If a therapist’s couch were available, she would lie upon it and recap stories of childhood and chocolate. Instead, seeking solace, she bemoans the difficulty of dieting in December. “Parties. Candy. Cookies. Why not just give up and start again in January? Any advice?” I smell marshmallow chocolate Santas on her breath.

I validate the feelings. Although I have maintained my weight almost 20 years, the struggle remains. “I understand.”

As for the advice, she would not want me running her life. It can be a dark and scary place inside where I live. I understand her frustration. Yet, I have been asked. I push aside my cobwebs to impart whatever support I can provide.

I too used to “wait until the holidays were over.”

Then, my birthday… Then vacation… Back again to the holidays… Soon any day that ended in “Y” was a reason to delay losing weight. The perfect day was always over the next sunrise. I waited. I weighed. I weighted. Finally realizing future generations will still be overeating at holidays long after I’m a memory, I understood, “better figure out a way to work around the obstacles NOW.” As my grandmother said, “Tomorrow never comes.”

Reality is if my indulgences were limited just to holidays, I wouldn’t have to lose 70 pounds. Celebrations were the validation I used to reaffirm that “weight loss is too hard.” Failure sat at the head of every holiday meal table as the unwelcome guest, “Give up – start again later.”

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