Why I Eat Ice Cream and Other Mysteries

As a dietitian, I feel a fair amount of professional pressure to be a shining example of how to have a healthy relationship with food. Society, with its ubiquitous emphasis on thinness, also crowds my conscious with cries of "get thin, be thin, stay thin." Currently, I am failing miserably in both these pursuits.

I have a love-hate relationship with food right now. I hate that I love it. Inappropriate guilt for satisfying physical hunger is a symptom of disordered eating. That's not what I have, however. I have well-deserved guilt for using food to attempt to satisfy my emotional needs. Much of my guilt lately flows out from the fount of my ice cream addiction.

I love ice cream. I eat it by the bowl full--bowl, not measuring cup! Until recently, I have not taken the initiative to examine my deep need for this delicacy. In preparing for a recent counseling session with a weight loss client of mine, it became quite obvious that I was in a situation of the 'pot calling the kettle black'.

What is behind the behaviors I have that I know aren't beneficial for me? I don't have every answer, but I do have one for the ice cream. Here's the scoop: ice cream feeds my soul.

When I was little and went to stay the week with my grandparents (affectionately known as 'vacation'), we had coffee (well, I got hot cocoa) and ice cream at 9 pm nightly. It was their ritual, and one that I looked forward to immensely. Both during and after college, I lived with Gran and Gramps on-and-off. Those were great days for me. There is something incredibly comforting about Gran's quiet faith, and my Grandpa was a better dad to me than my dad ever was. During those years, ice cream was still standard.

Now, I find myself headed to the Haagen Daas on a near-nightly basis. In a brilliant moment of insight, I realize that I am attempting to recreate the peace, companionship, and sense of security that Grandma's house gave me all those years ago. In the midst of a chaotic, sleep-deprived, financially stressed and busy life, I am seeking something to soothe my soul.

My challenge for myself is to find a fitting substitute to seek solace in. Epiphany is rarely valuable without some sort of action stemming from the revelation. Perhaps prayer--for I, too, share that faith I found so welcoming as a child. Writing letters to Gran, maybe? A moment--a quiet one?--of soothing reflection. I'm not sure just yet. The appropriate answer is a mystery still waiting to be revealed.