Twenty Eight days ago, I decided to embark on a somewhat terrifying journey.  I committed myself to a month-long detox which included eliminating caffeine, refined sugar, gluten, alcohol, dairy, soy and corn.  Essentially, I very abruptly cut out foods from my life that reliably brought me comfort and pleasure.  No Starbucks. No cheesecake. No nothing (insert frown face).

I ADORE food.  I love to cook.  I’m not much of a baker, but sweets are definitely my weakness. For me, food represents more than just fuel for my body; it seems to play a significant role in my life. Not only do I eat when I’m hungry, I eat when I’m stressed, I eat when I’m sad.  I reward myself with food after a long day.  Sometimes food soothes me, while other times it fills me with a tremendous sense of guilt.  I’ve gained a bit of insight into my relationship with food over the past two years as I have struggled with infertility.  In a lot of ways, food has been my coping mechanism; chocolate peanut butter ice cream has gotten me through some of my darkest days. Food has comforted me, has distracted me, has cured my boredom.
But after I’ve put on about 20 lbs of emotional weight over the past two years, I feel I can no longer ignore this somewhat toxic relationship that I have developed with food.