Tonight I had a flashback to every diet/eating philosophy/hare-brained weight loss scheme I’ve ever been on/thought about/considered.
I was standing in the frozen food aisle at the grocery store. In my basket were the fixings for a rather kick ass dinner salad and a hyper two year old gesturing wildly, gleefully at the popsicle. I was staring at the ice cream, the ice cream I’ve been craving for days.
According the intuitive eating book I read a couple of years ago I should buy the ice cream, which ever one I really truly wanted and should eat enough to feel satisfied. No counting calories, just eating what I want so I don’t obsess about it for days and then go crazy.
According to Weight Watchers, I should probably buy the low fat, sugar free fro yo with the least amount of points per serving.
According to people who follow the primal eating movement I shouldn’t get it at all. Period. Our cavemen ancestors didn’t eat refined sugar or cookie dough nuggets encased in creamy rich goodness so we shouldn’t either.
According to my old self, I should buy the ice cream and guiltily, furtively eat all of it, alone and shamed.
According to my current self: Oh for the love of all that is good and holy, it is just ice cream. Eat a little bit or don’t but stop giving up so much brain space to the damn stuff.
On a related note, my new post is up at the Bodies in Motivation site and it helps explain why I am feeling a bit stressed about the ice cream (hint: Turns out I’m not as healthy as I thought I was).
I swear that I am actually an interesting, curious, thoughtful person. I just don’t feel like it when I can’t stop thinking about weight/food shit. Grr.