I Can't Stop

At work on Friday, the now standard two boxes of Dunkin’ Donuts were in the kitchen, but we also had an added treat: someone had brought in a homemade “inside out” cake. I don’t really know what made it inside out – it seemed to be just a chocolate bundt cake – but the bit I had was tasty. One of my co-workers, though, seemed a bit dismayed to have multiple sweet options.

As he cut a piece of the cake, he said, “The problem is I really like sweet things. I can’t stop eating them.”

I’m quite familiar with this sentiment. I don’t know how many people I’ve heard say they can’t keep a certain food in the house because they’ll just eat it all at once. I also remember being in that place, where I felt like the instant even a tiny bit of sugar crossed my lips – a single M&M, or a fragment of cookie, perhaps – I would lose all control and eat as much as I could get my hands on.

And yet, hearing it on Friday gave me pause, likely because I’ve been learning more about eating disorders, which are so often about control, and that fear of not being able to stop. The more I thought about it, the sadder it made me, to realize how many people can’t imagine a world where it wouldn’t be about control but choice to have just one, or more.

It doesn’t help that our society and culture promote this idea. I well remember the Pringles slogan from when I was younger, “Once you pop you can’t stop,” and the Lays’ ad that claimed, “No one can eat just one.”

Of course it’s in the interests of food companies to encourage people to think they truly can’t stop, because it means the company sells more of their product. But even if it helps their bottom line, it’s doing so much damage, in ways we don’t always see.

For instance, when I remember back to my younger, heavier days, the idea that I couldn’t control what I ate made me hate myself. I was wracked with guilt, constantly beating myself up for my lack of willpower, without quite realizing the ways in which I was being manipulated, first to expect that I couldn’t stop, and then to feel like I was a horrible person because of it.

When I think about how much this has changed for me, I consider what I might say to my younger self, to help her with this struggle. It’s hard, because I was so damaged and set in my ways of thinking and being that I might not have listened. But I could at least try and say, “Imagine that you can stop, that after you’ve had one, you might be satisfied. Imagine, too, that maybe you aren’t satisfied and want another, but that’s how you feel, not how someone else is telling you how to feel. And consider that either option is okay – but mostly to realize that they are options, and it’s about choice, not control.”

Although I can’t actually say that to the younger me, I take some consolation in knowing now that it is true, and in the hope that maybe I can help others understand their own options and choices. I only wish we were not in a culture that makes this so hard to accept.

Note: The Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating program can help shift from thoughts of being in control to being in charge. For more information, visit www.AmIHungry.com or visit my website.

Willpower

In honor of Weight Stigma Awareness Week, I want to write about one of the origins of weight stigma, which is the belief that being overweight is simply a result of poor willpower, that anyone fat is lazy and weak, that if they just got up and exercised and learned to say, “No, thanks,” the problem would be solved.

While I don’t agree with this concept now, I did believe it when I was younger and heavier. After all, I had no other way to understand why I ate the way I did, or couldn’t seem to lose weight even when I was dieting. The result was feeling constantly ashamed and judged – which, ironically, made me eat even more.

Which leads me to my main concern with this stigma: it ignores the reasons why people overeat. Sometimes it’s relatively straightforward, such being served a lot of food and conforming to the societal expectation to “clean your plate”.

But many times, the food and act of eating is done to fill some other need. Emotional comfort, distraction from pain or boredom, stress relief, and more. To therefore say that someone just needs to use some willpower and not eat the cookies or cake or chips or whatever else is insensitive to the deeper reasons that cause someone to reach for the food to begin with.

It took a long time for me to understand this, even coming from an insider’s point of view. And as I think about it, I realize that I did have to use a lot of willpower when losing weight, but not in the traditional sense of the word. I had to look at the needs driving me, to acknowledge and accept them, and more, to find ways of filling them that did not involve eating. That was much harder than simply passing when someone handed around a plate of goodies.

To really understand the emotions and rationale behind my food choices took a lot of strength, and the will to be honest with myself. This is something that many people have to do, if they get too deep into other types of unproductive or even destructive habits; the problem is that weight is much more visible than almost anything else. It leads people to more easily pass judgment, to feel superior that they are stronger, and hence stigmatize those who are overweight.

Not everyone has this stereotype or stigma, of course, but for those who may find themselves falling into that assumption, I’d like to suggest a different approach. When seeing someone heavy, try to recognize the person behind the weight, feel empathy and compassion for them, and know that they are not so different from you. 

Life is Too Short

Yesterday I attended the memorial service of a woman from my church who recently passed away after a little over 20 years of battling cancer. The stories shared by family and friends had a few common themes, one of them being her love of dessert. My impression was that she did not take any of her time here for granted, and that while she was health-conscious, she also didn’t intend to deny herself a taste of life’s sweetness.

When I heard this, I couldn’t help remembering my mom, and how she, too, had often gone for the food she really wanted. She might not have a lot of it, but on the occasions when she did, she thoroughly enjoyed it. One prime example was soft-serve ice cream, which she sometimes had despite her milk allergy.

She also used to pick raspberries in the summer with the goal of freezing enough for a birthday pie in January. We even brought one into the hospital shortly before she lost her own struggle with cancer, which happened to be the day after her birthday. Although very weak, she was able to take a bite or two, at least enough to taste.

With all of this in mind last night, I appreciated of the synchronicity of getting to the chapter on “Bacon” when reading George Takei’s book Oh Myyy! (There Goes the Internet). In it, he wrote about the decadent attraction of bacon, how so many people respond to it like a siren song, enough so that some restaurants now include bacon as part of dessert. While Takei said that he tries to be relatively healthy, he added, “Life is too short not to order the bacon dessert.” (p. 68)

When I think of my mom, who was just 48 when she died, and the woman from my church, who was in her early 50’s when she got her initial diagnosis, I’m inclined to agree. But I also can’t help thinking what a difficult balancing act this can sometimes be, especially with societal and medical pressures encouraging us to only be focused on health. Given that life is short, the goal seems to be to extend it as long as possible.

But conversely, as one of the other speakers pointed out yesterday, it’s not so much about the amount of time we have as what we do with it. Personally, I have always valued quality over quantity, and I do want to enjoy my time here, however much of it I might have.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to rush out and start eating bacon and desserts exclusively. Realistically, I don’t think I’d enjoy that for very long; I love too many other foods. Instead, on those occasions when I want something but worry a little what others might think (which still happens at times), I’ll remember this, knowing that I want my life, short or long, to include both the savory and the sweet.

That Cow

It’s amazing what two little words can bring up, even if the person they’re directed at isn’t me.

“That cow.”

My reaction took me by surprise. I was watching the American version of MasterChef, and among the top four finalists was a woman named Krissi. For those who haven’t seen the drama, Krissi was not a favorite of anyone, being loud and often outright rude, mean, and opinionated. She certainly didn’t win any points from me, particularly seeing her open hatred for a vegetarian chef who was previously sent home.

Krissi was also overweight, the only one of the final four who was (and one of the very few in the competition in general). And she ended up in a head-to-head competition with Jessie, a thin, blonde, Southern belle.

At one point during the duel, Jessie said that she needed to send “that cow” home.

I was instantly thrown back to junior high and high school, when girls called me cow, and porky, among other less than flattering terms. I remembered the burning anger and shame and humiliation. In that moment, I forgot any grievances I had with Krissi, all the derogatory names she had called people (though I don’t recall any of hers being weight-related). All I felt was an unexpected connection with her, a sort of us vs. them mentality. I wanted her to send skinny Jessie home.

I was amazed at how deeply it hit me. I thought I had gotten past all that. After all, people looking at me now would see me as the thin one, but clearly some part of me is still that fat teenaged girl getting picked on.

I wondered, then, if this is something I’ll ever get past, when thinking about it won't bring tears to my eyes. Then I asked, do I want that to happen? Do I ever want to be in a place where I’m okay hearing someone use fat-shaming words against someone else, where it does not make me take notice? Probably not.

So I was disappointed that Krissi lost, but then pleased when Jessie at least lost the next round.

And my heart, aching, goes out now and always to everyone who has had such words thrown at them. I only hope you know that it’s not the truth of who you are.

Miracle Berries

I have a confession: I have a sweet tooth. This probably isn’t a surprise to anyone who’s read about my experiments with baking and vegan ice cream. It also contributed to my weight gain when I was younger; at certain points, no candy (particularly if it had chocolate) or baked goodies were safe around me.

My desire – which often felt like need – for super-sugary foods has declined over the years. I instead enjoy a range of flavors, including some tartness, and I appreciate natural sweetness much more. Fruit never tasted this good when I was a kid, and things like sugar snap peas and ripe corn almost seem as sweet as candy once did.

So it was quite an interesting experience to try miracle berries. For those unfamiliar with them, these are fruits, usually purchased in dried form, that change your taste receptors so that bitter and sour things suddenly seem sweet. It’s temporary, but while it’s in effect, it’s potent.

First I tried lemon. This involved sucking it straight off the peel, no sugar, not diluted in water, just pure lemon. And it tasted like sweetened lemonade, or a lemon candy. Key limes and red grapefruit were similar, and even a sip of apple cider vinegar was very palatable. Even the flavors of some naturally sweet fruits, particularly berries, were enhanced. It was an utterly strange but fun experience, almost like something from Willy Wonka.

These berries are apparently quite popular among diabetics, and they can even help some cancer patients who experience a metallic taste after having chemo.

The obvious question, then, is would this help with weight loss?

I don’t honestly know. My take on it is that this might be a good tool for people, but not an overall fix. After all, my desire for candy bars and the rest had something to do with taste, but not everything. Even when I wanted something sugary, I was often eating too quickly to get the full experience of sweetness, since I was afraid someone would catch me. It was more about the act of eating, as well as the forbidden, illicit aspect of those foods.

For those early days when I truly felt I needed a sugar hit, it might have helped. But I still would have needed to understand why I was eating in the first place to get to a point where that craving wasn’t so insistent or frequent.

Regardless of why people use the miracle berries, it’s fascinating to try and think about how easily what we consider “sweet” can change. It makes me wonder about other tastes, and how we can reshape our whole experience of food with something so small. From that perspective, they do, indeed, seem miraculous.