Dear Felicia: STFU

So I was eating a luxuriously leisurely breakfast before a flight the other day, sitting with profound satisfaction over my virtuous meal. I had organic, fair-trade Jasmine green tea instead of coffee, and fruit and avocado instead of bread, eggs, or cheese.

I’m being so good, I thought to myself. I was sitting there smugly looking around thinking, Does everyone see how well I take care of myself?

The thing is, I have no issue with eating healthfully. I stopped eating meat because my body likes it better. I dropped seafood and went fully vegetarian last year, much to the chagrin of my Louisiana-born wusband. I even reduced my white potato intake to occasional indulgences instead of a diet staple. We buy organic, non-GMO, and local as much as possible.

Yet I still find myself periodically struggling with guilt over my eating habits. I chastise myself for relying too heavily on cheese when I don’t know what to eat. I get tired of hummus. I often choose a croissant when it’s available. Periodically, I even miss having a tuna fish salad sandwich. Not to mention, I have a serious love of champagne and other sparkling beverages. Plus, since moving to our new place, we’ve begun regularly having cocktails before dinner, with a pitcher of margs always at the ready.

When I catch me judging myself over my diet choices, I have to stop and smile. I remind myself that I got a clean bill of health from my doctor. In fact, my body regularly fights off disease without need of pharmaceuticals. I walk or bike to run errands and do yoga most weeks. I feel rested and energized when I wake without need for any caffeine boosts most mornings (I did mention my love of champagne and margaritas).

So, why do I feel the need to be better? I’m blaming it on Felicia. This is the name I have given to the judging voice in my head. The voice that says, “Tsk, tsk! Do you really need another glass of champagne?” The voice that says, “Shouldn’t you be eating oatmeal instead of a hot, buttery croissant with jam?” Felicia is the voice of guilt and judgment.

I will publicly apologize if your name is Felicia and you are taking offense to my making my internal judge your namesake. In fairness, I offer my name in exchange for your judgy voice. I’m not really sure how she got her name — I just know she’s quite vocal. It seemed appropriate.

I will say, though, that Felicia is totally on point with her questioning at times. Do I really need another glass? Do I really need to drive to the corner? Wouldn’t it be better to walk? No, you’re right Felicia: This is my last drink. Right again, Felicia: I should walk since I haven’t been out all day. Other times I have to tell her to STFU because I’m a grown ass woman and I can have another glass if I want to!

So, I say to you dear readers, if you are being chastised by the judgy voice in your head, do as I do: Flip the script, flip the mental bird, and say, “Bye Felicia! I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.”