I constantly have to remind myself that my issues with food are lifelong ones. Once I hit goal weight, no weight fairy will fly over my head and sprinkle magic “stay skinny” dust on me and I’ll magically be “cured.” Sadly, that’s not how it works. Though of course, I wish it were.
When I watch other people, people who have normal relationships with food, I wonder why I can’t be one of them. What karmic nonsense is this that I feel the need to stuff myself with food until I feel ready to burst? Why am I compelled to eat when I feel sad, happy, hurt, angry, sleepy….
It’s not a matter of knowing WHAT to eat. I’ve been going to WW on and off for years. I’ve studied nutrition, both on my own and in college courses. I know what healthy foods to eat and how to lose weight and what terribly calorie-sucking foods to avoid. None of this is new information. I can look at a cookie and say “Now, Kristen, there’s no nutritional value in that. Why don’t you have a pear instead?” And I LIKE pears better! They’re so yummy and delicious. But there’s something inside me, some compulsion, that has me eat that stupid cookie. And 15 of his neighbors. And I get sad and depressed, figure I’ve ruined the day, and continue to binge.
I wonder at what point does it get easier? Does it ever? Even at my lowest weight ever, at about 153, I still wanted to eat the cookie. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to relax about food. Not if I want to keep the weight off and be happy and healthy. Weight Watchers and their principles are things I will have to do every day for the rest of my life if I want to have any kind of handle on food. And really, that kind of pisses me off. I know it’s what I have to do, and I’ll DO it, but I really, really hate it. It makes me feel very abnormal. And, in a way, weak.