Hello French Fries, my friend and confidante
Yes, I’m addicted to fries. There. I said it. But, what does it mean? NO, I’m not in a 12-step program…officially. Essentially, I had an Aha Moment (a la “O” Magazine) last night. There was a moment where the skies opened, the thunder rolled [in my mind], and I realized that food had become my addiction. I use the word addiction to convey the seriousness of the situation. It may be a bit harsh, but addiction seems like the right word.
Prior to last night I was in denial about my relationship with food. I knew I weighed MORE THAN the average, but didn’t dwell on the fact that my size was not normal. However, after buying clothes in a bigger size last month and the humiliating fact that my newest (and favorite) pair of shoes were now hurting every toe I own; I really started to evaluate things.
And…yes, I’m an addict. Food is my friend, my confidant, my counselor, my BFF…my partner in crime. If I have a problem, I eat. Hurting? Have a meal. Happy? Let’s eat! Eating is a hobby.
So, here’s my attempt at STEP ONE…
“I admit that I have become powerless over food and my life [with food] has become almost unmanageable.” Thank you.
I’m going to let this last statement marinate for a bit. Carry on.
———————————————
This blog will serve as an outlet (both serious and humorous) as I navigate the choppy waters of weight loss, living and learning in the South. Feel free to share your thoughts and comments (and recipes) as I travel along a healthier path.
Addicted to Fries 