I’m over here wondering for the 12th Easter running why, in the name of all that is holy and chocolate-coated, I gave up processed sugar.

Twelve Easters.

Twelve.

I'm simultaneously glad I'm looking after myself and also fuming about it.

Every year the shops fill up with Mini Eggs, Creme Eggs, giant eggs, posh eggs, caramel eggs, eggs with bits in, eggs in mugs, eggs in baskets, eggs apparently stuffed inside other eggs for reasons known only to Satan himself and the marketing department executives at Cadbury.

And I rue the day I ever had the thought "I value my blood sugar levels! Someone give me an oat cake!"

I know why I stopped eating it.

Energy crashes.

Inflammation.

Not wanting to wake up feeling drugged and abandoned in a lay-by under a pile of empty Chunky KitKat boxes.

I know I've done the right thing for my health.

But Easter really does make the whole No More Processed Sugar thing feel like my ex has come back into my life flaunting a new six pack and hair implants.

I'd love to be absolutely leathering chocolate by 9:15 in the morning and calling it my “Easter Breakfast Tradition”.

I miss the reckless abandon.

Inhaling a chocolate egg the size of a toddler’s head before lunch and then feeling unwell in a way that felt absolutely worth it.

Now I’m the woman sucking on a Ryvita and telling myself it's for my own good.

Anyway, happy Easter to everyone who celebrates.

I hope you have a gorgeous day.

And to anyone else having a moment by the Lindt rabbits.

I understand.

You are my people.

M x