When we look at how people change, and what sustains that change, how does that even happen? Recovery says it starts one day at a time. People in early sobriety from the really gnarly white drugs say it starts one minute at a time. I’d even say it takes one thought at a time, because I have a million thoughts a day, and plenty of them are about chowing down on a KFC Famous Bowl (or as Patton Oswalt calls it, “Failure in a sadness bowl”).

I read The Craving Mind by Judson Brewer. There are surprisingly not that many books out there connecting mindfulness to behavioral health, so I head that direction every time I catch wind of one. There’s a thread running through a lot of mindfulness stuff I’ve read about “find where you’re feeling that emotion in your body,” and that absolutely doesn’t work for me. For one thing, my mind-body connection is teetering on the edge of divorce. When you’re morbidly obese most of your life, you want as little connection to your stupid shameful body as possible. We’re barely on speaking terms, even after all that intervention. 

But there is good stuff in there about not fighting the urge. Now that has merit. The more I struggle and try to shut the craving down, the more my devious toddler brain starts making a plan for how she’ll smoke a cigarette as soon as the adult in charge is distracted with the pressing problem of how to get the freaking Team Adventure manager to stop ideating about workplace culture long enough to meet a deadline. I’ve tried lots of tricks, and honestly, the best one is simple, and doesn’t deny that the urge comes over something I genuinely enjoy. “Yeah, that does sound good. Mmm, yeah, cigarettes are the best. I could do that…but I won’t right now.” Works more often than it doesn’t. 

Sometimes the craving is more serious. Sometimes I start making plans. “I cleared the house of alcohol because the adult doesn’t want to drink. How will I get vodka? How much will I get? If I get a fifth and drink it all today, I can quit tomorrow without throwing the rest away, right? My family won’t notice if I drink a whole fifth of vodka, right? Naaahhh…” And there’s this tiny little ineffectual grown-up in my head flailing her fists and saying, “But you said you wouldn’t drink!” Nobody cares what you think, killjoy. 

Here’s the thing about urges. I’ve felt the urge to drink. I’ve felt the urge to smoke, and to eat, and on and on. Historically, I’ve usually given in to those urges. I know what the endless debate in my mind feels like. The good reasons not to pick up. The rationalizing – I can pick up just this one thing, just briefly. I’m familiar with the fallout – I wish I hadn’t done that; now it will take X amount of time to undo the damage; why do I do this when I know it’s not what I want. Play the tape forward, as Brene Brown says, and this story ends the same way every time – filled with regret and shame. What people trying to quit destructive behaviors really need to avoid is regret and shame on the other side. 

Ha, I’m dispensing advice like I’ve got it all figured out. My compulsive food behavior can put yours to shame. I’ve quit and resumed smoking like 4 times in the last two years. I resist cravings more often than I don’t, but sober cost-benefit analysis is sometimes no match for 45 years of riding in the clown car. 

But when that debate is raging inside – and I engage in this calculus all the freakin’ time – that should be a cue for an intervention strategy. Do something, anything, to remove yourself from the situation. Take the dog for a walk, write in a journal, reach out to a friend, climb some stairs, put on some music and dance. 

Because here is something I’ve been trying to learn and practice with – an urge is just a thought. Thoughts come and go, like weather, and usually if you can just distract yourself for a moment, the thought passes (often just to recur, but, you know, lather-rinse-repeat). Thoughts are temporary. Acting on the thought makes it permanent. The more you can do to keep a thought contained as a thought, and not an act – that is resisting urges. Getting some control over my Pepperoni Stuffed Crust Pizza impulses was great preparation for booze and cigarettes, because that’s where it started for me.  Your mileage may vary. In the middle of the debate, try playing the tape forward to how you will feel if you’re successful – see if that’s the experience you’d prefer to have. 

So I was saying above that the grim debate that takes place when an urge comes up feels a certain way, and for me, it does feel the same way every time, with every substance. Frankly there’s often enough that I want the tantruming toddler in my lizard brain to win the debate. But when she wins, she doesn’t shut up. She tantrums harder next time. And when my adult self wins, it’s a mother effing triumph.