In Which I Follow the Plan

I'm reading a diet book (contemplating some major changes to our family's dietary habits) and one of the best things I've gleaned from it so far was from one of the success stories. Normally I skim over the success stories because, quite frankly, I don't care that you lost 100 pounds and are now a marathon runner. You have no idea what I'm going through. So good for you - be proud of your success, but I am much to busy and wrapped up in my own stuff to really care. 

Anyway, this particular success story had something very good to say. 

Those first couple of weeks I didn't feel like eating romain lettuce, collar greens, or Brussels sprouts. I followed the plan.

I was heavily addicted to salt, creamy cottage cheese, ranch dressing, cheddar cheese, and crunchy peanut butter. I followed the plan.

My son became seriously ill and life suddenly became an out-of-control roller coaster. I followed the plan.

He had to be transferred to a hospital in another state, and I had to find my way around a new city. I followed the plan.

The hospital cafeteria food looked comforting and inviting and the candy in the gift shop called out my name. I followed the plan.

Three months later, back home, I got on the scale. I was forty pounds lighter...and felt great. My body was thoroughly refreshed after a good night's sleep, and my brain fog had completely disappeared. (Eat to Live, Fuhrman)

This story inspires me, not only in my quest for weight loss and health, but in my struggle with depression. My intellect tells me over and over to make better choices but my addicted and depressed subconscious fights like a rabid dog to keep me feeling good. 

So instead, I follow the plan.