I have to confess, after the weekend I’ve had, I did not expect good news when I stepped on the scale this Wednesday.
As an emotional eater, I certainly put away a decent number of Snyder’s Hot Buffalo Wing pretzel pieces, my current not quite WW approved obsession. The day my cat died, my boyfriend took me out to lunch, where I consumed an entire sadness pizza. (Thank you, Andy. It was exactly what I needed).
But, I continued to track my food and, after that first hard day, tried to channel my grief into healthier outlets, including:
- Crying while running
- Crying while doing yoga on Artemis’ favorite mat
- Crying while taking long walks with fantastic, supportive friends
- Falling asleep with an episode of The Mindy Project in the background
Three years ago, the last time I grieved a loss, I primarily laid on the couch crying and eating. It took weeks before a friend dragged me out to yoga (where, yes, I cried). No shame on past Amanda, but I think the law of motion applies here–the more I sat still and felt sorry for myself, the sadder I got. It’s a vicious cycle.