When I was a little girl, we had these extra freezers that my mom would fill with all the on sale items and her “Q-Pees” bargains. This included meat, bread and what some might call “junk food”. She’d also buy the Winn Dixie brand of ice cream, by what seemed to my little eyes to be by the cart loads. My dad’s favorite was called Fudge Ripple, or maybe it was royal. Whatever it was called, that was the one we had the most of the most often. It was a vanilla ice cream (not the kind with the delightful little specs) with a ribbon of gooey chocolate sauce running through it.

We would add more chocolate sauce, of course.

Every night after dinner, we’d have huge bowls of the stuff. Life wasn’t normal without that ice cream or some other type of sweet dessert. In fact, sweet foods were, for the most part, a large part of the day. From the sugar we sprinkled on our Corn Flakes and Rice Krispies to the gallons of sweet ice tea, it was sugar all day, everyday.

As you might imagine, I developed a bit of a sweet tooth.

Sugar was good. It meant fun. It meant that life was a little bit sweet even when it was hard.

As I aged, I carried the sweet tooth with me – only dropping it for my stint on hard drugs – and even then, when it wasn’t drugs, it was ice cream. By the time I was firmly off of drugs, I developed a hard core liking for Ben and Jerry’s and Hershey Bars. And it was Ben and Jerry’s simply because I was an adult and could buy whatever kind I wanted. I’d sacrifice rent money for the “real” ice cream.

Eventually, I started dieting. I was up to 220lbs and because it was the only thing I knew, I started Weight Watchers.

Eating a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s cost too many points and, obviously, eating the whole thing was the goal. So, I settled for Hershey Bars, which were only 5 points for the whole thing. I’d buy them in bulk and save my points for them pretty much every day.

They had become my connection to sweetness in life.

And as I tried to lose the weight, the sweet tooth was always an “issue”. Always that thing that would seem to turn the wagon over and bust it’s wheels. I couldn’t seem to “get off” the sweet stuff.

It’s been just over five years now since I decided to give up the world of hating my body and abusing it with food and exercise.

And through that time, I’ve learned something really, really important about my “sweet tooth”.

I’ve learned that the problem isn’t the sugar. Or the sweet tooth. Or being raised on Frosted Flakes and generic ice cream.

All of those things are just circumstances. The problem is what I was making all of that mean.

You see, I was pretending that if I could sit down and eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s that life was, in fact, sweet. I was pretending that chocolate, and ice cream, and cake, and cookies were what made life good.

And that pretending was really fucking painful.

So, I stopped pretending.

In doing so, I found peace. Like, a true, solid peace that resides in the depths of my soul.

In case you are wondering, I still eat ice cream, cookies, cake and chocolate. But, eating a whole pint, tray, bar, whatever, just no longer has an appeal.

I no longer believe that chocolate, cookies, cakes, pies and ice cream have the power to offer me what I once believed they did.

In fact, my husband and I can sit on the couch, watching TV with a pint of ice cream and only eat about a serving between the two of us.

And yes, I’m well aware that most would tell you to never sit down on the couch with a pint of ice cream in front of the TV.

But, I call bullshit.

Why?

Because to me, when I tell my husband that my third or fourth bite is my last, it’s just evidence that life really is sweet.