Guilt

My husband was raised by loving, but strict, Catholic parents. He attended mass every week, completed the requirements for his first communion, and dutifully learned the rituals of the Catholic church. To this day, he carries many of its teachings with him. Namely, guilt. He’s loaded with it. But that’s fine with me, it’s one of the top ten reasons I married him. I knew he’d never cheat on me, the guilt would kill him. Yes, his abundance of guilt was quite a seductress, that and his hair. He’s got great hair.

And then there’s me. I was raised twenty percent Methodist, twenty percent Presbyterian and sixty percent, Oh-Screw-It-Let’s-Just-Sleep-In. But somewhere along the way, I picked up guilt too.

What I’m trying to say is that I strayed. I went a bit off plan. Not much, but it’s killing me. I knew it was a risk, I knew it wasn’t a good idea and yet I did it anyway.

And what was the apple in my Garden of Eden? My temptress?

A glass of red wine. Okay, two.

Oh that’s nothing you might be saying. True. I didn’t eat an entire cheesecake so things could be worse. But I committed to the program and alcohol is frowned upon, at least in the beginning. It’s dehydrating, loaded with empty calories, and worst of all, it encourages overeating.

With one glass of wine you can sashay up to the hors d’oeuvres table and graze on a carrot stick or some celery and hummus. Halfway through the second glass of wine, however, you start to eye the spinach and mozzarella dip and the dessert tray. By the time you’re draining your third glass of wine, spinach is stuck between your teeth, cheese is dripping from your chin, brownie bits are clinging to your hair, and you’re belting out Madonna’s Like a Virgin on a karaoke machine.

Okay, maybe that’s just me.

But alcohol definitely leads to bad judgment and when you’re trying to watch what you eat, too much of it can lower your inhibitions and sabotage your diet.

I promised myself that I would be really good, that I would give up wine for the first eight weeks. It’s only two months. After that I can figure out how to reintroduce it into my life. It’s not that hard, right?

I made it a week. One week, before I was already trying to justify a glass of wine.

It’s a dinner party, I told myself. How can I say no to wine with friends? I’ve been really good all week. I’ve been drinking my water, eating lots of veggies, taking my vitamins, blah blah blah.

And that’s all true, but here’s the thing. It’s a slippery slope. Once you take that first step then the small scoop of ice cream seems okay too. Or for me, the raw chocolate chip cookie dough in the freezer. I mean it’s just one, right?  How can just one hurt?

I know all this and yet, I had a couple of glasses of wine anyway. So now I feel guilty, which is not such a bad thing. Hopefully, it’ll keep me in line, be my moral compass. Or in this case, my In8 sponsor.