Of all the kitchen gadgets we’ve amassed over the past three years, we don’t have a cherry pitter at home.
So I had to spit out the seeds.
Now, this might not sound like a big deal to most people — of course when you eat cherries and don’t have a cherry pitter, you have to spit out the pits — but it was to me.
Since it’s been three months since I’ve chewed and spit, the very action of chewing and spitting –however normal/natural, given the situation (cherries, watermelon, etc., have seeds; people spit them out) — gave me pause.
And staring at all the pits on the napkin I was using made me feel positively gross, reminding me of the wadded up napkins and plastic bags full of chewed-up chocolate in my not-so-distant-past.
Part of me was proud it gave me pause. It means I’m making progress in terms of realizing just how ugly and awful the behavior was.
After thinking about it for a minute, I realized that this time, I wasn’t ashamed to do it. I didn’t need to hide what I was doing; it’s summer and everyone eats fruit. As a kid, my siblings and I would see how far we could spit watermelon seeds off our deck … it was a game.
It was only with my disordered eating behavior later on that chewing and spitting was such a terrible thing.
In my own way, I think this little dessert experience was a real moment of progress: a moment to be proud, not shameful.
And it felt nice. Jubilant, even.