I stopped eating bread on Mother’s Day. I’d begun eating it in July 2013. In ten months, it put an extra 10 pounds on me. My face likes the ten pounds. My waist doesn’t. I’ve learned that bread is my drug. When I avoid it, all is well. When I think I can have just a slice or two of toasted Ezekial every week or so, that quickly turns into having a toasted english muffin every day. I catch myself doing it and I still do it. “Let me just finish this package and I won’t buy it again.” It becomes a race to finish them. More than once I’ve carried food over to the boyfriend’s place to get it out of my house. He has my box of wheat saltines right now. But, as soon as I made the decision to JUST STOP eating bread, it became easy. I had to get to that point first. I had to get to that state of mind. Once I reached that level of consciousness, my other food choices came into focus again. I didn’t care about bread as I changed my focus.
Meals would once again be rice or potato with veggies and maybe some chicken or turkey. No more easy sandwiches. I automatically began reaching for garbanzo beans as a snack, raisins, apples, celery logs dipped in homemade hummus or wrapped in slices of turkey. It’s like when I eat bread, everything else falls into the background and it becomes all about the bread. It’s my weakness. So, I fell off that wagon for ten months but now am back on track. I don’t mind the extra 10 pounds but I feel more energetic without it. I have more energy because of putting better fuel in my body. If I’m going to make my food my medicine, bread doesn’t really fit into the equation if I don’t know how to control myself around it. If I am who I say I am, then I should be able to focus myself right back into alignment in no time.