July 21
But, these are my husband’s (or children’s) leftovers! Really? If you end up eating them, then apparently they are your leftovers. I act like I have kitchen elves. What sometimes works for my clients is to have everyone take exactly as much lasagna, or whatever as they want for themselves and package it up in individual portions. They even label the leftovers – “not mine”.
It is important to figure out exactly what I tell myself so that at some time when I am filled with remorse yet again about something I really wish I hadn’t eaten, I can reflect on that internal dialog and ferret out that rationalization. Out of the gravitational pull of the food I may be able to tell myself the truth, the rest of the story, what really ends up happening. If I can do that often enough, I may be able to actually have that truthful conversation when I need it and not after the fact. Better yet, I may even be able to predict the whole thing and fend it off in advance. Hence my story about the Thanksgiving desserts. Been there and done that enough times to see the train coming and get off the track. I manage the environment to manage me.
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