Sweetness, Stress, and the Search for Peace

Sometimes, it feels almost primal, doesn’t it? That pull toward sweetness. I’ve spent a good deal of time these past few years—especially this year, really—thinking about what drives it. For so long, I accepted that certain foods were "good" or "bad," and that meant there was an ongoing internal struggle. It was a sort of battle, and you know, battles take a lot of energy. I didn’t realize how much energy I was spending until I stopped fighting.

I remember, years ago, during those frantic pre-retirement days, feeling utterly depleted. Every afternoon, around three o'clock, I would crave something sugary – a little something, just a pick-me-up to get through the last push. It wasn’t necessarily about the *taste* of the sweetness itself, though I certainly enjoyed that. It was more about the momentary release, the brief distraction from the relentless demands of the day. It became a routine, an almost automatic response to stress.

It’s funny, isn't it, how we convince ourselves that certain actions are necessary? That reaching for that cookie is somehow going to make the pile of papers on my desk disappear. That it will solve the classroom management issues I was facing. Of course, it doesn't. It just provides a fleeting illusion of control, and then leaves you feeling a bit… flat. That feeling of flatness used to be just accepted, and now, having time to really observe myself, I understand it so much more clearly.

This summer, with all the extra time, I’ve had a chance to really examine those patterns. Planting the garden this year was a revelation in a way. Tending to those little seedlings, watching them grow, required a kind of patience and trust that I hadn't cultivated in years. And that patience, that trust, started to seep into other areas of my life. I began to see that the desire for sweetness, like the desire to control everything around me, was rooted in a feeling of lack—a feeling that something was missing.

It’s not about denying yourself anything you enjoy, mind you. That’s just setting yourself up for failure. It's about understanding *why* you're reaching for that sweetness in the first place. Is it genuine enjoyment, or is it a way to soothe a deeper discomfort? Bernard, bless his heart, he’s always had a simpler approach: “Just have a small piece, dear. Enjoy it.” But for me, it was never quite that simple. It was about the whole *idea* of having it, the feeling that denying myself something would somehow create a deficit.

I've found that reframing the experience is remarkably helpful. Instead of thinking, “I *want* this cookie,” I ask myself, "What need am I trying to meet right now?" Perhaps I’m tired, or stressed, or just feeling a bit restless. Once I identify that underlying need, I can often find a healthier way to address it. A short walk in the garden, a cup of tea, a phone call to Phyllis – those things can be surprisingly effective substitutes for a sugary treat.

The autumn equinox gathering with Phyllis was a pivotal moment, in retrospect. We were sitting on the patio, the sun setting, and I remember feeling this profound sense of peace. I realized that the constant internal struggle, the relentless pursuit of "perfection," was exhausting me. It was a false burden, a story I had told myself for years. And once I recognized it as a story, it started to lose its power. I’ve begun to cultivate that sense of peace—a gentle acknowledgement of the cravings without judgment, and a commitment to responding to my needs in ways that nourish me, body and soul.

It’s a process, of course. There are days when I still crave that familiar sweetness, and that’s perfectly alright. What matters is that I approach those moments with awareness and compassion, understanding that they are simply signals, invitations to explore what's truly needed. And, honestly, the unexpected beauty of those garden tomatoes this year? That sweetness is far more satisfying than any cookie ever could be.