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If I grab my second helping of mashed potatoes quickly, I thought, I would quietly scoop some spuds onto my plate from the Thanksgiving spread. Well, calories don't count on holidays. Whatever. I will exercise harder tomorrow.
The year was 1998. I was 35 pounds heavier after delivery than I was before. I was wearing a cute sweater and jeans, and I felt like myself again.
I thought people were looking at my plate. Susan, check yourself! I shrugged it off as paranoia.
Diet and weight loss was the topic of the conversation as we ate. Everyone is on a diet. What is working? Who has gained weight? I imagined relatives saying to each other that Anna Wintour told Oprah to lose 20 pounds.
I voiced my own thoughts and experiences. I said I was working on my pre-pregnancy weight. 23 years later, a family member turned to me and said something that burned into my brain.
At what point do you stop blaming your pregnancy weight for your weight gain?
I was surprised. Embarrassed. Angry. It was sad. I thought that it wasn't all in my head. Everyone is judging me because of my weight gain.
I quietly muttered, "I don't know." I felt very conscious of everything as waves of shame rolled over me. The way my body sat, my jeans were digging into my belly, and I had gravy on my plate.
I gained 70 pounds during my pregnancies and lost 35 after delivery. Can they see that I am trying? I wanted to scream.
I felt angry after. How dare they make comments about my body? My business, my body! I was healthy and not my pre-pregnancy size. I started the doom spiral despite telling myself these things.
I entered a harmful cycle of restricting my food intake for weeks before I could binge on holidays. This would be followed by excessive workouts and the cycle would continue. My weight fluctuated all over the place.
For the better part of a decade, I had a love-hate relationship with food. I was stuck in a real estate job that I hated, I was dealing with the aftermath of sexual assault, and I had two small children. I turned to food for comfort.
If I felt bad as a mom? Wine and cheese was my favorite food. Is it a long day at the office? Everything was right in the world because of chips and cookies. Food became the answer to everything, from a treat to an activity to occupy me if I was bored.
I needed help. I signed up for a Weight Watchers program at a friend's encouragement, but soon found a way to cheat the system. I focused on the zero point foods and avoided the bad foods. It worked. I have lost a bit of weight. It cost me my physical health.
I felt like a failure. I had a lot of things, including bloated skin, excessive hair loss, and sallow complexion. For a number of years. I held out hope that I would lose the weight I wanted to. I will feel better soon. I will be able to start living the life I want soon.
It never came.
My daughter secretly took a picture of me in my swimsuit. I felt sick as she showed me her work. My mean girl went into attack mode and bombarded me with insult after insult.
It's a lazy slob! Cottage cheese! You will never look good again.
This was my lowest point. I needed help. There is serious help. I was able to find a coach to help me with my issues.
I begged the coach to help me during our first call. I cried before she had a chance to respond. Words came tumbling out of my mouth as I cried.
I told her about the attack. About my anger, my grief, my confusion, and the subsequent spiral into over eating. I told her that I was confused about what I was supposed to be eating and that I felt powerless in the face of food. I told her how embarrassed I was. I was ashamed of myself for gaining weight. I was sad that it wasn't possible to get it off.
My coach was listening. She asked me a simple question, "Susan, what would feel like love right now?"
She said that she wanted to ask the person what they would feel like if they opened the fridge and searched for a snack instead of being stressed, angry, bored, lonely, or full of grief.
She said that a long walk would feel loving. A bubble bath. A great book. snuggling with the kids If you are truly hungry, a plate of food would feel good, rather than a bag of chips.
I gave my coach a chance to work for me because I was skeptical. Her advice worked for me.
When I was making a decision about what to eat for breakfast or when I was feeling stressed, I asked myself, "Susan, which choice feels like love?"
My body's intuition would point me in the right direction whenever I paused long enough to ask that question. Every time. Without fail.
I decided that no food is off-limits. Food has no moral value. It isn't bad. We don't need to run like a character in a horror movie.
I looked at food as a category of power or pleasure. Power food has a lot of vitamins and minerals that make you feel strong. Pleasure food is decadent and fun. A melty grilled cheese sandwich on white bread, a caramel- infused latte, milk chocolate, and a melty grilled cheese sandwich on white bread, are all delicious!
Dieting was not the right answer. It was only after I began to approach my food in a way that was in keeping with my body that I began to lose weight. Years of my life were taken by diet culture. It made me miserable.
The diet industry had a value of $71 billion last year. Almost 45 million people in the US decide every year to lose weight. Ninety-five percent of them don't succeed. Why? Dieting is not pleasurable, realistic or sustainable.
The diet industry took my money, my energy, and my confidence. The time we spend trying to make various diet work is time we will never get back, it could have been spent hiking across Thailand, learning a new trade, or writing a novel.
One of the most empowering decisions I have ever made was to stop eating. After a decade of punishing myself through harsh words and cycles, I have decided to be compassionate.
I am more than my plate of food. The number on the scale doesn't matter to me. It isn't the end of the world if I eat too much. I don't deprive myself of food or work out too hard to make up for it. I just ask what is the most supportive thing I can do for myself right now to feel better.
I used to view food as an activity, but now I listen to what my body wants. Does it want greens? Is it craving a pie? Feeding my body is self-love.
I no longer sit silently and let my relatives judge me. I get the second helping of mashed potatoes with gravy because I know what my body wants.
If someone makes a comment about my food? I made a scene by setting them straight. I am out here enjoying my cornbread.
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The article was originally on HuffPost.
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