Emotional eating and the process of giving up.

I was reminded of Jim Cary's "The Grinch" last night as I sat on the couch, working my way through a packet of fruit gummies and three brazil nuts. "Am I just eating because I'm bored...?" Granted, my snack was better than his glass bottle, but I didn't really want it. It was only chosen because it required no cooking or preparing, unlike everything else in my cupboards and fridge. I recently heard from a speaker, whether it was a Tedtalk or a sermon I can't remember, that people who have what we consider "good self control" aren't necessarily better at restraining themselves when they really want something, but just more intentional about avoiding temptation all together. So if I don't want to eat any oreo cheesecake this week, I don't buy it and tell myself "no" every time I open the fridge. I just don't buy it. That makes sense I guess. So after hearing this I was like, "Ok. I can do that. Let's implement a little bit more intentional structure into my personal goals."

I've never had a difficult time passing on pizza, or beer, or nachos, or fries, or wine, or heck...even that adorable pair of booties at Target that have a great discount but I don't really need them. I've never been a shopaholic. I've never been a partier. In fact, I have a clear memory of dragging my pillow and comforter out of my room one night during my senior year of college and going to sleep in my car because my house mates were hosting a party and I preferred my extra Zzz. Some people might look at that and think, "yeah. You've got some pretty good self control." Not so. I just don't really want any of those things.

Do you know what I want? What I really want? Sugar.

I lied and cheated and deceived and stole for sugar when I was younger. I still jump when Hunter walks into the kitchen unexpectedly because I have so many guilty memories of sneaking sprinkles and marshmallows out of my pantry when I was supposed to be napping. If it weren't so honest and pathetic it would be funny, but have you seen the show by the comedian Jeff Dunham with Achmed? The puppet terrorist hinted that he would kill Jeff for a Klondike Bar because he didn't really think all that much of him...but me? It's not the lack of value that I would put on another individual's life that would drive me to kill for sugar. It's the overwhelming value that I DO put on the Klondike bar.

Disclaimer: I would not in fact, and HAVE not, ever killed for sugar.

So, in order to practice some self control over my manic obsession with chocolate and all things sweet, I just don't buy them. In fact, there are very few "snickety-snack" foods, as Hunter and I call them, in our pantry. You'll occasionally find a bag of pretzels and some guac, or as previously mentioned, some fruit gummies (both of which are favorites of my man) but candy and sweets don't make the cut. Unless...well, unless I'm just having a really bad day. If I happen to do my grocery shopping while I'm sad, then you'll find yogurt covered raisins (I LOVE yogurt covered raisins. If you want to get me something for Christmas, get me a giant raisin covered in yogurt. Only don't because I don't need the sugar), a ton of dark chocolate, and a big bag of mixed nuts that have tiny reeses cups mixed in. I don't know when this terrible habit happened, but sugar became not only a form of comfort for me when I felt blue, but also an admission that life is just terrible and there's no point in trying any more.

It's so dramatic to think about when I'm in my "happy-normal" headspace. Cue sad string music and slow motion as I tear back the shiny foil of my favorite chocolate and take a bite. "Why try to live a healthy, happy life? Why pursue your dreams and push to be your best? Why exercise self-control in this spinning orb of chaos?" When I would grab for sugar, it became a physical expression of my throwing in the towel on life and myself.

It's everywhere on social media and stages bearing motivational speakers. It takes years to build a platform, or a company, or a brand, or the physique you want. You pile on the good habits of going to the gym regularly, being intentional with your time, writing down and pursuing your goals, and telling yourself you can. It's like the song by Macklemore, "Ten thousand hours felt like ten thousand ants. Ten thousand ants - they carry me." In other words, all the little stuff adds up. We see working our way towards our goals as a process.

But unfortunately, the reverse is very real and true. All of the little stuff adds up. You wake up and think, "I don't want to do today." That adds on to the growing pile of reasons why "life sucks." You sit on the couch and do nothing but watch TV. That adds onto the pile of "I'll do something with my life tomorrow." You throw three blocks of chocolate and a Pinot into your shopping cart because you had a bad week. That adds onto the pile of, "I give up." I'm not just grabbing random stuff out of thin air. These are all little things that I've thrown onto my growing piles of negativity and defeat. I'm glad that I'm writing about this because, much like an addict, the first step to recovering is admitting there's a problem. I know I'm not alone here. Every one reading this has their own piles of minutia that they keep hidden in the darker corners of their minds and hearts. But whether or not you recognize their presence, they are there and they are growing.

It's unlikely that you will ever not have a big pile of stuff to work through, just like every week your garbage can is full. But I bet the Christmas gift that I made for Hunter and am very proud of, that you don't take the contents out at the end of the week and shove them under your carpet and behind the cushions of your couch or throw a blanket over a pile of it on the floor. You more than less likely tie the trash bag up and put it out on the curb for the garbage man to pick up with his big bad truck.

For whatever reason, we don't do this emotionally. We literally stuff feelings and thoughts deep down or we take metaphorical blankets of sugar and porn and sappy movies and late nights on the town and we cover them up. Making a practice of taking out the trash and giving it to the One who knows and cares about its contents even more than you do is so crucial to preventing that stink of envy, depression, hurt, disappointment, bitterness, and judgement from seeping into the walls of your life. How bizarre would it be if you took your trash out one morning and handed it to the man in the big bad truck, and before tossing it into the back and hauling it off, he opened it up and began to pull out dirty rotten banana peels, and poopy diapers, and forgotten leftovers, and nasty wads of hair from the drain, and then laid them all out on the ground and examined them closely. You'd think he was insane! You'd also be a little bit embarrassed. What if he got emotional over them? That's just too much. Its MY trash and even I don't care about it that much.

Crazy that this is our reality. When it comes to the things that we feel and care about, we have a God who loves us so deeply that we can't even understand its depth. When it comes to giving up on ourselves and our lives, its a process. Just like working toward building yourself and your life into the kind that you envision is a process. The piles that build up will never stop coming. I also don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. We grow from the rough patches in our lifespan. If you'd like to think of it poetically, maybe perceive those garbage piles as manure? What's key is that you don't leave the mess in the house/heart where it doesn't belong, but you give it to the Trash Man who's also a Gardener in disguise and He will grow some beautiful things with your stinky stuff.

Have I gotten convoluted enough with my metaphors? The art of flowery writing is still lost on me. Anyway, I hope this helps. I'm going to go enjoy some chocolate. And not because I'm sad either. Just because I want to.