Ch-Ch-Changes (Part 3.1)

I'd planned on doing just one post about the habits conclusion, but it will take at least two I'm sure. The more I think about it, the more I realize how much I thrived with the structure of the detox. It was a little limiting, but when I didn't have to worry about things that usually take a lot of time and energy, it freed me to think about/do other things.

One of the nice things was that sweets weren't an option. I didn't tell myself I'd just have one little piece of chocolate, which turned into two, which turned into three, etc. Except for that one time. But I've decided that I don't really have any faith in my ability to limit my baked goods intake to a reasonable and occasional amount. I've been sort of good about it so far, but know it's just a matter of time until I'm functioning largely on sugar calories. I've noticed I consistently felt better when my blood sugar was more stable, so I'm contemplating trying not to eat sweets during the week, or every other day or something, just to be on a schedule that doesn't deprive me but doesn't let me eat them all the time, which I always end up doing.

Without necessarily meaning to, I ate more slowly and appreciated what I was eating more than I normally do. At work I've tried developing my tasting palette so I can taste the subtleties of different coffees, kind of like a sommelier would with wine. I'm not very good at it, but I wonder how much of that is because I never pay attention the way food tastes? I just eat as an automatic response to food being placed within arm's reach. I'd like to be more attentive to food, intentionally trying different flavors together, and noting what I'm tasting.

Last week at Easter dinner, I had an interesting revelation regarding my lack of self-control. Apparently when I was a child, I would keep putting food in my mouth, even though I didn't always chew or swallow any of it. Just shoveled it in there. There were plenty of humorous stories of how I had to sit with my chipmunk cheeks at the table for hours after dinner, and how my grandpa resorted to checking inside my mouth after every bite to make sure I wasn't hoarding any food. Evidently, I have an inherent predisposition to stuff my face regardless of consequences. And come to think of it, I recall one of my childhood nicknames was "Bottomless Pit". The cards have been stacked against me.