There was once a time where I couldn’t pass an apple without saying the number of calories it contained in my head. In fact, this incessant habit spanned most foods, from a can of full-fat coke to a roast chicken, and everything in-between. A large chunk of my brain power was taken up daily by a running total of everything that did, and didn’t, pass my lips.
It’s taken me almost 10 years to override this routine. To be able to listen to a podcast while making breakfast (I used to need silence in order to tot up calorie count) or to try a new recipe without wondering what its nutritional value was. It has been – as it has for many others – a long, long road, but one that has left me less of a slave to that little number on the back of a box or packet. I had come to the point where I had accepted that, while I might never be totally free of it at all times, it didn’t need to plague my every waking moment.
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