May 2016 was a season of feasting. We celebrated our anniversary. We celebrated my parents’ 30th anniversary. We celebrated my brother’s graduation and engagement. We celebrated Mother’s Day with Mike’s family. We celebrated our home’s anniversary.
All of that celebrating resulted in consuming copious amounts of wine, cheese, cake, pasta, cookies, etc. It was delicious and perfect. But the feasting caught up with me and I ended May feeling icky and out of control with my eating habits.
I’d been reading a bit here and there about Whole 30, and while I disdain food trends, I realized this might be a way to help me reset my body and tastes.
On Monday, June 6, I started Whole 30, ready to stick to the rules for the full 30 days. I traded my breakfast of peanut butter toast for a sweet potato with almond butter. I sprinkled Mike’s taco salad with Fritos, then sealed the bag and put them away. I read every recipe out of a paleo cookbook from the library and tried making my own mayo.
I lost a few pounds. Energy replaced my lethargy. I reset some of my cravings.
More than that, I felt control over my body for the first time in my life. And thus, the problem.
The line between practicing self-control and grasping to control my body is a fine one. As a person of faith, I believe my body belongs to my Creator. When I move from practicing self-discipline to striving to subdue my body, my pride flourishes and anxiety festers.
My body is a marvelous, broken piece of creation designed for God’s glory, my pleasure and the good and service of others. Those three things can and should work in harmony. My goal is to find that sweet place. And that meant eating a few corn chips, having a glass of wine and eating a dessert here and there.
In and of itself, Whole 30 is not a problem. I plan on doing another one after Labor Day. Though my experience was incomplete, I felt wonderful, learned about my eating habits and became more aware of how I grasp for control of my body.
So for now, I’m savoring every food I’ve the gift of eating and reminding myself that my body is not my own.