Why would I say I’ve earned the right to eat certain foods?
Why is that even a common thought? Why do we give ourselves cheat days on diets? Why do we work toward something and then sabotage it by having something that runs counter to everything we’ve just done?
I’ve spent most of my life rewarding myself with food.
During celebrations, holidays, vacations, time with friends and family, backyard barbecues, days on the lake, the question has often been: What food is going to support this event?
That’s just the way I thought about it. That’s how I correlated connection.
But if I’m being truthful, sometimes my real connection was with the food surrounding me. Food was a crutch. It was something I could lean on in social environments, much like alcohol can be for some people.
And it wasn’t just celebrations.
I worked hard all day, so I earned dessert tonight.
I did well on my diet all day, so what can one treat hurt?
I’m tired. I don’t want to cook, so I deserve to grab something fast.
But I’m beginning to think the better question isn’t, “How can that hurt?”
It’s “How can that help?”
Rethinking the reward
I’m trying to think differently about the things I’ve always considered rewards.
Is there a better reward? Is there a different reward?
And maybe the bigger question is: Why do I think I need a reward at all?
It goes all the way back to being a kid and getting a smiley face sticker or a gold star. Do something good, get a prize. Somewhere along the way, I carried that thinking into adulthood.
I need to be rewarded and encouraged and motivated to do good things, even when the “good thing” is simply taking care of myself.
That’s a little immature when you really think about it.
Rewards for living? Rewards for surviving? Rewards for simply existing?
Maybe my reward doesn’t need to be something I consume. Maybe it can be internal.
Because for most of my life, I’ve gone to food and said, “That’s the prize.”
Food is a fickle friend
This isn’t me prescribing anything to anyone else. We have the freedom to make our own choices. I’m talking about myself and the mind games I’ve played around food.
Good times? Reward myself.
Bad times? Comfort myself.
Tired? Make an exception.
Inconvenienced? I’m definitely not cooking tonight.
There’s always been a reason.
But you can’t live that way perpetually and expect it not to catch up with you. Eventually, the choices we make affect us physically, emotionally and spiritually.
I recently listened to Napoleon Hill’s Outwitting the Devil twice on one drive from Toronto to Springfield, Missouri. I’m planning to listen again because one idea in particular stuck with me: What keeps a person from thinking clearly and making thoughtful decisions?
Food can do that.
Food is necessary. We need it. But it can also be so easily abused.
It’s a fickle friend.
For me, that means I have to bring some conscious thought to it. What am I eating? How much am I eating? Why am I eating it? Am I hungry, or am I looking for a reward, comfort or connection?
That doesn’t mean food can’t be enjoyed. Of course it can. I love a good bite of something.
But the acrobatics I’ve been willing to perform, the great lengths and perilous heights I’ve gone to for that good bite?
I think those days are behind me.
Or at least, I’m working on it.