In the interests of honesty and full disclosure, I want to write about last night, which was not my finest hour. After so much positiveness, I suppose a small step back was inevitable. That doesn't make it any easier to experience, unfortunately.
I was ravenous yesterday. I got up late and had to rush out of the house to meet a friend for a physical activity date, so all I had time for was a banana on the way down to the garage. When I got home at noon, I had exactly an hour to eat breakfast/lunch and get ready to go get my hair cut, so I shoveled in some cottage cheese with pineapple (one of my favorites) and a couple of WASA crackers with some butter. I enjoyed that, but didn't have the time to fully appreciate my meal. When I got home a couple of hours later, hungry again, I hurriedly ate lunch. I enjoyed that, too -- especially the lettuce -- but even when I was finished, I didn't feel particularly satisfied, which was odd, because I had had more than enough food by any standard. Dinner was a hurried affair during "Grandma Thursday" -- never an occasion for eating particularly mindfully, with various grandchildren clamoring for attention, and when we got home at 9:30, I was hungry again.
Being hungry is not bad. Eating when hungry is not bad. If I had only eaten a snack or small meal in response to that hunger, I would not be writing this post.
But I was tired, I was aching (both my sore ankle and my arthritic knees have been causing me much pain the past few days), and I was, I think, feeling the cumulative effects of rushing around mindlessly most of the day. So I had one snack. And then another. And a little later another.
Any one of them would have been a fine choice. Any one of them would have left me feeling comfortable, both physically and emotionally. Instead, by the time I'd finished the last spoonful of cereal (the third and final snack), I was feeling incredibly stuffed and a little nauseated. That was interesting in itself, because the fact is that the total quantity of food I consumed was way less than I might have in the bad old days; I think I have finally gotten used to eating the smaller amounts that are more appropriate for my current age and activity level. But feeling that uncomfortable also made it very clear why overeating was not a very useful technique for managing whatever it was that I was trying to manage.
The bottom line was that I was still tired and still aching, only now I was also feeling sick. Bleah. So I finally did what I should have done in the first place and put myself to bed.
I write this not as a public mea culpa. I don't feel guilty, only a little sorry that I didn't make a healthier choice. Mostly, I found the experience extremely interesting and perhaps indicative of how far I have come. And possibly of how far I have left to go.
A hui hou.