So, here I am, on Christmas Eve, at my grandmother’s house in Munich, two weeks into a four week no-sugar, no-dairy, no-carbs pact.
On the dining room table is the culmination of everything I can’t eat.
Imagine snickerdoodle cheesecake covered in chocolate drizzles. Pfeffernusse dusted with powdered sugar. Thick slabs of hearty Bavarian bread and freshly molded cheese curds.
Fluffy pastry puffs filled with whipped cream and covered in powdered sugar.
I can literally smell the taste of the thick cream in the scalloped potatoes.
My hands keep reaching for the peppermint and white chocolate bark and then going back into my pockets.
I’ve come so far…through weeks of treats in the kitchen at work, a box of chocolates mailed to me by a “friend,” a 14-hour plane ride where I was continuously offered cookies, and yet here I am…about to get stomped by some measly euro-trash carbs.
In that moment, everything that caused me to make this pact – a desire to fit into my leggings, a rumor that sugar causes teenage-grade skin, an upcoming trip to Thailand – didn’t matter to me anymore.
Sure, I was going to spend the rest of my life as some version of the lady-troll from Frozen. And maybe have to purchase an entirely new wardrobe and spend two weeks in thailand using a tarp as a beach dress.
All I wanted was to taste some FUCKING CARBOHYDRATES.
Leggings be damned.
This is the problem with goals. They’re little hope-fairies. Optimistic flights of fancy that we make in our strongest moments…and break in our weakest ones.
We promise ourselves that we’ll fix our most painful flaws, to finally accomplish something important, and then we just can’t do it.
Here’s the end of my Christmas story – I didn’t eat any of it.
That’s right, pick your jaws up off the ground, I survived a week in Germany with an entire house of
demons family members, jet-lag that kept me up until 5am, and a kitchen full of high-fructose corn syrup grenades.
Some nights I lay awake (until 5), imagining the taste of a crispy grilled cheese sandwich dipped in creamy tomato soup. There’s feta, sharp cheddar and mozzarella inside the sandwich, and when I bite into it, long strands of gooey cheese stretch from the bread to my mouth.
Yes, I’ve spent some time imagining it, thanks for asking.
But I didn’t eat it…not Christmas Eve, and not at all.
I spent twenty minutes of Christmas Eve staring down that heavenly orgy of deliciousness, and then I walked away and texted my accountability coach.
Emma: I would literally kill my entire family if I could have a piece of cheese afterwards.
Coach: How are you going to feel about that decision afterwards?
Emma: Offing my family? Freaking fantastic.
Coach: And eating the cheese?
Emma: Sad. Disappointed in myself. Covered in cheesy oiliness. Potential cheese strands wrapped around my hair and face.
I hired an accountability coach, made it 3.5 weeks (and counting) without eating carbs, sugar or dairy, and lost 6 pounds…over Christmas break!
How many times have you tried to stick with a spending plan? Stop eating out so much? Budget all your expenses?
How many times have you promised yourself that, this time, you would actually stick with it?
And then failed.
And tried again.
And tried again.
You need accountability.
I’m trying out a new service called Coach.me and I’d love to know what you think. I’ve been applying this method to losing weight, brushing my teeth, tracking my expenses and doing daily meditations.
The service is free, but hiring a coach costs $14.99 a week (yes, I budgeted for it), and is chat-based.
Here’s my coaching profile, and here’s a code for a free week: EMMA
If you want to learn more about Coach.me, read this recent article about the CEO.many thanks to flazingo, the difference, and robyn lee for these beautiful images.