About two weeks after the anti-diet Lightning Bolt struck, my children asked if we could go get doughnuts.
Doughnuts were an interesting problem. I’d built them up in my mind as beyond delicious, but I never ate them, ever. Even on days when I could look past the highly-processed, sugar-loaded, deep-fried thing, there was still the fact that they are calorically dense AF. I could fit a doughnut into my diet—if I really wanted to—but it involved intolerable amounts of egg whites and hunger. It was just easier, when my kids got doughnuts, to sip coffee and feel sad.
Being done with all that meant I was free to get a doughnut—just because they’re delicious! I was genuinely looking forward to eating this thing I hadn’t had in ages, but I was also excited to eat a treat with my children.
I was a few bites into my maple-glazed old fashioned when it occurred to me that the thing I was eating was not actually that delicious. Now that I was working on eating when I was hungry, not trying to eat as little as possible, and doing my best to call BS on the internal moralizing about food, doughnuts—these things I’d built up as so tasty but SO off-limits—were actually pretty “meh.”
I felt the familiar push to finish it anyway. It was a treat. Treats were the best! But this one wasn’t doing the treat thing for me, and I was pretty sure it wouldn’t get tastier the longer I ate it. And I wasn’t starving, so I didn’t need it.
It felt wrong to throw a once-forbidden food away—mostly because I couldn’t quite believe I was actually not finishing it. I wrapped up the remaining half and took it home. I thought about having it as dessert with lunch, but no. I truly didn’t want or care about the doughnut.