I haven’t had a great time these last couple of days. I’ve stressed over money, had intensely emotional fights with my brother, and been stuck in so much traffic that I’m beginning to wonder if others are in danger just from driving on the road with me. Needless to say, my eating habits haven’t been so stellar. In fact, they’ve been downright out of control.
I’ve been staying active a bit more than usual, which is a blessing since my diet would make a sumo wrestler cringe, and after bowling this morning, I decided to go out for lunch. I stopped by Firehouse Subs to enjoy a deliciously meaty sandwich, and felt so satisfied and full. While licking my fingers, I pondered, “Why would I ever need to snack? If I can just feel this way after my meals all the time, getting healthy will be a breeze!”
Now I know what you’re saying. Why are you talking about subs with the word “pizza” in your title?
For those sad folks who saw this coming, it’s because after my fantastical filling lunch, I stuffed myself with two cold, mediocre, heartburn inducing pieces of pizza. I cannot for the life of me figure out why I did this. What’s worse, I can’t figure out why, after the first unsatisfying slice, I ate a second!
I was willing to overlook this stupid pitfall, when I was hit by something other than heartburn, an epiphany.
If I saw anyone that I cared about, or even a stranger on the street for that matter, doing what I just did, I would stop them faster than you can say “pepperoni”. I would tell them, “You’re better than that. You should care about yourself more than that. You shouldn’t treat your body like that.” I would shake them until they truly understood, “You’re worth so much more than that pizza. You deserve to find happiness from life, not food. You are a special person deserving of your own love!”
But not anymore.
I love myself and deserve to have my body treated with respect and reverence.
And you all should feel the same.