Finding Comfort in Chicken Wings: A Break-Up Story
Last week, I experienced a rather painful break-up. It happened late one night as I sat on my sofa, glued to the television around 11:30 PM (trust me, the timing is crucial). I came to the realization that I could no longer continue this relationship. It had become overwhelming, and it was time for me to let go. I glanced down at my lap, where the remnants of my obsession lingered, and made the tough decision that, much like Ross and Rachel, we needed to go on a break.
With a sense of defiance, I stood up, made my way slowly to bed, and only glanced back briefly. As I lay there, I could feel my stomach grappling with the consequences of something I should have put an end to long ago. This was it – I needed to take a break from fried chicken wings.
Now, allow me to explain. I fall into that category of individuals who “eat their feelings.” When facing moments of intense sadness, my go-to comfort is not chocolate or sweets – sugary treats simply don’t appeal to me. I crave savory delights.
So, when I seek solace, my favorite comfort food has always been chicken wings. Since the heart-wrenching passing of my best friend Darrell a month ago, I found myself indulging excessively in chicken wings, often accompanied by a delightful glass of Rioja (I may hail from south-east London, but I do have a taste for the finer things).
During this past month, I spent a considerable amount of time at Darrell’s house, supporting his wife and children, cooking, tidying up, and helping them prepare for his funeral. After each visit, I needed time alone to decompress before returning to my own home and hugging my children.
Where did I often find myself? At the pub just two doors down from my house, nestled in a corner with my headphones on, binge-watching Netflix, and enjoying “my usual”: a glass of wine and a plate of wings. On those nights when it was simply too late to be out alone, I would tuck the kids in and then order some wings. Consumed by grief, I sought comfort in the very thing that had always connected me, Darrell, and our shared south-east London roots – wings.
However, it was the night of his funeral that I truly realized the toll this was taking on me. I returned home at 11 PM, overwhelmed with grief, sadness, and a fair amount of rum. Yet, instead of heading straight to bed, half an hour later, I found myself indulging in takeaway wings (they were absolutely delicious, in case you were wondering).
As I savored the last wing in a house that was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the TV in the background, a realization struck me. I could no longer continue down this path. While eating my feelings had initially provided a sense of indulgence and pleasure, it wasn’t addressing the underlying sadness at all. Furthermore, it made returning to the gym feel like an insurmountable challenge, as I was likely 90 percent wings at that point.
When grappling with difficult emotions – whether new or lingering – some individuals turn to sweets, others to savory snacks like myself, and some even seek refuge in alcohol. A full belly or a mind dulled by booze can serve as a temporary distraction from the emotions you’re not yet ready to confront.
If you, like me, have navigated the waters of grief for a while, you can spot the signs from a mile away. I recognized that I was postponing the processing of my loss as I made regular trips to the pub for wings in the days following Darrell’s passing. Yet, I also understood that I needed those moments. I craved the familiarity of enjoying the food we both loved, and for a while, that comfort was essential. I indulged in chicken wings of every variety for four weeks, and to be honest, it served its purpose.
However, now that my jeans are feeling a bit tighter, my face is slightly rounder, and my gym sessions have become far more challenging, I realize that it’s time for me and chicken wings to take a break. A clean split is often the best way to go. But deep down, both wings and I know that one day, I will return to them. Sigh.
