Home » Recovery » ED » When choosing to be “Rather safe, than sorry” is a problem

When choosing to be “Rather safe, than sorry” is a problem

Before I get caught up in bunch of words, let’s have a looksie at the latest culinary masterpiece I’ve whipped up, which is now one of my favorite snacks. Would you believe me if I told you it was of the savory kind? Aahh bummer… you know me too well!

chuncky monkey bites

Chunky monkey bites!!! So mines look kind of awesomely weird?..well head over and check out Amanda’s alluring photos, and take both mine and her word for it..these guys are gooood. They are a chocolate chip away from being my favorite snack of all time – these muffins hold spot no.1 – and that is saying something! I had a bit of a rough time handling the prepared dough; it was very sticky and thick – probably because I used regular rolled oats, and so delicious I may have wanted to keep shoving spoonfuls into my mouth rather than forming cookies. Even prior to adding in the chocolate chips, I was very tempted to sit down with a bowl of the warm dough. Gahhh why didn’t I!? Next time for sure 😉

Chunky monkey snack bites

Getting into details about cookie dough on an empty belly is not an apt scenario. Worse than that however is trying to swallow (literally) when there are things to get off my chest (figuratively).

 

The reason why I would rather stay home than go out, choose the lower-calorie option, push myself to do X workout for 45 min. instead of calling it quits when I’m tired after 3o..because I’d rather be SAFE, than SORRY. I think I need to reevaluate my perception of “safe”. I’ve practiced the “Rather safe than sorry” rule for so long, yet where did that get me? Since when was being underweight and acting like a loner all the time appropriately “safe”? Going out is a big factor for me. I analyse the situation from every angle; where are we going? how long will I be there? what will I eat? what it I want to come home and the others aren’t ready? I try my best to avoid the chance of going somewhere, wishing I was home and feeling sorry that I came. But I fail to see that this measure of safety is preventing me from living. From filling my heart with joy. From love and laughter. How will I know if I could have a good time out if I prevent myself from going in the first place? There is only so much contentment that my ‘structure’ and ‘schedule’ of my day can bring.

Yesterday I was invited to a family tea party. I had consented to going in the week already, and was expected. Yesterday morning however, I felt…unsociable unpleasant. Getting out of pj’s seemed like a daunting task.. smiling required too much effort..laughter and chit-chat was out of the question. I spent the morning moaning to Mum (poor Mummy – so busy she was and having to put up with my irritable self), looking for a leeway to escape going. But I’m a human of my word Mum held me to my word and insisted I come. Boy am I ever grateful. Just the act of getting ready was enough to work up a slow and steady excitement, that by the time we were on the road I was some chirpy, happy person that I couldn’t recognise.

The day wound up being one of the best of my life.

 

 

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