So yesterday, I admit, I had a moment. We’re not going to call it a panic attack or anything, but it was a bit melodramatic. I blogged about how I was afraid of Thanksgiving with my family, about how I was afraid I wasn’t over my food addiction, about my weekend food obsession… blah blah blah. Like I said. Melo. Fucking. Dramatic.

After the blog spew, I curled up with the book “Women, Food and God”. I’m interested in reading further after the first two chapters, but I couldn’t really get out of my own head, so I fell asleep. When I woke up this morning, I was greeted with tons of supportive comments, which (let’s face it) is an awesome thing to wake up to. It’s cool when people know where you’re coming from and can kick you in the hindparts with love and affection. However, this comment from Amacuba takes the cake:

“OK girl. Get a snazzy broach to firmly clasp that cape you wear to your throat. Feel it fluttering in the wind behind you. Stand up, stomach in, boobs out, kick-ass high heeled boots making your ass look FIERCE, and, symphony swelling in the background, yell with all your heart and soul, “I AM NOT FOOD’S BITCH! I WILL NOT WORRY ABOUT HOW ANYONE FEELS ABOUT MY LIFESTYLE! I AM DOING THIS FOR ME, NOT FOR ANYONE ELSE!!!”

I laughed hysterically. Amacuba (a.k.a. Manda-Bunny) is my ace-boon-coon from ECD.com. She’s a riot, and we are constantly Inboxing behind the scenes. Her comment struck me to the core – in addition to reminding me that I am not food’s bitch (LMAO… again!), she reminded me to laugh at myself. I mean, what am I doing? This is not as hard as I am making it out to be. I was freaking out about the anticipated freak out, when there IS no freak out to anticipate!

I know you know what I meant…

We make such a big deal about the holidays and holiday eating. But I forgot to practice what I preach: it’s a lifestyle change. One day will not make or break me. And why am I thinking that I’m going to go overboard and eat a bunch of junk? First of all, my family doesn’t MAKE junk. Second, I know my stomach by now. It won’t even let me tolerate the madness! Third… so what if I eat? Will that totally derail me? No. Will I get right back on plan on Friday? Yeppers. Why? Because I know this way of eating – of LIVING – is what’s right for me. I’ve lost thirty fucking pounds. I’ve BLOGGED about it. Bared my soul to cyberspace. I’m not going to throw it all away now and begin shoving McDonald’s into available orifices. (Ugh! The visual! Sorry about that…)

Sometimes, you just need someone to remind you of how silly your mind wants to make it all out to be. But it’s a new day, and my snazzy broach is firmly affixed at my throat. The cape is flying (the one with the big EC on it). I’m standing in my high-heeled stiletto boots. Stomach in, boobs out, and I’m yelling at the top of my lungs….

Yeah. You got it.

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