For those of you who’ve been following my blog for a while you’ve probably gathered that I have a day job, and writing my blog is a hobby – I get to indulge my love of words whilst keeping my hands occupied at the same time so they don’t let me down by feeding my face when I’m not paying attention. (By the way is that just me? I swear on occasion I’ve found myself munching on something without any recollection of putting it in my mouth – please tell me that happens to you too, I don’t need any more reasons to feel odd).

Anyway, through the course of my work, I’ve been lucky enough to do lots of self-development, and one thing that comes through time and again is the issue of control. Now I wouldn’t go as far as describing myself as a control freak, (although I would imagine my ex-husband might have a different view  *rolls on the floor laughing*) but I do like to control things that are happening around me, and I hate being controlled. In the context of my life generally, that presents me with no problems whatsoever. But it’s completely at odds when you look at it in the context of my relationship with food.

If it comes down to a stand-off between me, and food, trust me when I say I am not the one in control. For argument’s sake, let’s go with the dictionary definition of the word control – ‘to exercise restraint or direction over; dominate; command’. I could probably exercise restraint over a dish of tripe. And I’d definitely jump at the chance to dominate and command a plate of rocket or watercress (all the way to the opposite end of the earth if necessary, YAK ) but if we’re talking about chips, or cake, or Haagen Dazs…pretty much anything else that actually tastes good (!) I’m a lost cause. In the context of that relationship, I’m the Anastasia to chocolate cake’s Christian Grey…to put it another way, I’m not the one holding the whip.

Sure, right now I’m totally in the zone, standing firmly on the sweet spot so at this moment in time I’m doing ok.  But I’ve been here before and I know I can’t be complacent. I’m not dumb enough to think I’ve cracked it, sooner or later whether it’s a mid-diet fall from grace, or an end-of-diet victory lap, the control will shift from me, to whatever it is that gets hold of my strings and makes me eat cake. And yes, on a rational level I know it’s still me. It just doesn’t feel like it.

I wish I understood why. Trying to find the answer to that is like my own personal holy grail, you know? I can see the quest to understand it becoming my life’s work. The desire to be skinny is alive and well. I don’t lack motivation, I work really hard and like to make a success of stuff…I’m as stubborn as a mule if I set my mind to something and I usually get my own way. All my ducks seem to be lined up in a row but STILL food controls me, not the other way around.

Answers on a postcard please..?

Like it..? Tell your friends!