Getting Real

As I enter the last phases of publishing my memoir, Winning the Losing Battle: A True Story of Weight Loss and Transformation, the reality of it is starting to sink in. And I’ll be honest. It’s scary.

Then again, getting real is often scary. That’s why it’s something I avoided doing for years.

For instance, I was never honest with my parents about how all the emphasis they put on my weight and food choices impacted me. I never told my closest friend how when I visited her house, I found opportunities to sneak into the kitchen for goodies. I could never tell people who seemed interested in me not to waste their time because I didn’t feel good enough to deserve positive attention.

And now all this and more will be coming out, forcing me to do the hard thing and get real.

The funny thing, it’s terrifying to do, but it also opens the door for so many positives. Like being able to have a conversation with my dad about those earlier years, giving him the chance to share his own perspective. Or telling my friend about those raids on her kitchen, and hearing her say it’s okay.

It reminds me of how for so long I wasn’t even honest with myself about my eating, about why I snuck sweets and ate when and what I did. But once I started doing that, brought those fears and wounds and sorrows into the open, they lost their hold on me.

As for my book, I keep thinking about why I want to publish it. It’s not to make money, although that would be a nice side benefit. My real hope is that it will help others move past shame and fear as I did, have the courage to get real – and then to let it go, heal, and find wholeness so they can move on with their lives. It may be asking a lot, but maybe sharing the hope will help make it a reality.

Vacation from Nutrition Information

Much as I like to focus on mindful eating, I have to admit that I have a very hard time looking at nutrition information and trying not to do something with the numbers.

Part of the problem is, my brain likes numbers. It seems to find amusement in doing mental arithmetic, along the lines of, “If 1 serving is 210 calories, and the serving size is 5 pieces, how many calories are in each piece?” Or, since I know roughly how many calories I normally eat, I might get to dinner and, without prompting, my mind will muse over what else I’ve eaten that day and how many calories might be in it. You can also substitute protein, or fat, or anything else for “calories”.

I don’t particularly want to count calories or grams of different types of nutrients, at least not usually. This is simply how my brain behaves when confronted with the information. Unfortunately, trying to multiply, divide, and add in your head makes mindful eating a challenge.

Then I got an idea when recently re-watching the movie What About Bob? In it, Dr. Marvin gives Bob, an obsessive compulsive, a prescription to take a vacation from his problems. It reminded me of how when I go on a real vacation, I have to ignore the nutrition information because most of the time it’s not available. What if I did the same at home?

The result came almost instantly – I started being more mindful of my eating.

This makes sense. Without those nutritional breakdowns to shape and guide my approach to what I’m eating, I have nothing to go by but how I feel, how the food tastes and affects my body and mood. Furthermore, it makes eating in general more relaxed and enjoyable, knowing I’m not trying to meet some particular quota and wondering if what I’m eating will get me there.

And, also not surprisingly, I may eat less in these circumstances.  After all, nutritional information is based on a 2,000-calorie per day diet, which means if I use their serving size as my default, I’ll end up eating more than I need.

If, however, I use my own internal hunger and fullness cues, I take the serving size that suits me. In some cases that may be more, such as eating a lot of vegetables, or less, such as consuming less meat. 

This isn’t to say I plan to ignore nutrition information forever; sometimes it’s very useful. But taking a vacation from it reminds me I don’t have to rely on such details to get what my body needs. With the holidays fast approaching, this is very helpful, and something I will try to keep in mind on Thanksgiving.

Embracing the Past

The scene is picture-perfect

in my mind:

my younger self

stretched out on her bed,

stomach down so its mass

won’t oppress her,

wipe hips and massive thighs

spilling towards the edges.

Propped on her elbows,

pen poised in her right hand,

left hand dashing away tears

as she writes out her pain.

If I could travel back in time,

I would choose

this moment,

quiet and humble as it is.

How I would love

to sit next to her,

this younger me,

tell her she’s beautiful,

love and embrace her

with all my heart.

How might that have felt?

What wounds might it heal

for her to rest

in that embrace?

My yearning alone does not bend

time and space.

I will never know that balm.

I have only the present,

this moment,

the choice to reach out

to others equally burdened,

share with them

this dream of past embrace,

a dream which may,

with hope and love,

light the way

for their own path

to healing.

Choosing Dessert

Last week, while out for lunch, I did something radical: I chose to eat dessert.

Does that sound like a confession, something blurted out in a moment of guilt with the hope of absolution? It almost seems like it should, because this is how we’re taught to think of dessert and sweets: sinful, guilty pleasure, indulgence.

And since I talk about mindful eating, weight loss, and wellness, then sugar simply doesn’t fit, right? Except that it does, in moderation.

Saying “I chose to eat dessert” is simply a statement of fact, not a confession, and a reminder that choosing sweets can be a viable option.

Admittedly it’s not something I do often, and I hadn’t planned on it before going to lunch. Once at The Green Elephant, though, I remembered how delicious their desserts are. I also couldn’t help noticing how, even after my tasty tofu and vegetable stir-fry, I remained slightly hungry.

Decision time.

If I didn’t have dessert, and I got peckish later, I had plenty of snacks available. Nor was I so hungry that I would be miserable or grouchy if I didn’t eat more. Not ordering was certainly an option.

If I chose dessert, would I regret it later? Would I grow drowsy, have a queasy stomach, or feel overloaded on sugar? Would the taste and momentary enjoyment outweigh any possible negative side effects? How much did I really want the chocolate orange mousse cake?

Remembering the taste, and knowing I hadn’t yet reached a satisfied point in eating, I ordered the cake.

As I remembered, it tasted rich and smooth, a generous velvety chocolate slice with a couple of orange segments dipped in chocolate. Only as I neared the end did I begin feeling full, but not uncomfortably so.

In the afternoon, my stomach let me know I’d had more sweetness than normal, but not enough to make me feel physically bad. I also had a later and lighter supper than normal, not out of guilt but simply because it’s what I wanted.

Best of all, not once did I feel the need to punish myself for eating dessert. After all, it wasn’t a mistake. It was something I decided with full knowledge of my options and possible results, and I’m glad for the choice I made. 

Choosing to Cook

Note: For more information about the Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating program, visit www.AmIHungry.com or my website.

When eating at home, if you had a choice, would you cook, or would you want to have your meal instantly prepared and presented to you by a machine?

For so long, this has been a hypothetical question, since the second option only existed in sci-fi, with items like the replicators on Star Trek where you could simply state what you wanted and – voila! – you would have it. But reality is catching up: a new device now allows you to do 3-D printing of food. You still have to cook it, but the prep is done for you, and they’re working on a machine that will cook as well.

It’s a fascinating idea, especially for those who find cooking a chore. But is something lost in translation? Does cooking, the act of preparing a meal, have benefits beyond nutrition?

Michael Pollan, in his book Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation, argues “that cooking… is one of the most interesting and worthwhile things we humans do.” (p. 11)

What’s so great about it? Part of the benefit is that by working with the raw ingredients, rather than being handed something prepared, we are reminded of our connection to nature, to the plants and animals sustaining us. That’s something all too easy to forget with pre-packaged meals.

Additionally, as Pollan notes: “Is there any practice less selfish, any labor less alienated, any time less wasted, than preparing something delicious and nourishing for people you love?” (p. 23)

I suspect a number of people agree. Gathering in a kitchen, chatting and relaxing while eyeing simmering or browning or baking food, is a way of connecting with those we care about. Even on Star Trek, certain occasions warranted actual cooking, marking it as special.

This is great if you’re sharing a meal, but I hear a lot of people say, “It doesn’t seem worth it to cook just for me.”

My response to this is based on something we discuss in the Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating program. Why are you worth less than anyone else? Why wouldn’t you give yourself the same care and attention you would other people you love?

Admittedly, this can be hard to accept for those who struggle with their self-worth. Personally, it took me a long time to accept loving myself, but I found cooking helped. By taking time to treat myself well, I began to think better of myself, as someone who deserved caring and those home-cooked meals.

Cooking also grounds me. After a long day of sitting in front of a computer, having the chance to produce something tangible – and even better, tasty – is relaxing and energizing, far more than simply staring at additional screens.

It’s not something I can commit my whole evening to, given my number of other interests, but I appreciate the time I spend on it. After all, what better activity than doing something nourishing for body and spirit?

So I’m intrigued by the idea of 3-D food printing, and I think it could be fun as a novelty item, but I’m not prepared to rely on it. While others might, and I don’t fault them for it, I choose to cook, knowing how much it benefits my life. 

Doing What You Love

Note: For more information about the Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating program, visit www.AmIHungry.com or my website.

Last night, after a lot of dancing at a concert, I commented to a friend, “If I did this every night, I don’t think I’d need to do much other exercise.”

Saying it reminded me of the part of the Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating program that discusses the importance of not only eating what you love, but doing what you love, including exercise. And as I thought back, I realized that the band last night has been instrumental in helping me remember how much I enjoy dance.

I first saw Enter the Haggis (now Jubilee Riots) over ten years ago at an outdoor concert. A lot of other groups played before them, and some people had danced. Not me. Even though I had lost weight, I hadn’t yet adjusted to my new body, or the concept of doing anything that might get me noticed. I still preferred being invisible to risking potentially negative attention.

I didn’t know what to expect from Enter the Haggis, but when they came on stage and played rocking tunes – with fiddle, bagpipes, drums, pennywhistle, bass, trumpet, keyboard, and guitar– their enthusiasm and energy proved infectious. I couldn’t stay in my seat. Like many others, I got up and danced.

What a wonderful, freeing experience to remember that moving my body could be joyful and unselfconscious! I occasionally worried what other people might think, but the focus on the band meant no one paid attention to me. And my own enjoyment, of the music and banter and cute band members, helped my concerns take a back seat.

Since then, I have seen ETH in a number of venues, the most unusual being a middle school gym, and each time has been the same. Their albums also provide some of my favorite driving music, and even when sitting I’m tapping my feet, drumming my fingers, or swaying with the beat.

I’d forgotten some of that joy in movement recently, since I’ve had to start doing specific strengthening activities that make me think of exercise more as duty than pleasure.

Dancing last night reminded me I can still find time to balance that with moving for fun. And maybe I can consider the other exercise not as obligation but rather a way to keep my body tuned up so I can continue doing what I love – including dancing at concerts for many years to come.