Candy = Dandy.

I ate almost an entire candy bar last night. 

I can’t even remember the last time I ate a candy bar larger than one of those fun-sized ones.  It’s been years, that’s for sure.  But last night, my husband brought home a dark chocolate Snickers for me because earlier in the week, I’d first seen a commercial for them and actually made him stop talking so I could stare at it.

So, after dinner, I carefully cut the Snickers up into 8 little slices so I could share with my husband.  He had three pieces; I ate the rest.

Now, I know this seems like a pretty minor event.  But it broke about 98 different food rules I’ve had in the past and I’m somewhat giddy about that.

First, I never (NEVER NEVER NEVER) eat more of anything than my husband.  If we’re sharing something, I make sure he eats more than half.  It doesn’t matter how much I want; I’ve always eaten less because I didn’t want to seem piggy, as that’s a chief sin for fat girls.

Second, I don’t know how many calories are in a Snickers (because, again, it’s been years since I’ve eaten a whole one, long before I started dieting) so I couldn’t even accidentally calculate how many calories are in 5/8ths of one.  And I didn’t check the wrapper or get out a calculator to figure it out.  Sure, I could approximate, but to choose not to know exactly?  REVOLUTIONARY.

Third, I didn’t use the Snickers as a reason to eat with abandon (and with disregard for hunger) for the rest of the night because…I didn’t feel like I’d done something wrong.  Even though I’ve been doing the non-dieting thing for 6 months now, I still have little stabs of guilt about certain foods, still feel like certain things are “good” and “bad,” though I do actively try to talk through those feelings with myself.  But I didn’t have to last night; I ate my Snickers and went on with my evening feeling nothing other than, well, happiness.  Happiness because chocolate is good and sharing chocolate with someone you love is better and not beating yourself up about it is the best.

I’m doing better all the time, in little ways I don’t even recognize until I stop to think about them.  For example, yesterday I had a certain workout planned but didn’t want to do it, so I did an entirely different one and didn’t reschedule the missed workout for my rest day.  That’s huge.  And I cooked a big batch of Swedish meatball soup on Tuesday and had it for supper two nights in a row even though I don’t know the nutritional content of it.  I’ve been putting jam on my peanut butter-topped English muffin instead of sliced banana (the “healthier” choice) because right now I like jam more.  I’m seeing myself in the mirror and not immediately looking at my thighs or hips, but looking at my pointy little face or strong shoulders or flippy hair and smiling at what I see.

It’s just not about food or my weight or my body or how I measure up against Random Starlet in a magazine.  It’s about thinking I’m worth something regardless of any of that.

And I think I am.