Sugar. Oh, honey, honey…

You are my candy girl, and you got me wanting you

The time has come, again, again, again, to choose to refrain from this substance that has followed me around my whole life. It’s numbed me, seduced me, calmed me––albeit temporarily––but has done nothing to support my health or my emotional well-being.

For the last few days, I’ve been preparing to remove sugar from my diet. Not for a week, and not forever. I’m removing it one day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time.

As I anticipate withdrawal from my old sweet friend, I’m feeling waves of grief. The sadness is so deep, the longing is intense. It feels comparable to leaving a beloved, or being left.

Then there’s fear. Fear that almost borders on panic. I’m afraid I’ll fall apart if I lose my companion. The one who’s always been there for me. My fear is that I won’t know how to cope when feelings arise that I used to bury with sugar.

Just thinking about taking this step makes me want to gather up all of my favorite sweets for one of my famous “final” all-I-can-eat extravaganzas before I try to abstain once again. I’m filled with doubt that I can accomplish my goal, as evidenced by failed previous attempts.

Even while writing this, I got up from my laptop to get a handful of M&Ms and a couple of cookies. I’m afraid to disconnect from the ingredient that masks anger, discomfort, frustration, and disappointment. When I eat sweet things, it makes me feel better briefly, and then it turns on me and creates pain in my body and makes me fat. It brings up feelings of anger and shame, which lead to feelings of self-hatred. Those feelings of self-hatred lead to eating more of the substance that hurts me.

Sugar has been my partner since childhood. At one time, it was useful to me. I was able to detach from my feelings in an environment where having feelings wasn’t desirable. It’s been my friend when the world gets too hard. We have a toxic love-hate relationship.

In the face of grief and fear, I also feel brave. Ending this relationship and reframing its place in my life is the first step. Sugar wants me to think of it as food. But it isn’t food at all. It’s void of nutrients. I’ve been told that it’s more addictive than cocaine and nicotine, and I kicked those habits. Why is this one so hard? Sugar feeds opiate receptors, generates extra dopamine and serotonin, the feel-good chemicals in our brains. It’s everywhere, it hides in plain sight. I started using it when I was a little girl, and I believe that using it has rewired my brain into a state of constant craving.

I smoked cigarettes for over 25 years. One morning when I was 43, I woke up, and as I rolled over in bed to grab my pack and light up, I received a message from my higher self. The message? “I don’t want to die this way.” It was so clear. I threw away my smokes, never went through withdrawal, never craved. I was finished. It’s been 20 years since my last cigarette. The obsession just fell away, and I was free. I want that for myself again.

In my 12-step program, recognizing that I need to “hand it over” to my higher self or higher power is where I’m getting stuck. I have to admit that I’m powerless over this addiction. I have to get humble. I have to let go of my fear of being uncomfortable. My tendency is to lie about my behavior. I sneak sugar, and I isolate so that I can indulge. I’ve done it for over 50 years. I can’t give this up using my will alone. This substance is dangerous and cunning, like a drug, because for me, it is a drug. Does it sound like I’m trying to convince myself to make this change? Yes, I am. I work very hard at not seeing what’s right in front of me. What’s right in front of me is that I’m destroying my body and my life, one day at a time, because of my obsession. I am not in control.

The philosophy regarding food in this 12-Step program is different than in other food fellowships. The philosophy is that there are no good or bad foods, and there is no such thing as a food addiction. I loved that idea when I first came into the meetings. It’s a great theory that I’ve twisted to find wiggle room to keep rationalizing my behavior.

Another valuable aspect of the guidelines is an emphasis on finding balance with food. Eating is for nourishment first and pleasure second. Nothing is off limits. I forgot about nourishment––for the most part––and jumped right to pleasure. Balance is the hardest thing for me to achieve.

This is the conclusion I’ve come to: sugar doesn’t nourish me in ways that are healthy. It’s not food for me, it’s poison. It’s time to stop poisoning myself. I’m making a conscious choice to put nutritious foods in my body that support my well-being. I’m abstaining from substances that don’t.

There’s a Little Nan version of me that doesn’t know how to say goodbye to her loyal friend. She’s feeling terror at the prospect of letting go of a behavior that helped her cope with the world around her. This little girl has run the show for most of our life. When Adult Nan tries to make changes, Little Nan digs in, tantrums and yells. She cries, she begs, she falls apart, and wants to be comforted. She isolates. When she reaches for sugar, Adult Nan is nowhere to be found. That Nan disappears, overwhelmed by the child within her, who still has so much power. It’s time for that little girl to hand the reins over to her grown-up self. To learn to trust that her adult will take care of her. That her adult will scoop her up in her arms, tell her she’s safe and seen and heard. Adult Nan will say, “Oh, my honey, my sweetest girl. It’s okay to have feelings like grief and fear, disappointment and rage. You’re not alone.” Little Nan will be held and loved. She’ll learn that she can survive those hard feelings without using her drug of choice. Adult Nan will feed them foods that will nourish them and help them thrive. Holding hands, they’ll walk into a healthier future together.

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