Sweet therapy

It's amazing the things that people use in place of cognitive behavioral therapy: drugs, sex, shopping, food, alcohol, even working out can become destructive in an addictive behavior pattern.

Last year when I had a bad bout of costochondritis, an ER doctor originally diagnosed me with anxiety issues. It didn't feel right to me, but I'm a pretty high strung person so I didn't completely disagree. Knowing that if I was manifesting such serious psychosomatic symptoms I needed help from an expert, I took it upon myself to go to a psychiatrist. Although she agreed that I have anxious tendencies, and she offered me some new coping mechanisms for that, she also diagnosed me with sanity and tried to fire me twice in the last year. I only saw her every few weeks, and each time she tried to tell me that there was nothing else she could offer me, I changed the subject. Unfortunately, people with chronic pain disorders are often called crazy, acutely sensitive, or even hypochondriacs, and I wanted that ace up my sleeve should some doctor again decide that I am simply insane and manifesting my own pain problems. It's easy to tell them that you're in the care of a mental health professional and she deems you completely sane.

Unfortunately, I have officially been booted from the shrink. She told me that she will be happy to consult with any future doctor on my mental health, but that she was offering me no further benefit.

In truth, she wasn't offering me much benefit to begin with, because I choose to cope with my stress in an unusual way: I turn into a modern day hybrid of June Cleaver and Betty Crocker (who listens to Flogging Molly while baking).

With fertility treatments causing me to be moodier than John Mayer, my oven has been getting quite the workout lately. And thanks to our amazing fruit and vegetable co-op, I have had no shortage of beautiful spring produce to use up.

In the last few days I have gotten up, hit the gym, and then come home to don my beautiful pink retro polka dotted apron. I have baked double fudge stuffed devil's food cupcakes with cream cheese icing, a dozen sausage/egg/cheese/potato breakfast burritos, a gallon of fresh strawberry jam, loaves of strawberry bread and banana bread, and now I'm starting on apple cinnamon monkey bread for the boy to take to work tomorrow. I have no idea what my next session will involve, but I have a basket of sweet potatoes, apples, a pineapple and two yellow squash to use up soon (Iron Chef anyone?).

Unfortunately for my poor husband who has been amping up his workouts lately, none of my favorite coping mechanisms are exactly low calorie. Sure, I substitute wheat flour and splenda here and there, but I doubt it makes up for the pounds of chocolate, butter, chorizo, or sour cream I use.

The girl scouts who dropped off cases of cookies to the base today to thank our troops are also not helping his cause.

So while Tiger Woods and Jesse James chose very different 'addictions' (I don't believe this for a minute, I'm just being sarcastic about these creeps), I still didn't choose a very healthy one. Perhaps there are people out there who are addicted to meditation, or volunteering, or knitting hats for homeless eskimo children, but we each choose our path.

Mine looks like this:






Tasty path, right?