. Of course, we now work together so his very poor eating habits and poor food choices, which I was able to avoid before, are now smack dab in my face. This past month I have failed miserably to stay on track and he always encourages me to have another serving or some sort of food that is going to make me gain weight. I do not blame him for my recent weight gain, however, it is very hard to have goals with little support. Would you offer a drug addict some drugs? Of course not, and yet, my husband frequently pushes foods that he knows will cause me to fail.
At the end of the day, I am responsible for the food choices that I make. I have to hold my own self accountable and learn better coping skills for stress and boredom. And I need to look my husband in the eye and say, “DON’T OFFER GARBAGE FOOD TO ME AGAIN EVER! JUST STOP! I DO NOT WANT TO BE MY FAT DECEASED MOTHER!” There, I said it.
Wow, doesn’t that feel good!