Why I Don’t Eat “Diabetic-Friendly” Cake

Food cravings were one of the hardest parts of losing 300 pounds.

Most people think diabetes is all about blood sugar. I used to think that too. But after decades of obesity and Type 2 diabetes, I discovered that controlling glucose was only half the battle. The other half was learning how to manage the cravings that had followed me for most of my life.

Now before anybody gets upset, I’m not saying those recipes are bad. If they work for you, great. I’m saying they don’t work for me.

You see, after spending most of my life obese and diabetic, I eventually realized that glucose was only part of my problem. The other part was everything else. My hunger signals were broken. My fullness signals were broken. My cravings were broken. I could eat an entire meal, feel physically full, and still be looking around for something sweet.

That wasn’t normal. At least I don’t think it was. It’s really hormones gone haywire, how’s that for a reality tv show. It took years of eating low carb before things started working properly again.

Years.

One of the biggest changes wasn’t losing weight. It wasn’t lowering my A1C. It was learning to stop eating when I was full. Imagine that. Most people learn that lesson when they’re six years old. I had to lose hundreds of pounds before I figured it out.

When I think back on it, I often picture a trail through the woods. For decades I walked the same path.

Stressed? Eat.

Happy? Eat.

Celebrating? Eat.

Bored? Eat.

Watching TV? Eat.

The trail got wider and wider until it became a four-lane highway. Then I stopped walking it. Not perfectly. Not all at once. But consistently. Over time the grass started growing back. The cravings got quieter. The constant obsession with food started fading. But here’s the thing.

The trail never completely disappears. Sometimes all it takes is something sweet to see it again. Not because my blood sugar goes up. Because my brain remembers. That’s why I don’t spend much time trying to recreate cake, cookies, brownies, or ice cream. WAIT! In the name of transparency, I make a killer french vanilla, coconut ice cream that doesn’t move the glucose needle much at all. 

For the most part, though, I’m not interested in finding a “healthier” version of the foods that caused me problems. If you read the ingredients, you’ll find that they’re made from a bunch of stuff I don’t want in my face. I’d rather learn to enjoy different foods altogether.

And that’s exactly what happened.

Today, one of my favourite treats is a handful of walnuts, a few raspberries,  maybe a shaving of coconut, and a square of very dark chocolate.

Honestly, ten years ago I would have looked at that snack and thought it was punishment.

Now it feels like a treat.

The strange thing is I don’t feel deprived.

I feel better.

There’s something deeply satisfying about eating food that actually came from somewhere. Food that grew in the ground. Food from animals that ate the way animals are supposed to eat. Food that doesn’t need a marketing department. The funny part is that people often look at the way I eat and think I’ve given up everything.

I haven’t.

I just traded things that weren’t serving me for things that do. Instead of pasta, maybe I use eggplant. Instead of chips, maybe I grab walnuts. Instead of cake, maybe I have berries and cream.

It’s not about perfection. It’s about moving in the right direction. And that’s the message I wish more people understood.

Transformation doesn’t happen all at once.

Nobody wakes up one morning and loses 300 pounds. Nobody reverses decades of damage in a weekend. You change one thing. Then another. Then another. Eventually those small changes start connecting together.

You begin feeling better. You begin thinking differently. You begin wanting different things.

One day you look back and realize you’re walking an entirely different path than the one you started on. When people ask me how I lost the weight, that’s the answer.

Not one giant decision.

Thousands of small ones.

One step at a time.

One meal at a time.

One choice at a time.

And eventually, a whole new trail through the woods.

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