I ate 3,500 calories yesterday. Probably. Not sure, I didn’t track *everything*, but I’ve been doing this long enough, I have a pretty good idea. It was just supposed to be a birthday celebration. I made accommodations in my macros for a higher calorie lunch, and a slice of cake. 

Now picture this: I am eating my breakfast while driving to work, drinking a protein water. Life is great. Feeling proud of myself for not freaking out over the cake I’m gonna eat. I decide I’m gonna message my nutrition advisor and tell her about this new milestone (I struggle with body dysmorphia with a side of eating disorder). As I am typing out my message (I was at a stop light), my BFF calls, “what do you want from Scooter’s?” Nothing, thanks. “Yeah, ok, so what do you want?” she said again. She was ordering a round of coffee to start the working birthday off nicely. Do I single myself out, or just order a delicious sugary seasonal iced coffee? “Sugar Cookie Latte, please.”

It was all calorically downhill from there. I had a small road trip to another armory, and when I go too long without eating, I get the dizzies. Add a sugar coffee to that mix, and now I am BIG dizzy. It was an hour back to my armory. Gas station stop it is! Grabbed a small(ish) bag of Cheetos. 480 calories gone in less than five minutes. But wait! There’s more! I also grabbed ANOTHER bag of chips (they were kettle corn flavor, I needed to try them for science). Boom. Half that bag, gone, too. Because once I am sick feeling, I will eat until I feel better. So that is what I did.

I arrive at the armory to my order of four steak tacos and chunky guac (if you are ever at Casa Tequila, get it, worth every penny). Ate it. All. Then they brought the cake out. I forgot about the cake. I was overly full, but couldn’t NOT eat cake. So I ate the cake. It was chocolate / Oreo. Heavenly decadence everywhere. But now I was at the level of uncomfy in my uniform. No bueno. 

Later that day, I walk into my house “what’s for dinner” hits me in the face before I can even put my bag down. Ummm, I don’t know, pizza? Spaghetti? Leftovers? I don’t care. “Ew, none of that” my oldest snaps back, “I want Dos Primos.” No, I just ate Mexican food for lunch and I am legit too full to eat it again. “Fine, let’s get sushi” was her next answer. I thought about it. I did have to run some errands, and didn’t feel like cooking, or cleaning up dinner. Fine, let’s get sushi, I said. So, after my massive caloric intake, I topped it off with a philly roll and noodles. 

Am I paying for it today? You betcha. I am bloated. Tired. Sluggish. I have a case of the self ick. But today I am killing it. My huge overage isn’t the end of the world. It isn’t even going to ruin my week’s progress. But I struggle with that horrendous inner dialogue that wants me to undereat for a week to make up for what I have done to myself. 

Thoughts of self punishment aren’t going away, even when I think I have a handle on things. Any time I overeat, running an extra x amount of miles after the kids go to bed is always in the back of my mind. Looking at my next days meal plan, and trimming “unnecessary carbs” from my diet will always be a thought.

If this was a friend texting me about “messing up”, I would remind her that its not the end of the world, she isn’t going to gain 30 pounds overnight, and everything will be OK. I guess I just want to know, when can I extend the same love and empathy to myself? Any suggestions? Find me on Insta and hit me with all your self love tips and tricks! Bye for now friends!