Changing a habit is never easy. It takes stepping outside your boundaries. For some that’s easy. For others, not so much.

Every time I embark on a quest to improve something, my body revolts. I don’t think it’s so much as it’s way of saying “Hell no we won’t go” but more like a timid toddler that keeps falling asleep while insisting they’re not tired.

Walking through the city today I came across a few epiphanies.

1. As comfortable as my conscious self claims to be with change, that bitch is lying.

2. I don’t have an inner critic, I have an inner committee.

3. I’m quiet yet I talk too much when I’m in a funk.

Carbs are like nature’s security blanket for when we’re feeling icky. I think that’s why most of them are called comfort foods – because they make us feel better.

So eliminating them altogether when one’s going through a mental rough patch may not have been the wisest idea. Then again, maybe it’s like ripping the bandage off a long standing wound that won’t heal itself.

Sometimes brutality really is the best form of therapeutic catalyst.

I don’t think I’ve experienced withdrawal yet. It’s an unpleasant inconvenience but I’m stubborn and my pride often gets the best of me. I’m more committed to reaching my goal than feeling like this is another lost opportunity to show I can follow through.