The melted cheese sandwich.

It’s 9:00 p.m.

Your kids are finally asleep.

Or at least quiet and busy studying in their rooms.

Dinner is finished.

Bath time is finished.

Homework is finished.

You’ve cooked.

Cleaned.

Prepped for the next day.

You finally take off your bra and your clothes and put on your pajamas.

Your husband is either still at work, watching TV, out with his friends, or sleeping.

For the first time today...

no one needs you.

Now what?

You’ve been SO GOOD all day.

You managed to avoid that croissant when you met your friends for coffee.

You ignored dessert.

You ate your small salad without oil, your half cup of steamed rice, and your one piece of boiled chicken for lunch.

You had your one fruit.

Your Greek yogurt.

Exactly like the diet plan hanging on your refrigerator door told you to.

You didn’t even eat that leftover bite...

just one tiny, tiny bite...

of the melted cheese sandwich your son left behind on his plate.

Even though you were dying to.

You kept telling yourself,

“It’s SUCH a small bite.”

“I shouldn’t throw bread away.”

“What difference could this make?”

But STILL...you threw it out.

Because you were being very good.

But now the house is still.

Now you have nothing to do.

And bedtime is still a few hours away.

You scroll Instagram.

Nothing.

Facebook.

Nothing.

The same news.

The same posts.

Nothing to inspire you.

So you go sit next to your husband to watch TV.

He’s watching football.

Or a show you genuinely can’t imagine anyone sitting through.

You get up.

(Your husband wasn’t paying attention to you anyway.)

You wander around your house.

You pick up a few more stray shoes.

A sock.

A book someone left on the coffee table.

You unload the dishwasher.

As you put the clean plates and cutlery away, you think to yourself...

I’m tired.

I’m bored.

I’m fed up.

Every day is the same.

Day in.

Day out.

Then...

almost absent-mindedly...you open the refrigerator.

You’re not really hungry.

(Or are you?)

But the cheese you used to make your son’s melted cheese sandwich earlier is right there on the shelf in front of you.

Right next to the bread.

Without thinking...and maybe with a small sigh...

you take them out.

You’re going to make a small sandwich.

A really small one.

And you tell yourself...

“Tomorrow I’ll be back on my diet.”

You slice the cheese.

Place it between the bread.

Pop it into the microwave.

You listen to the cheese as it sizzles and melts.

You remember at the last minute that a cucumber would go perfectly with the melted cheese.

So you take the sandwich out of the microwave and, while you wait for it to cool, you wash and chop the cucumber.

You can smell that familiar aroma of the cheese mixed with the bread...

and the scent calms you down and fills you with more excitement than you’ve had the past week.

And you didn’t even realize you needed calming down. Or that you actually hadn’t had any excitement in so long.

You don’t even sit to eat.

You take a bite of the sandwich standing at your kitchen counter, relishing the moment of solitude and pure joy and comfort this sandwich gives you.

And even as it calms you...

your heart beats a little faster at how GOOD it is.

You take another bite.

And another.

Stuffing the cucumber in between so you can get that perfect mix of tastes.

It feels good.

It tastes good.

YOU feel good.

So good...

you want another one.

You tell yourself...

“I’ve had one already.”

“What difference will having another one make?”

“What’s done is done.”

The bread and cheese are still on the counter anyway.

You never put them back.

So you make another sandwich.

And you relish the same sensations all over again.

You feel so much better.

Happy, even.

Just as quickly...the guilt sets in.

You put everything back in the refrigerator.

You look around quickly.

“Did anyone see I broke my diet?”

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow you’ll be back on track.

For years, you thought this story was about discipline.

About willpower.

About another failed “diet.”

You thought the sandwich was the problem.

Or the bread.

Or the cheese.

Maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe, after spending the entire day taking care of everyone else...

that sandwich was the only thing that had taken care of you.

Not because it was cheese.

Not because it was bread.

But because, for ten solitary minutes, standing at your kitchen counter...

you belonged only to yourself.

And maybe that’s why this ritual repeated itself night after night.

Not because you were hungry for food.

But because you didn’t know what else to do with yourself once everyone else had been taken care of.

Maybe the question was never,

“Why can’t I stick to my diet?”

Maybe the real question was...

Now what?

I’d love to know...

Have you ever had your own “melted cheese sandwich” moment?

A moment when you realized you weren’t really hungry for food... you were hungry for something else?

Tell me in the comments. ❤️

If this essay felt familiar...

...the conversation continues below.

Inside this week:

• Why my brain never really stops writing even when I’m trying to sleep.

• Why I’m changing my mind about laughter, political correctness, and what we’ve lost along the way.