Last year I promised myself (when I could almost steer my legs with my love handles) that I would lose weight. It’s one of the most gruelling challenges that I’ve ever come across and that is taking into account the third year dissertation I had weighing on my mind.
I decided that if I was to lose weight I was going to do it properly. I turned a blind eye to fad diets (surely a fry up each morning couldn’t possible benefit you in the long run?) and resisted the urge to take inspiration of those crazy celebs with their syrup shots or smoothie concoctions. No, this was going to be purely based on healthy eating, the most boring and sensible diet of them all. I swapped my caffiene loaded coffees for green teas and gallons of water, my bladder was fit to burst but I felt detoxed and cleansed to the point of a saint. I replaced high fatty take-aways (oh come back my local chinese I missed you!) and instead had portions of grilled fish and a helping of boiled veg. Can you sense my calorie halo glowing?
And lo and behold it worked, I suddenly transformed into the incredible shrinking woman reducing myself down to a size 8. Oh hurrah! I wore slinkly dresses and felt like a sexy little minx hot to trot…but this was a priviledge that wasn’t made to last.
I turned to comfort eating (accompany this confession with the dooming dun dun dun!) The pressures of my new course and the loss of a four-year relationship had a shocking impact on my waistline. Ben and Jerry were my two companions during this moment of crisis and I hadn’t even met them. I’d just scoff the sweetest sugary foods (or savoury depending how I felt) to squash down the hurt and pain. Yes, I am your typical binge eater. If you are startled by the crash of trash cans late at night don’t worry, it’s not the village badger it is me trying to smother my latest upset with left over pizza. The worrying thing is I am not alone.
Thousands of us (men and women) resort to the comforts of our fridge whenever we have the creeping sensation that all is not well. We all have our triggers too, I cannot resist a huge mouth watering slab of chocolate fudge cake while my friend goes for a tub of Pringles every time.
Scientists can evaluate the implications behind gorging food all they like, psychologically the reason is simple. It’s for comfort hence why called comfort eating. So while I’m getting over my period of crisis no one can bat my hand away from the last donut or shake their head when I nip down to the chippy once again. This is my God given right as a pathetic human being and until I win the lottery or that dark gorgeous guy I cannot stop admiring decides to make a move I will continue.
So pass me the Jaffa cakes.
