One morning last week I woke up tired. Not hit the alarm and take five more minutes tired, but could barely open my eyes and force myself to stand tired. Though I don’t partake in paid employment, with a houseful of teenagers to wedge out of bed, feed, make lunches for, check notes from and get off to various assorted buses and trains on time, going back to sleep wasn’t an option. So I dragged my weary arse up and got on with the day.
Two hours later they were all out the door and I was tempted to take a little nap, but I had things to do so instead I tried to wake myself up with twenty minutes on the stationary bike. After the exercise I did feel slightly more alert and headed out.
I was grocery shopping, it was cold, and raining. Before I knew it the siren song of the bakery had called me. I knew I wasn’t hungry but I bought a gourmet pie to have for lunch later. Which I did. Then I followed it up with half a dozen biscuits. And topped that off with a slice of cake. All interspersed with copious quantities of instant coffee.
It was only as I was eyeing off half a packet of jellybeans of dubious provenance that I realised what was happening. I had slipped back into the old night duty habit of eating to keep myself awake. I’d pretty much grazed constantly for three hours with nary a hunger pang in sight.
For the briefest of moments I felt a kind of guilty disappointment. I’d completely lost touch with my new eating philosophy. Then I got over it. I gave myself credit for realising what I was doing and stopping it there and then (or so I thought) rather than throwing myself into an epic binge with promises of getting back on the horse tomorrow.
But things are never that easy and at dinner I managed to eat two very healthy servings of lasagne, then whiled away the hours between dropping off and collecting children at evening activities with chocolate coated ice cream. And even though I knew what I was doing at that stage I didn’t stop, though I didn’t feel guilty about it either so I must be developing a healthier attitude to food on some level.
In the days since I have paid particular attention and noticed that I do tend to fall back on food when I’m tired. I’m slowly getting to the point that I can recognise what I’m about before things go too far. I can tell this will be a hard habit to break-made even more difficult because it is such an ingrained behaviour that I didn’t even realise that I did it. I wonder how often over the years I have mindlessly eaten in this way? And how long will it be before I no longer have to guard against it?
