My name is Amanda and I have an addictive personality.
The thought of having one coffee and then getting on with my day is foreign. If I like something I want more of it and quickly it becomes a crutch, a place of weakness, an addiction.
Last Easter, I fell in love with a little rabbit. Something so small, that every shop and every checkout seemed to be calling my name. This bunny taunted me. At the petrol station, at cafes, it was everywhere. You could be mistaken to think that this little childish dessert was innocent, but I found them to be evil.
The dessert that has plagued my lenten dreams was this little rabbit. Twenty two thousand people agree with me, that the Cadbury Cream Egg no longer reigns supreme as the Easter bunnies competitor, the malt laden bunny has taken over the race.
Whether it be coffee, or a fresh loaf of bread from the oven or a Malteaser Bunny at this time of the year, I am trying my best to live a healthier everyday. One of my biggest goals this year is to loose my pregnancy weight.
I stood at the chemist last week and stared at the aisle of diet shakes, reading them intensely wanting to believe the promises they heralded. I wanted a quick fix, a get-the-ball rolling, helping hand. I walked the beach with my man today and we talked about this area of weakness in my life. We talked, we stretched, we exercised.
He reminded me of the pact I had made with myself, earlier this year. He reminded me of the promise. That I would make small changes. Good changes. I would find the areas of addiction in my world and say no to the bunny. I would not make these changes out of a place of negativity and lack, but to pursue health as a great lifestyle choice, that will never end.
I’m not dieting.
I’m not even going to say no to the bunny for good.
But I am facing the areas where emotional eating have become routine and making choices to choose wisely.
What areas of addiction are you facing?
Is it that late night dessert or the whole packet of biscuits?
Is it throwing up after a meal?
Is it a sneaky cigarette?
Is it one or two or maybe four glasses of wine every night?
I ask these questions, not because I want to intrude. I ask these questions, not to evoke shame.
I ask these questions because I struggle too. Being a mumma is hard. Being single is harder. Being alone is ugly sometimes. It is these days that we need community and friends to ask questions that healthily bring us back to a place of equilibrium.
A place of peace.
Best place to start is admitting it to yourself and the greatest, bravest step towards recovery is admitting it to someone else.