Fudge or Spinach?

About a year ago, I was living in my own little studio flat in Wales, earning a steady wage and partaking in a simple and quiet existence. I got really good at loving the things that were good for me. Like walking, meditation, salads. I was a spinach girl. I could enthuse about raw spinach for as long as you’d let me.

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I preferred an avocado with a little lemon juice and soy sauce to a custard doughnut (despite how much I’d loved custard doughnuts in the past). My meals were raw plant heavy. I drank lots of water. I rarely ingested alcohol or caffeine. And I did it all because I wanted to. It wasn’t because I was trying to be healthy – I was just trying to be HAPPY – and these things made me happy.

And then I moved back up to North East England, where I had grown up. And I was around family and old patterns and I didn’t have so much space for myself anymore. And that wholesome, vibrant Spinach Girl started thinking maybe she wanted some fudge. Getting through the day gradually became more hinged on a ‘treat’ or two, which was no longer a lovingly prepared salad, but tea and biscuits, or a grilled (vegan) cheese sandwich.

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See, it got a lot harder to manage myself and my energy, and deal with all the noise. And I started craving the comfort starch. And the comfort sugar. And the comfort fat. They say if you think you’re enlightened you should go stay with your family for a week and see how enlightened you really are. Well, I think that goes for really any virtue you think you have.

Add to my wavering virtue the food aversions, exhaustion, nausea and heartburn of pregnancy (Spinach Girl couldn’t stand spinach anymore) and you see a full descent into Fudge Girl. I started craving refined carbs in fatty sauces all day every day. The sugar cravings came later, but they came. I fought it as best I could, but I must concede that, ultimately, I gave in more times than I’d like to admit.

I’m straightening myself out these days. Climbing back on the wagon. But I’m not Spinach Girl. I definitely eat spinach, but I don’t revel in its green glory quite the way I once did. I’m working on it. I really loved that aspect of who I was, and I want to achieve it again. But life is difficult, and progress is never really linear. I upped my life difficulty and I started wanting fudge. It’s okay. We all forgive you, Fudge Girl. Have some fudge. But not too much. That’s enough.

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