Temptations and Triggers

Temptation, triggers, and knowing when “just one” isn’t so simple

Something interesting happened after I stopped eating most of the sugary foods I had been eating.  After about a week, I noticed something. I wasn’t craving them nearly as much. I wasn’t sitting around desperately dreaming about cake. I wasn’t hearing cookies whisper my name from three rooms away. I wasn’t planning an elaborate midnight robbery of the candy aisle.

That surprised me.

I thought giving up those foods would mean constantly wanting them. Instead, the wanting got quieter, but there’s a catch.

The food didn’t disappear just because the cravings did.

There are still cakes.

Cookies.

Chips.

Brownies.

Candy.

Biscuits.

Pasta.

Apparently the rest of civilization declined to participate in my dietary experiment.

Rude.

Sometimes Temptation Has a Face Food doesn’t exist in a vacuum. There are husbands. Parents. Friends. Coworkers. Birthdays. Holidays. Restaurants. Celebrations.

Someone brings cookies. Someone orders pasta. Someone makes brownies. Someone walks into the kitchen and makes fresh biscuits. And sometimes they’re foods I used to absolutely love.

The people around me aren’t necessarily doing anything wrong. They’re eating. They’re cooking. They’re enjoying the foods they enjoy.

But I’m standing there having an entirely different conversation in my head.

“I could have one.”

And technically, I probably could. That’s where things get complicated.

Because I Know My Triggers

I’m learning that there’s a difference between a food I can enjoy occasionally and move on from and a food that flips some kind of switch. I call those my trigger foods.

For me, the problem isn’t necessarily the first bite. It’s what can happen afterward. One cookie can make me want another cookie. Then something sweet later. Then maybe tomorrow isn’t quite as important because I already “messed up” today.

And suddenly I’ve gone from eating one thing I wanted to:

WELL, APPARENTLY WE’VE ABANDONED THE ENTIRE OPERATION.

That is the part I’m trying to understand about myself.

The Wagon Has a Poorly Designed Emergency Exit

People love saying: “Everything in moderation.”

It’s a lovely idea. And for some foods, that works perfectly well for me. But I don’t think moderation has to mean that I must prove I can eat every food in small amounts.

Sometimes knowing myself means recognizing: This particular food makes me want more. That isn’t a moral failure. It’s information. If one brownie leaves me perfectly content, wonderful. If one brownie wakes up a tiny lunatic in my brain who immediately starts negotiating for the rest of the pan… perhaps we don’t wake her.

She’s been quiet.

Let her sleep.

I’m Not Actually Craving It This has been one of the strangest discoveries. Sometimes I see something tempting and realize: I wasn’t thinking about that food at all until I saw it.

That’s different from hunger and it’s different from a craving that has been following me around all day.

The food itself created the moment. I smelled it. Saw it. Watched someone else eat it. Remembered how good it tasted.

Suddenly my brain went:

BISCUIT.

Thank you, Brain. Very insightful. Five minutes ago you were perfectly happy.

Family Makes It Harder — Even When They Mean No Harm

This is something I think deserves some compassion on both sides. My family isn’t required to change everything they eat because I’m changing how I eat. But that means foods I’m trying not to eat may still be around me.

Sometimes they’ll be sitting right in front of me. And there are moments when someone may offer me something with completely innocent intentions.

“Do you want a piece?”

They aren’t necessarily saying:

“Please abandon all your health goals immediately.”

They’re offering cake. That’s what people do. But I’m allowed to say no. I don’t need to give a speech. I don’t need to defend myself. I don’t need to announce my A1C to the room. And I don’t have to eat something just because someone made it, bought it or offered it to me.

“No thank you” is a complete sentence.

Although occasionally my internal sentence is considerably longer.

I’m Also Not Going to Pretend Pasta Is Poison

This is important to me. Cake isn’t poison. Biscuits aren’t evil. Pasta hasn’t personally wronged me. I’m trying very hard to stop assigning morality to food.

The question isn’t:

“Is this food bad?”

The better question for me is:

“What happens to me when I eat this?”

Some foods may fit comfortably into my life in reasonable portions. Others may be harder for me to manage right now and maybe that changes someday. I don’t have to solve forever today.

Sometimes Not Starting Is Easier Than Stopping

This may be the biggest lesson I’ve learned about my trigger foods. People sometimes assume refusing the first bite requires tremendous willpower.

For me, the opposite can be true. Sometimes saying no to the first bite is actually easier than trying to stop after the third.

Because once I’ve decided: I’m not having that today, the argument eventually ends.

But if I start negotiating? Oh, we can apparently hold congressional hearings for HOURS.

Brain: “One won’t hurt.”

Me: “Probably not.”

Brain: “Excellent. Two won’t either.”

Me: “That’s not what I said.”

Brain: “Motion carries.”

Absolutely not. Meeting adjourned.

What I’m Trying Instead

I’m not trying to spend my life white-knuckling my way past every dessert table. I’m trying to make my regular food satisfying enough that I don’t constantly feel deprived. I’m learning which foods keep me full. I’m finding things I genuinely enjoy.

I’m eating fruit. I’m experimenting with cottage cheese. I’m cooking. I’m paying attention to texture. I’m walking.

I’m learning what happens when I eat because I’m hungry and what happens when I simply want the experience of eating.

And I’m discovering that the longer I go without regularly eating certain sugary foods, the quieter those cravings seem to become.

That feels important. I don’t want to poke the bear just to prove I can stand next to a bear.

And If I Do Eat the Biscuit?

This part matters most. Suppose someday I eat it.

Or the cake.

Or the pasta.

That does not require me to throw the rest of the day away. One food doesn’t erase breakfast. It doesn’t erase yesterday’s walk. It doesn’t erase the vegetables I ate. It doesn’t erase the next decision.

The old pattern says: “Well, I blew it.”

The new pattern I’m trying to learn says: “Okay. I ate that. What do I want to do next?”

That’s a much smaller question and I can answer it. I’m beginning to understand that success doesn’t mean I stop noticing tempting food.

Of course I notice it. I have eyes. And a nose. And memories. Success might simply mean that I can notice something, remember that I love it, and still decide that I don’t want to start that particular conversation with my brain today.

The biscuit can sit there. I can walk away and eventually something rather wonderful happens.

I’m thinking about something else.

Biscuit: “But…you used to love me.”

Me: “I did.”

Biscuit: “Don’t you want just one?”

Me: “Not today.”

Biscuit: “I’ll be right here if you change your—”

Me: “Greg! Come get your biscuit.”

Problem solved.