On Dreamshaping: Treating Ourselves to Illness

Mark McNease

I recently spent several weeks with a cold—or a flu, or a sinus infection, or some dreadful combination of them all. A cough still lingers, the voice still gives out if I talk for more than a few minutes. This kind of seasonal illness has been with me for most of my life. It brings discomfort and frustration, dread at what awaits me in my elder years, and the perfect excuse to start reaching for those comfort foods and behaviors I believe I’m entitled to under the circumstances because I deserve this. It’s a way to quickly short-circuit any deeper or prolonged analysis of what’s really happening: I’m in a sate of discomfort, and I want something to make me comfortable that doesn’t require more effort than getting it from an ice cream container into my mouth.

How many times, and for how many reasons, do we give ourselves permission to put the very things into our bodies that make us ill, with the excuse that we will feel better afterward? I deserve this bowl of chocolate pudding. I deserve this macaroni and cheese. I deserve this tin of sugar cookies. And for those who indulge in alcohol, cigarettes and other addictive substances, I deserve this drink, this smoke, this pill. If I’ve had a stressful day—something I determine myself, using a magical stress rating that runs from, “It wasn’t that bad,” to, “I can’t stand this anymore,” I comfort myself with something rich and fattening and tasty. And if I ask myself why, the answer is a petulant, “Because I deserve this.”

It doesn’t occur to me—because I don’t i want it to—that I could say instead I deserve to feel better by taking care of myself. I deserve to wake up without a food hangover. I deserve to sleep more restfully and soundly. I deserve to like what I see in the mirror: the physical, emotional, and mental. One reason is that the healthy things I deserve require commitment, while the unhealthy things generally do not, unless you consider a trip to the freezer a major commitment. So many of the things that will truly improve my life require that I give something up, whether it’s obsessive thinking or eating as an emotional response. I tell myself that macaroni and cheese, and root beer floats, don’t ask me to relinquish anything. But that is not true: by turning to them as a form of medication, I’m giving up my goals. I’m giving up my determination. I’m giving up the very things I deserve so much more than fudge and fixation.

The reality is that when we reach for easy comfort we are treating ourselves to illness. Sugar is a well-known inflammatory. Indulging in fatty foods and platefuls of carbohydrates changes the chemistry of our brains, which in turn affects our moods and decision-making. The paradox of seeking comfort in foods, behaviors and addictions is that they increase our discomfort, making us want even more in a seemingly never-ending cycle of inviting harm into our bodies, minds and lives. There is another way, better choices that can be made. They just might include a little discomfort now and then, but the rewards will last much longer than a cheese fix or quieting an addiction for a few minutes. These rewards can last a lifetime.