I placed one on the lid of each pint. Then, I stared down into the freezer for 10 full seconds. Next, I whipped out my phone, opening Word Swag , an app that lets you make your own version of those inspirational text-on-image photos (I guess so you can post an Instagram photo of yourself on holiday with the phrase, “not all who wander are lost” across your face). Instead, I found a picture of an ice cream cone and reiterated one of my own inspirational messages: Anytime you want. I set it as my phone background. If my brain couldn’t hear me, maybe it could see.I’d taken the old diet trick and flipped it inside out: not a glaring keep-out sign, but an open, casual invitation. A little cheesy and self-helpy? Maybe, but oh who the hell cared? I had spent my whole life overthinking ice cream, trying to puzzle it out like the riddle of the sphinx, rather than just eating it or not eating it — you know, like food. I was not going to waste one more second of my life worrying over this nonsense when there are infinitely more important things to worry about. Not to mention the fact that there was so much in my life to not worry about, but things to celebrate, things to enjoy, things to relish and be grateful for. What might my life look like if I could use all this energy to focus on those things instead of dessert? This was an all-out permission assault.That first day, the change was minimal. I had some ice cream after dinner, and while it wasn’t an anxiety free experience, I did notice the knot in my chest soften just a bit when I saw those cheery Post-Its looking up at me when I took the pint out, and again when I put it back. (My boyfriend noticed the change too, asking what was up with all the signage in our freezer. “IT HELPS ME,” I kindly explained.)And, in the days and weeks that followed, it did. Each time I opened the freezer, I got a little more permission. I didn’t have to wait for an ice-cream urge to hit. I saw it every time I looked at my phone; my brain was barraged with both images of ice cream and the full, unwavering promise that it wasn’t going anywhere and I was 100% allowed to have it.My ice-cream shopping habit slowed down. The pint collection dwindled from six to two or three. I noticed myself not noticing the proximity of the artisanal scoop shop every time I went to the subway. I still ate ice cream, maybe a little less. I’m not sure how much really, because here’s the real miracle: I was thinking about it a lot less.It worked. No surprise twists here. The permission assault just worked. For the first time in my life, the decision to eat ice cream is simple: Do I want it? Will it satisfy me? Okay, let’s have some. It’s gone from advanced calculus to advanced common sense. Sometimes I do want it and it will satisfy me, but my brain jumps in with a reminder: Oh but I’m going to that restaurant that serves my favorite sundae later. So, maybe I’ll hold off so I can really enjoy that one. And then it shuts the hell up. No counter-arguments, no doomsday visions of chocolate-covered fat grams. It’s just not that important.That’s the ultimate message here. It might not sound as peppy as, “Anytime you want!” But that’s what my brain really needed to hear: Ice cream is just not that important.Now that the months have turned cooler, I’ve lost further interest in ice cream. To be clear, I don’t mean to say that I never eat it and never will again, and surprise, Post-Its are the world’s most effective dieting tool. Post-Its didn’t take away my taste for ice cream, but they helped take away my ice-cream obsession. I’m not eating it very much now, not because I’ve conquered it with an iron will to abstain — but because it’s cold out. I don’t feel like it. This is normal. I’m becoming more normal. And this shiny new mundanity is one of the things I am so damn grateful for.