I am becoming more aware of my emotional eating triggers. This week, I faced fighting down the demons that urge me to believe that the best cure for dealing with anxiety is to eat.

I suppose that this is one of those instinctive fight-or-flight responses we have as humans. Our ancestors likely responded to stress cues about the upcoming winter or battles with other tribes by fortifying themselves with food in preparation. But then, much like wolves devolved into furniture-loving schnauzers, most of us have things a lot easier than our ancestors did, even a few decades back.

We don’t have to go out and kill a deer and drag it home.

We have Sonic.

That yearning to satisfy anxiety with food is still there, though. I don’t have to check the larder during the winter to see if there’s adequate food stored until spring. I have only to walk to the fridge in the kitchen. It’s not a necessity; it’s a choice.

Needless to say (but I’ll say it, anyway!), the nature of my anxieties are, for the most part, far removed from those of my great-great-grandmother. News travels at lightning speed, and since my career is online, it can be a tough matter to set aside the news of the day and go on with my business. I consider myself disciplined in this regard; I have the ability to step away from the melee before it invades my brain.

I consider myself a lover of history, so I allowed myself some time to watch history being made — namely, the Congressional counting of electoral votes. I knew before going in that it would be contentious. I had prepared myself for that — but not for the madness that interrupted it. Before I could look away, I knew it would be another day I would always remember, much like 9/11, or the Challenger explosion. I will forever know exactly what I was doing at the time. This time, the horror of watching events unfold ate at my thoughts like a mound of angry fire ants.

It’s times like these when I have to barricade my emotions and not let them get out of hand unless I want to end up in the fetal position in a dark room — or sitting on my butt and shoving anything resembling food into my face, making myself feel even worse. Giving in to such things begins or extends the spiral into depression, and I am acutely aware that it’s part of who I have been. I never want to return to that.

Merely remembering the lessons I’ve taught myself to avoid that spiral isn’t enough. I have to pull in and keep moving; keep to my goals, whether they’re work-related, family-related, or personal. I have to show up and do what’s necessary to keep improving my life, even if it’s the merest action of achieving my daily goals. At the end of the day, one of my biggest desires is to be satisfied with what I have done with my day, not dissolve into sleepless nights when my mind serves up every single thing I’ve ever done wrong.

This week, I find myself still 8 pounds above my low weight, but I’ve come a long way over the course of the week, and I am still pushing to hit my goals. In a teeter-totter world, these are the things that keep me balanced. There are certainly days — like Wednesday — where I can do no more than that, but certainly, doing no less helps immensely. Beating emotional eating, this time, has been a small victory that girds me for the next challenge.