ITS 10:30 AM AND I'M HUNGRY

It’s 10:30 a.m., and my body has started asking questions.

Important ones.

Aggressive ones.

The kind that suggest a formal protest is loading.

Somewhere between hunger pang number three and my stomach clearing its throat, my brain randomly decided to ponder the meaning of AM and PM, to the point I had to ask Google (For the record: AM is Ante Meridiem which means "before midday". PM is Post Meridiem which means "after midday". You’re welcome. Knowledge has been shared. Growth has occurred.)

Now that we’ve settled that very pressing matter, let me tell you this: my body, rudely and without prior notice, demanded an explanation for why it was still hungry after only two very boring boiled eggs and a handful of mixed nuts.

Excuse me???

I live in Nigeria. I am a civil servant. I am a single mother. My days are full; work, responsibility, caregiving, bills, and decisions that do not pause just because I’m tired or hungry. I live in a house that is always stocked with food, in a neighbourhood where excellent restaurants are everywhere.

Temptation here is not occasional. It is geographical.

And even when money is tight, especially when money is tight, it is incredibly easy to want to spend one’s last dime on something warm, indulgent, comforting. Something that feels like relief, even if just for ten minutes and a receipt.

This is usually the hour when hunger stops being physical and becomes emotional. When my mind starts scanning for comfort, not nutrients. Bread would be easy. Something warm would feel kind. Something quick would quiet the noise.

At this exact time of day, I know precisely where my thoughts would normally drift: Dulce Café. Bakendales. Wilson’s Bistro. A morning latte or hot chocolate, plus at least two cheese croissants, because obviously.

And on days when indulgence felt “earned,” I wouldn’t stop there. I’d order a full English breakfast or fish and chips because why spend good money on a salad, leave hungry, and still feel cheated? That logic used to make perfect sense to me.

Today, I’m sitting with a different kind of awareness.

So far, I’ve done one hour and thirty minutes of cardio and I’ve been able to fast. Over the last 48 hours, I gave myself a one-hour eating window and genuinely tried to keep it healthy.

Yesterday, however, tested me.

The Renee Supermarket cake sitting quietly in the fridge did not allow me peace. I thought about it. I negotiated with myself. I held imaginary meetings.

And yes, I ate it.

But here’s what’s different this time, it didn’t derail me.

I didn’t spiral.

I didn’t abandon the day.

I didn’t announce failure and start planning a “proper restart” for next Monday.

I still showed up at the gym and did my one hour.

When my mind starts to drift toward guilt, panic, or old patterns, I’ve asked God for help to refocus. Not for perfection but for clarity.  For the strength to pause, choose differently, and return to the path without self-contempt.

Right now, discipline doesn’t look dramatic, it looks like pausing.

Breathing.

Choosing structure over punishment.

Staying present instead of disappearing.

I don’t feel strong, I feel aware. 

And today, awareness is enough.

It’s 10:30 a.m.

I’m hungry.

And I’m still here.