Reward System

"I'm so sad. I'm going to eat everything in my fridge. It'll, somehow, make me feel better."

"Great job on your report card! Let's go for ice cream!"

"Man, it sounds like you had a rough day. Here, have a treat."

When did it become the norm to stuff our faces when we had feelings?

Yea.. Yea, I did.

Last week was spent potty-training my twin 3 year-old boys. We started off using a sticker reward system. It was hit-and-miss, literally. Daddy came home and we talked over what might be missing. Turns out it was M&M's.

I wasn't keen on the candy idea, but it worked. And, admittedly, we had a celebratory "birthday cake" to commemorate their pertinent advancement in life skills. We had fallen pray to the continuation that: "Food will aid in your life. Whether it's to aid in joy, or somewhere else along the spectrum of emotions, 'food will help.'"

When I would come home from school, starting somewhere in my elementary years, I would grab a bowl of ice cream. Sometimes even indulging in a second helping. I didn't see anything wrong with this food choice. I had earned it! School and life was stressful!

Even now, after over a year in my weight-loss journey, I'm desperately trying to alter my perspective on food. I continue to have this crazy thought-process. I keep thinking/ telling myself, "Food will make the stress go away. This will make the pain stop." Then I emerge out of my food coma, stomach hurting, regretting my decision on that a third bag of popcorn. 

You probably think I'm kidding about that third bag. Sadly, I'm not. 

I've come to realize that I'm an addict. A food addict. And I know I'm not alone.

COR Retreat, a non-profit food addiction treatment program in Minnesota, released today that 78 million of us adults, in the US, are considered obese. You can see what they had to say here and here.

I notice that most of my addiction is based on the flawed food-based reward system. 

"If I can get through my chores, I can sit and watch TV with a bowl of chips and nacho dip."

"Man, today sucks hardcore. Where's that bag of holiday candy?"

But, more than that cheeseburger, I could really use a hug, Dwight.

So, now that we've revealed the problem, what's the solution?

Well, I'm not a fitness consultant, therapist, fortune-teller, or any other profession that might have a better clue but here's what I've got:

With trying to alter my perceptions of food, last year we started house rules of:

Finishing your dinner does not necessarily mean desert will be served.

A piece or two of candy does serve as a desert. No need for a Gwen's-childhood-like heaping bowl of ice cream required.

From rewards to condolences, they do not need to be in food-form. Hugs, high-fives, and kisses work great.

These rules aren't 100% ironclad (as illustrated by the M&M's). Maybe they should be. But, admittedly, they're not.

I'd also like to say that we adapted to looking at serving-size and the motto of "everything in moderation". That, too, isn't always perfect.

For me, just being aware of why you're giving "Little Billy" that double-scoop of Rocky Road is the first step in getting onto the road to wellness. Whether "Billy" is you or your kid, it helps. What's nice about this wellness is that it serves emotionally, mentally, and physically; much like Neapolitan ice cream! How 'bout that?! You're still getting rewarded by a resemblance to food! Score!!