There are consistent questions and challenges posed by many people when they consider following the ketogenic protocol. And those same topics arise with folks who have been following the diet for some time. We have issues regarding food that can be so deeply ingrained, reinforced over years or decades that we can struggle to tease out what is real as opposed to that which we've been conditioned to believe. We grow to accept as gospel that meaningful change is nearly impossible for those of us who have strived to manage our weight, health, and general happiness, that weight loss after our twenties is too challenging to attempt—after 50? Fuggedaboutit!—and that we can't control cravings.
After all, they're cravings, right?
What a powerful and overused word.
"Craving" something can give us a mental get-out-of-jail card.
I know I shouldn't have eaten that, but the craving hit me hard!
We've all been there, pleading our case that whatever that morsel—or mountain—of food was, we were powerless against it.
A CRAVING, I tell you! It was brutal!
The thing is, we wouldn't accept having "a yen" for something as an excuse to indulge in unwise behavior in others. Imagine your life partner asking for a pass on stepping out on you because they really, really, craved the other person. [insert sound of a frying pan whomping someone's head]
Yet we tell ourselves that we struggle with, can't resist, are suckers for a craving. And there goes a doughnut down the gullet.
What to do about cravings? It's what not to do that matters. Don't feed it. That's where my cat comes in.
One November morning, I was in the kitchen making coffee. My Lovely Mate sat at the table, reading.
"Hey, look! There's a kitten at the door." I noticed her little head peering at me, her eyes barely clearing the bottom pane of glass in the 15-lite door.
"Don't you feed that cat," cautioned my husband.
There was little chance of that. We had long ago caught our limit of animals living in our house.
I went about my business, thinking the kitty would wander back from whence she came. A few minutes later, Mr. Cold Heart said, "Okay, she should have some water, but she can't come inside."
Again, I had already moved on from the subject. But I put a dish of water on the side porch, where the kitten had sat patiently since our eyes first met. Drink, drink, drink. I was already back inside when Hard-As-Nails Husband said that maybe it was too cold outside for such a tiny thing, and he reckoned we should let her in and feed her a bit.