Soul Food?

 

Quitting sugar is a bit like quitting booze. It can be awkward in a social situation. My office tea buddy is a treat freak who can rationalize herself into committing any form of dietary misdemeanour. “I’ve earned it” or “I deserve it” are two of her favourites, and she is notorious – or was, in the before times – for enticing co-workers with bowls of chips, boxes of cookies, and plates of gourmet doughnuts cut into bite-sized pieces (aka “quarters”). She’d often IM me with alluring details of a new chocolate bar she discovered at lunch, ending with a coy “Want some?” that I rarely resisted.

In truth, my powers of resistance are stronger than everything except my desire to please, so when the offer of some new sugary discovery was extended, I accepted to be polite. I do hate to disappoint people.

Still, when I recently told her that I’m off sugar for health reasons, she made all the right supportive noises before she said, “Well, the time will come when you have to surrender—just once—for the sake of your soul.”

Treats are comfort food, and comfort food is comforting for a reason. It’s emotionally gratifying. Soul food, as it were, being good for your soul because it feels good, period.

Oh, but wait a minute. As I understand it, my soul resides in but is not part of the compostable container. Being the spark of divinity that binds me to the Universe and all living things, it’s the one thing I will take with me when I leave. My soul needs attention, sure, but not in the form of food. It needs no physical nourishment. It certainly isn’t prone to sugar cravings that will wreck my mind and my body for hours after a treat is consumed in seconds. It just isn’t.

What is, however, is the sneaky little part of my brain that resides just out of sight behind my ears. Known to neurologists as the amygdale, it’s been described by one expert as “the toddler in the room” where demands, tantrums, addictions, and primal emotions like fear and anger reside. It’s the part of my makeup that claims comfort from food and will say anything to get it. Including “I’ve earned this”, “I deserve this”, or “My soul needs this”.

Clever, eh? How it uses first-person logic to negotiate and get its way? It actually tries to trick me into believing that a brownie will make me feel better when in truth that brownie will a) not taste as good as I remember and b) make me sluggish and crabby for the rest of the day. Why would my soul want to feel like crap? Well, it doesn’t. My soul knows what’s good for me and my body, and my prefrontal cortex (aka “the parent in the room”) concurs. It’s the voice that says,

“Away with you, Princess Amygdale. You’re busted.”