Today is Friday 17th February.
For the first time this year I ate a different evening meal.
Apart from two evenings over Christmas, I have eaten the same meal every single night since mid-December.
For the past few weeks, nearly every day I have planned to try and eat something different but never managed it. At the last moment anxiety has always got the better of me and I have resorted to my safe meal.
Today I made the most of the unseasonably warm weather and went for a walk. As I made my way along the path of our local park I thought about the coming evening. I was worried. Some friends of my parents and their four young children were coming round for a meal. Despite my mum’s reassurance that I could carry on with my own food as normal, I knew my routine would be thrown up in the air. But as I walked, my mind cleared, and I made a plan. Rather than panic about the change in routine, I decided to embrace it and capitalise on the opportunity to change my deeply entrenched evening meal routine.
I arrived back home windswept but positive. I told my mum of my plan.
“That’s made my day,” she told me, thrilled that I was at last showing some interest in taking steps forward.
And so, as per my plan, this evening I did not make my usual meal, but instead helped myself to one of the baked potatoes my mum had cooked for her guests.
I knew I would be unable to face the chilli, cheese and other assorted toppings that my mum had prepared, but I planned in advance and made myself a small, separate meal of jacket potato and baked beans.
I knew that eating in front of everyone would be too much, so I still ate alone in my room. I didn’t manage to finish it either, but it doesn’t matter, because today I cooked and ate a different meal. Success.