Yesterday I had a shitty afternoon. I went to the dentist for the first time in five years (shut up, I know, but I didn't have insurance) and got some bad-ish news, though it could have been worse. My man was also dealing with some stuff, and the way that I am, I want to fix all the things and make everything better and be a superhero.
I WILL FIX EVERYTHING!
Anyway, long story short, the stress was getting to me, I was getting upset, and I was desperately tempted to binge. I wanted to bury my feelings beneath a mountain of food and self-loathing.
But I didn't. It one of the hardest things I have done recently, and I came up with a million excuses on my drive home as to why it would be no big deal to stop and pick up a pizza, or buy that big bag of Cadbury mini-eggs instead of the single-serving bag, or to get myself a burger or something. But I stopped myself, went home, told my man that stress was making me want to binge. He gave me a huge hug and comforted me, we ate our respective dinners together, then I busted my ass in water aerobics.
240.6. Down half a pound from yesterday. The weight-loss goddesses decided to reward me. I'll take it.