I love coffee, but it doesn’t love me back

Obviously I’m obsessed with the philosophy of enjoying whatever you want, whenever you want it. But there’s one thing in my life that isn’t so clear-cut.

Coffee. Beautiful, bitter, black coffee.

I’ve struggled with annoying digestive issues post-eating disorder, and I’ve tried cutting out all sorts of things to make it better. Gluten, nightshades, corn, dairy. I’ve had mixed results with all of it… except coffee.

I love coffee, but it doesn’t love me back. It took me a long time to come to terms with that. I’m a coffee person. I like the taste and ritual and community of it. I love the jolt. I’d come to see it as part of my identity.

I miss it the most when I’m feeling sad or tired or overwhelmed and craving a comforting pick-me-up. I miss it when I’m trying to bribe myself into facing something I don’t want to do. It’s exactly the way I used to feel about “bad” foods.

And because I know I “shouldn’t” have it, suddenly there’s an irresistible allure. Even crappy coffee. Like that gross watery stuff you make in hotel rooms —“OMG the temptation!!! Coffee, you temptress!!!”

That’s psychological deprivation in a nutshell, isn’t it? As soon as you tell yourself you can’t have something, suddenly it is unbelievably irresistible. Even garbage coffee. You forget that there even IS such a thing as garbage coffee.

It’s taken a lot of self-control to stay away from coffee every morning, but I’m more proud of what I have learned along the way: that it isn’t about self-control, really (luckily, since that has always been a slippery slope for me) but about self-love. My body is my partner in this life…why would I want to hurt it? I never once felt that way when I let diet culture dictate my existence. I’m so grateful I can hear what my body is saying now, and that I’ve learned to listen.

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