My dear friends, that title says it all, doesn’t it? As a woman in recovery from much bigger and badder things than carbs I half-smiled writing it. In fact, the revelation of being in a carb junkie is new to me, it didn’t occur to me until the night my father came home on hospice. I ran out to fill his prescriptions of morphine and lorazepam at the local pharmacy which just so happened to be inside of a Wegmans grocery store. After some back and forth with the pharmacist about what was available and such, I walked the store until the scripts were filled.

Within the 20 minutes it took to allocate his meds, I found comfort in the form of food.

Some people say that stress causes them to lose weight, lose their appetite, and deny themselves. This person (me) is quite certain that I am not one of those people. Actually, I am on the complete opposite side. I am a carb-stuffing, eat-my-feelings type of woman.

I picked up a box of freshly made chocolate chip cookies, four extra large and extra buttery croissants, chocolate covered strawberries, a cheesecake, and an enormous baguette that I sunk my teeth into before I reached the register. I can rightfully blame it on the stress of my father’s impending death, but I have to say, I was really shocked at the veracity in which I grabbed and consumed those foods.

Thankfully, I have reached an age where self-deprecation and self-loathing over food consumption is a thing of the past. I am, however, at a stage in my life where self-examination is important to me. I want to know the “whys” of me, if for no better reason than to be kinder and gentler to myself in the future.

What is it about those carbs that just pulled me in to feeling comfort? They made me feel full when I otherwise felt completely empty? I’m not sure.

I confess that I think carbs are magical, and with all things magical, I am better to keep my distance.

I do smile though when I think of that incredibly painful evening. An evening when my father arrived home from his 10 weeks in the hospital. An evening when he didn’t even recognize me until I held his hand saying my name. An evening that I would go back to in a minute if I could spend that time with him.