The last couple of days have been really off for me, diet and exercise wise. I ate embarassingly bad today, but as a friend told me; just note it and move on. That’s what I plan on doing; I recognize the fact that I made poor food choices today, I see what the effect of that will be (in this case, a horrible bike ride), I have noted that, and I am moving on. I am fully aware and not in any denial about it, which is still far better than I used to be able to deal with these transgressions.

After a time, one begins to realize how badly in denial they were about things in the past. I used to eat like this every day, but yet I always said my diet wasn’t that bad. It was; I was in denial. How many other situations in my life was I in denial about? How many are any of us?

Does knowing it make it better? Do I remain here, squelching around in new and different forms of denial that I do not recognize yet? Perhaps. I probably do.

I don’t really understand the psychology behind denial. It seems counter-intuitive to self-preservation, yet we use it for this very reason every day. If prey were to be in denial about the predator bearing down on them, they would be eaten. Why should it be any different for us?

I have a long and bitter history with denial; one that spans generations, and more recently as a factor in the breakdown of my marriage.

As you know, my journey these last couple of months has been one to confront denial in the physical aspects of my life. I am facing up to my failures and striving to be more honest with myself. Did I eat poorly? Yes. Did I make a bad choice? Yes.

The difference now is that I am still moving forward.