My inner child is a brat.

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Me. Circa 1977ish

My sweet, precocious, persistent inner child. She love sweets. She loves to use the vending machine. She hates being told “no” and throws temper tantrums when she can’t have what she wants. (And don’t judge her uber-chic, in style for the times “Dorothy Hamill” haircut of the 1970’s. She is very cute and in style 🙂  She is still inside me and, although I love it when she is creative and spontaneous, I am not so thrilled when her extreme sweet tooth is screaming to be fed!

Recently, I found that I am going to have to have a very, very  minor surgery to remove a small benign cyst. No big deal really, except that I really don’t WANT to have surgery. (duh) So, what is my reaction? I go to my favorite bakery (the one mom got my cakes from when I was that little girl in the picture) and make it all better with FOUR large petit fours. UGH. You know what? Eating those did make it better – for like 10 minutes. The regret I felt was a wee bit longer than that and you know what else? I. still. have. to. have. surgery. So, it didn’t work. It didn’t really help.

I have also discovered that my sweet inner child takes over around 3 or 4 every afternoon. I used to think this was because it coincided with the end of the school day – the end of the part of my workday involving  students and therefore the point where stress of the day eases up- but it is summer and I am still experiencing major sweet cravings at this time. This tells me I must need a heavy protein snack somewhere around 2 each day to head this off.  I will be working on this, including this snack in my meal planning, and see how it goes.

I need my inner child throwing her temper tantrums to get me to try new things, go on adventures, and be creative. NOT eat a cake. I want her working for me, not against me.

Planning, preparing, organizing and journaling will get us working together.

1 Comments on “My inner child is a brat.”

  1. Hey, I get this. Really. My inner child does the same but in a different way with any type of food. As a teen realizing I could control at least one thing – my weight – I went to the extreme. Now as an adult, there is no pleasure in a meal, no enjoyment, only guilt.

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