Tag Archives: diet

Feeding Demons

Feeding Demons

I like buying vodka tonics for my alcoholic friend.

Before he stopped drinking, it was his favorite cocktail.  Mine too.

For him, the vodka tonics cause cascades of problems in his life, both physical and emotional.  One day, he turned a corner.  He acknowledged that he has a problem with alcohol, and announced that he was going to stop drinking and work on getting healthy.

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I am super proud of him.  I cheered him on that first week, then 2, and was ecstatic when he got his 30 day chip from AA.

I took him out for dinner to celebrate, and got him a vodka tonic.  Just one, of course, because I didn’t want him to go overboard.  I just wanted to reward him a little bit.  He *loves* vodka tonics.

Ridiculous, right?  No decent person would sabotage a friend that way.

So why do we do it with food for our friends who are struggling with healthy eating?

Not the friend who’s swearing off dairy for a month because she’s bloated, or the one who wants to be down 5 lbs. for an upcoming social engagement.  No, not the vanity dieters.

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The ones who have struggled with food addictions, with weight issues, with emotional dependency on food for years, decades, even an entire lifetime.  The ones whose quality of life, and quite possibly length of life, is being destroyed by food.  The yo-yo dieters, the ones who hate having their pictures taken, the ones who feel so self conscious when they’re out in public they develop anxiety, the ones on multiple prescriptions before they’re 40.

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They struggle greatly.  If they’re lucky, something clicks one day, and they commit to making a change.  Just like our friend the alcoholic, they decide to take back their life.  You encourage them.  You cheer them on.

Then you set them up for failure.

You have great excuses:

“It’s a birthday, for heaven’s sake!”

“Christmas only comes once a year!”

“One teeeeeeny tiny slice of cake is not going to kill you!”

“Ohmigosh, it’s not like you can go FOREVER without mashed potatoes!”

“Everything in moderation!  Just don’t overdo it!”

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It’s like buying an alcoholic a vodka tonic.  Do you know that research shows sugar is eight times more addictive than cocaine?  EIGHT TIMES.Seriously, the research is right here. )

Imagine, you’re addicted to cocaine.  You want to stop, you really do.  It’s ruining your life.  It’s ruining your health.  It’s ruining your self esteem.  Yet, 90% of what you ingest everyday to survive has some cocaine in it.  You find out that all the “healthy” food you’ve been eating has all sorts of cocaine in it!  OMG!  You tiptoe around to find food that won’t trigger your cravings and the inevitable spiral that happens once you give in.  Then your friends keep offering you cocaine!  Just a little, of course.  Can you imagine?

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Not everyone who drinks alcohol is an alcoholic.  Not everyone who eats a cupcake has a food addiction.  But if your friend has a serious battle with food or weight and is trying to get control of their health and their life, please don’t sabotage them.  Don’t encourage them to “cheat a little”.  Don’t bake them a cake for their birthday, or encourage them to splurge one night at dinner because they “deserve it”.  I know you mean well, but you’re hurting them.  Respect their boundaries.  It may be that they hit a spot where they can have that teeny tiny slice of cake once in awhile, but only they know when they’re ready for that.

Take food out of their celebrations and personal rewards.  Pile up some strawberries, or some other favorite treat that works in their eating plan.  Want to reward a milestone? A gift card for some smaller clothes.  Get a photo frame for a “before and after” reminder of how far they’ve come.  Join them on a walk or bike ride.

Most importantly, love them through the process.  There will be setbacks, there will be failures, but keep pushing and supporting and cheering them on.  Just don’t give them a break with a Kit Kat bar.

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T’was the Week After Christmas….

T’was the Week After Christmas….
T’was the Week After Christmas….

T’was the week after Christmas and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.

The cookies I’d nibble, the eggnog I’d taste.
All the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).

I’d remember the marvelous meals I’d prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,

The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I’d never said, “No thank you, please.”

As I dressed myself in my husband’s old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt—

I said to myself, as I only can
“You can’t spend a winter disguised as a man!”

So–away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip

Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
Till all the additional ounces have vanished.

I won’t have a cookie–not even a lick.
I’ll want only to chew on a long celery stick.

I won’t have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.

I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is a bore—
But isn’t that what January is for?

Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

(author unknown)

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Why Some of Me is Never Coming Back

Why Some of Me is Never Coming Back

I love having this little space to write in.  Even if no one ever read a word of it, I would still write.  It’s my place to ponder, rant, purge, verbally regurgitate, and pontificate.  It gives me a window into my own history, a walk down memory lane, a recall button for emotions and events.

So why have I been missing?  It’s not because I haven’t had anything in my head.  My head is its usual cauldron of mental pot luck, chock full of everything from heart squeezing poignant moments, to exquisite frames of amusement, to guilt inducing rage-fueled fantasies of throat punches.  You know those people who are emotionally flat?  Yeah, I’m the opposite of that.

But I couldn’t write.  Not coherently, anyway.  And while I’m usually ok with just rambling down whatever path my keyboard takes, this was a different kind of jumbled.  I’ve really only been able to focus on one thing:  me.

I had to burn some vacation days between Christmas and New Years, and since my husband was in Canada (THAT’S a whole ‘nother blog topic), I got bored.  I was cruising YouTube, and I watched a video documentary called FatHead.  I’m not sure how I learned about it, but knowing that it was done by a comedian (Tom Naughton), and that it was a response to Morgan Spurlock’s shamelessly inaccurate Supersize Me gave me two reasons to sit back and click PLAY.  So I did.  I wasn’t disappointed:  it was funny, and it made Spurlock look like a fool.  But there was more to it.  It made sense. I watched it again.  And a 3rd time, because I figured that I’m kind of dense at times and really wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing something.

You can click the link below if you want to watch it.

FatHead The Documentary

Then I cried.  For something like 3 days, give or take.  Because, you see, weight is an issue for me.  I could go with the common “I struggle with my weight” cliché, but that is entirely inaccurate.  I surrender to my addiction to food. The referee already counted to 10.  TKO, weight wins.

I eat to manage stress, and to celebrate, and to soothe.  I justify that as acceptable because, you know, abusing food isn’t a big deal.  I don’t drown my troubles in alcohol, I don’t use drugs, I don’t shop til I drop.  I eat.  Nothing comforts me more than a chocolate bar….or queso and chips…..or cheesecake…..or onion rings…..or hot bread out of the oven, slathered in butter.  I love to share my addiction, too.  For those I love, there are always big feasts full of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, French silk pie,  or Mexican extravaganzas. “I love you… I made you a lasagna.”  I’ve actually spoken those words to my middle child.

Just to clarify:  if you allow food to be your security blanket and your demonstration of affection, you get fat.  A little at a time.  My clothing sizes eek up ever so slowly.  Then I “diet” by eating salads with low fat dressing and low fat yogurt and boneless, skinless, flavorless chicken breasts with a baked potato with fat free sour cream.  And I lose 2 lbs. in a week, but I’m starving.  Then something triggers me, and I find myself eating an entire bag of Doritos or a hamburger and fries and I panic.  My loved ones tell me that it’s ok, because they don’t want to see me upset.  My husband brings me a candy bar because I’ve done really well and it’s ok to take a break for a minute.  One Heath bar isn’t going to ruin my life.

The 2 lbs. not only comes back, but it made a 1/2 lb. baby while it was gone and brings it back, too… and my next pair of jeans is one size larger.  Probably only because they’re “cut differently”, or because I want them a “little looser” in case they shrink when I wash them..  Whatever makes me feel better.  I stop buying clothes I like, and start buying clothes that hide.  I see photos from a recent birthday party and can’t believe that’s me in that picture.  Eating cake.  I go back to that salad and low fat dressing, and the cycle continues.

So, anyway, after practically memorizing FatHead, I started doing some additional research. I read, and read, and read some more.  I verified.  Then I pulled up the recently taken Christmas pictures, and looked at myself.  Really looked.  Cried some more.  Dusted my bruised little self esteem off and said “ENOUGH”.  So, I’ve been on a bit of a mission to concentrate on myself and my dysfunctional food relationship. (I actually just sang that in my head, to the tune of “Me and My Shadow”, and it doesn’t work at all.)

It’s  so intense, that I can’t really concentrate on anything else besides the necessities:  family and work.  So, that’s why I’ve been missing.

“How much weight have you lost?”  I get this question regularly.  Here is my answer.

This much fat

I’ve lost this much fat.

15 kg catI’ve lost the equivalent of the world’s largest domestic cat.

35 lbs grapefruit

I’ve lost this crate of grapefruit.

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I’ve lost this pile of leaves.

35 lb wheaton terrier

I’ve lost an average Wheaton Terrier.

15 kg fish

I’ve lost this big fish.

15 kg dog foodI’ve lost this great big bag of dog food.

35 lbs allison

I’ve lost an entire 4 year old granddaughter.  (That’s Allison…my real 4 year old granddaughter.)

And that’s not all.

I’ve lost the stigma of identifying myself as “fat”.  I am not fat; I *have* fat, and I’m losing it.  I’ve lost my confusion over how food works in my body.  I’ve lost my shame in my shape.  I’ve lost my urge to camouflage my size with oversize blouses and accessories.  I’ve lost my fear of failing at this epic battle of Woman vs. Food.

I’ve lost the woman on the left, and I hope I never see her again.  I’m still creating the woman on the right.

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