I’m reading this book, Mind Prep, by Connie Stapleton, Ph.D. It’s for bariatric pre-op patients to get ready for surgery.

She talks about healthy and unhealthy relationships with food, and one of her recommendations is to write a letter to food.

So, although it might be cheesy (no pun intended), here goes:

From the Stomach of

Leah Taylor

1 Bad Way

Center Abdomen, Large Intestine 24601

Junk Food

Attention: Ben & Jerry, Dunk’s, Oreos, Vienna Fingers, Kit Kats, Twinkies, Fudge Rounds, Cheetos, cookies, cakes, pies, doughnuts and above all, sugar

3 Danger Zone

Cabinets & Fridge, Kitchens 77777

October 20, 2024

Dear Junk Food:

We’ve been friends for as far back as I can remember. You were there for me when I was a happy and carefree nine-year-old, mindlessly munching adult-sized Tony Lena’s tuna subs with friends, blissfully unaware of those extra pounds ahead of me that would upset my mother so.

You were there when I was a sad and lonely 12-year-old, starved for companionship and my mother’s attention.

You were there when I failed that physical science test in high school, when my boyfriend dumped me for a college girl, before I had any friends at UNH.

You were there when my mother passed, when I lost my job, and both times I got pregnant.

You’ve been around for the ups and downs, a bittersweet constant in my life. While other friends have come and gone, you remain.

One tiny problem, though, and it’s taken me this long—my whole life—to recognize it: you are not my friend.

No cookie on earth can replicate a mother’s acceptance. My mother saw me as a project in need of constant improvement. All I wanted was for her to love me as I was.

No doughnut can compete with a kiss or a hug.

No ice cream flavor in the world is a substitute for a sleepover at your bestie’s.

Friends don’t let friends gain 100 pounds.

You like being around me because I’ve been easy to manipulate. I’ve allowed myself to be pulled in by you. But I’m here to tell you, the party’s over.

So, Junkfood, it was a hard decision, but I have come to the conclusion that we can no longer see each other.

So find another pantry to take up residence.

Find another brain to buy up real estate.

I have let you control me forever. It’s my turn to be in control.

Your Friend (but not really),

Leah

Whew! My intention was to make this letter really over the top tongue-in-cheek. I did not expect it to take a turn for the serious.