I used to be afraid to eat bread. In fact, I was afraid to eat much of anything, and even more afraid of what would happen if I stopped my daily running. Would my arms grow big, would my neck become fat, or would my legs double in thickness? Worst of all, would my stomach stick out?
I could not let that happen, and my determination was fierce. I even grew to feel accomplished when my stomach would rumble. I stopped going out with my friends out of fear. Fear that they would notice my hesitation towards eating, fear of losing control of my appetite around them.
Of course, this was when I was much younger. A whole eight months younger, to be precise. Oh my, how time changes things. Even more so, it’s astounding how appreciating yourself for everything you are is much more productive than taking note of everything you are not.
Today, a smile decorates my flour-streaked face as I knead my homemade sourdough. I bubble with the excitement of my best friend’s impending arrival, wondering what delicious treats she’ll bring this time.