Battling Emotional Eating This Weekend
Well this weekend was a kick in the pants. I was unable to go to my Weight Watchers meeting on Saturday for my weigh in. So the number here is from my home WW scale. Why didn’t I go to WW?
I was at the hospital all day Saturday and a big chunk of Sunday. My husband woke me at 3:00 a.m. because he had severe abdominal pain. On Friday all of his symptoms screamed “FLU!” But early Saturday something was seriously wrong.
After an hour in the ER, my husband went in for a CAT scan and soon after sent to Observation. What were they observing? Whether or not he needed surgery. Yikes!
Long story short, it turns out he had a bad viral infection in his intestinal track so nothing could pass.
Fighting Emotional Eating
Normally I’m excited about a loss. But I’m just too pooped (pun intended) from the weekend to pop. Also I don’t know if I’ll maintain that loss when I weigh in next week. I did some emotional eating while waiting to see if my husband needed surgery (thankfully he didn’t).
Normally I eat 20g of carbs a day. I gave myself permission to eat between 50-75g. No way I was going to beat myself up if I made a mistake. As for those 49 weekly allowance points, the ones I try not to touch, well all bets were off.
Our time at the hospital meant no grocery shopping, menu planning or food prepping. Yep, I was eating out all weekend long.
While I adjusted my carb count, I really didn’t want my emotions to get the better of me. It’s amazing how easy it is to say “screw it” and eat any crap that you can shove in your mouth. But I’m past the point where food comforts me. Or at least I hope so.
When I went to the hospital’s cafeteria for lunch, I was appalled at the food choices. You’d think a hospital would offer healthy foods. Nope. Fried or baked, all food sat in lots of oil. Since I noticed how unhealthy the food looked I took that as a sign that I was strong enough to stay on track…
…until I saw the chocolate cake.
When the angel on my shoulder asked “Will eating the cake help you lose weight?”she should have stipulated that it was a rhetorical question.
The devil on my other shoulder promptly replied, “SCREW IT!”
The battle raged on for about 10 minutes. I have no idea what the cafeteria staff thought as I stared at that slice of rich, chocolatey goodness. I’m drooling now thinking about it.
Thankfully my angel won the battle and wisely chose a very unexciting, not too oily chicken breast, side salad with vinegar, and baked sweet potato fries. Did it satisfy me? Nope, and that was a problem. I didn’t go back for the cake, but that little devil wanted her due.
When I went home for the evening I picked up a bottle of wine. No inner debate. No thoughts about health or weight loss. Didn’t care it wasn’t my designated wine night. My little she-demon just wanted some frickin’ wine.
The good news is I ended up drinking only 2 glasses. And I…forgive me…dumped the rest of the bottle down the drain. Who knew my little angel was part of a temperance league?
After a good night’s sleep, I felt back to my old self on Sunday. Breakfast was simple with scrambled eggs, half a tomato and a quarter of an avocado. By then I knew surgery wasn’t necessary and my husband was coming home. My little devil was firmly locked away…
…until Sunday dinner.
With nothing cooked, we ended up going out for dinner. My little devil wanted dessert. That opportunity hit when my husband ordered 2 “small scoops of ice cream.” Apparently the waiter heard the words “gigantic,” “two spoons” and “hot fudge” instead. I ended up eating 3/4 of a big-ass scoop.
Oh well. No guilt. Life happens. All I can do is get back on track with my the next meal…
…and I did.