Standing there in the middle of Wegmans, a couple of bags of dinner rolls in his shopping cart, Jake wore a frown on his face. He felt his knuckles tighten around the shopping cart as stress started sliding up to the surface.
Why does tomorrow have to be Thanksgiving? My diet has been going so well. It’s gonna get ruined. How am I supposed to eat healthy tomorrow of all days?
Jake was at the store because his aunt had asked him to get rolls for the Thanksgiving dinner she was hosting. Standing there, rolls in cart, made Jake remember all the glorious food of the year before: the turkey, stuffing, creamed corn, and mac and cheese. Foods that now, unfortunately, were not part of his diet.
Tomorrow’s gonna be rough. Damnit. Why did I start this stupid diet! I can’t even have any of these rolls I’m buying. Ugh.
It was as if he had two ropes attached to each of his arms, and tug of war was being played by each side. One side pulling him was his family, who wanted him to enjoy food with everyone else, to share a meal with them; the other side pulling was his diet, which wanted him to stay on track with his progress, to resist the delicious food.
The diet side was pulling harder that day.
Jake grabbed the receipt from the cashier, thanked them for their help, and left to return home.
At the Thanksgiving Table
Jake slowly and carefully pulled the wooden chair away from the mahogany dining room table, which made a slight scratching sound against the hardwood floor. The chair had a seat cushion on it that was embroidered with a rose. Jake’s aunt had sewed it herself.
Looking around the room made him smile. There was a piano on the far side of the room next to the stairs, whose surface glimmered from the sunlight coming through the window. Jake had played that piano with his aunt many times growing up. The walls were covered in paintings—one was of a giant oak tree, another was of a vineyard at sunset—and on top of the fireplace behind him rested pictures of his aunt’s family.
Then his smiled faded.
The unescapable smell of mac and cheese—the feeling of potential diet betrayal—hit his nostrils.
Nope. Not cheating on my diet. I brought my own food. I don’t need all of this…delicious foo—no, stop. I brought some chicken and rice. The diet is what matters. I can do this.
His left foot nervously bobbed up and down as he waited for his family to finish saying grace. Then it began. Thanksgiving dinner, a time of year he usually loved—a time full of laughter and eating good food; well, usually he ate good food.
Jake popped open the lid of his Tupperware and, staring down at his chicken, rice, and broccoli, he felt a wave of shame slap him across the face. The feeling washed over him, and it was impossible to escape—it dragged his mind somewhere far from the table.
What am I doing? My family made food and I’m not even eating it. They must think I don’t like it. Are they mad at me?
Jake looked away from his Tupperware to notice his family wasn’t focused on him—and his worries—at all. They were busy enjoying the meal and conversation with each other. All of them—each and every one—wore a smile across their face and had a plate of delicious food in front of them.
Jake had been so focused on himself—on his stress and shame and anxiety over his diet—that he wasn’t enjoying time with his family. And the same doubt-riddled question came back up.
What am I doing?
Goodbye Tupperware
Sitting there, Tupperware on the table, Jake saw how happy his family was—and realized how unhappy he was. They were eating good food. They were laughing. They were enjoying the moment.
He wasn’t.
He was so concerned with being “healthy” and sticking to his diet, that he ended up doing something unhealthy: he stressed and worried and freaked out over his diet to point where he wasn’t enjoying time with family.
I can’t believe I’ve been so dumb. I’m ruining what could be a nice meal with my family. And for what? To stay on my diet?
“Excuse me for a second,” Jake said. He pushed his chair back and, with the Tupperware in hand, walked to the kitchen and set it aside. He reached in the cupboard for a plate then returned to his seat.
My diet can wait. Today is for family.
He looked over to his aunt and asked, “Can you pass me the turkey please?”
Jake went on to enjoy a wonderful meal with his family. The food was great—the conversation even better. During the meal, many stories were shared: fond memories of the times they had spent with Jake’s grandmother who passed away the year before, of Jake’s raise he received from work, and about what they were all thankful for that year.
It was wonderful.
Had Jake been drowning in his shame wave still, he would have missed the chance to share a meal with his family, to be with his loved ones. Thankfully though, Jake realized that it was okay to share a meal with his family on this special day. After all, he could always get back to his healthy eating the following day.
One Meal Won’t Ruin Your Year
When we have been working to improve our nutrition, it’s normal to worry about the holidays. After all, we have spent weeks, months, and maybe years trying to improve our health. It’s natural and normal to worry that the smorgasbord of food available at Thanksgiving could throw things off.
But consider this: Thanksgiving dinner is just one meal. One. Uno. And in a year, assuming you eat three meals every day, that is 1 meal out of 1,095 meals.
That one meal won’t ruin your progress; unless you eat like that for the following 1,094 meals that is.
Let’s consider a hypothetical example though: your one Thanksgiving meal did ruin your diet for the week.
Want to know what’s worse than that? Acting how Jake did at the beginning of the story—worrying and fretting and obsessing about his nutrition. Where he was so stressed over his food that day that he missed valuable time with his family. That sucks. It’s taking “healthy” eating to an unhealthy level.
And this may surprise you, but I would argue that eating the delicious Thanksgiving food is healthy.
How?
It’s simple. Nutrition that is rigid is doomed to fail. Because the ideal, when it comes to nutrition, is flexibility—being able to say yes to things sometimes, and no to things other times. Saying yes on Thanksgiving means we can enjoy delicious food, have great conversations with family, and get the most out of the holiday.
Then, on another day when we want to splurge on dessert, we can choose to say no; that’s flexibility.
Remember: it’s okay to enjoy good food with family on special occasions, to say “yes” to a Thanksgiving dinner. One meal won’t ruin your year.
So, whether you are travelling to visit family this year or not, it’s okay to enjoy the meal with your loved ones. You can get back to working on your nutrition at the next meal.