Weight Watching

I recently finished Jessica Simpsons new book and after binge reading it, it really got me to thinking about how 75% of the book is essentially her coming to terms with trying to love her body, trying to lose weight for other people, trying to lose weight for a role or trying to be comfortable in her own skin. I remember being an avid Newlyweds fan and thinking my gosh she looks so amazing in those Daisy Dukes shorts! and then a few years down the line, when she had on those “mom jeans” at an outdoor concert, I remember feeling so sorry for all the names they called her.

This got me to thinking about the ups and downs of my own weight and food consumption in general. I think I have a fairly healthy relationship to food and some of this is in thanks to my parents and some of it, is just because I love to eat as much as any other hobby that I have. I have loved swimming since I was four and everytime I do the backstroke in the water, it gives me the same peaceful feeling, but I also love raking that fork through a bowl of homemade mac and cheese. I love them equally the same, even more so in quarantine.

I think some of my positive relationship to eating, comes from growing up on a farm and having a large family and just hustling to get your full plate, survival of the fittest kind of deal. We always raised our own meat and I think I loved bacon so intimately, that any diet that never includes it, I am always going to turn my nose up at. I also grew up watching my mom order ice cream when we did and showing me all the best ways to properly spray vinegar on french fries.

When I was in middle school and high school I sat and ate with a group of friends who loved food almost as much as me, so we never sat in a circle lightly sipping diet coke and eating two almonds. Additionally, the thought of withholding food to impress a boy, seemed like selling my soul to the devil. I once went over to a boys house that I was interested in and when dinner was served, I think I ate three helpings of chicken. I wasn’t embarrassed by this or self conscious because at my house, we would have elbowed each other to get a fourth piece. When the boy commented on the ferocity in which I ate my dinner, I looked around at the onlookers, like doesn’t everyone eat like it’s a pie eating contest? His mom then proclaimed she ate a chocolate cake by herself once and I felt instantly relieved, like hey I’m not the only food worshipper over here.

I honestly had a super awesome, super amazing relationship to my weight and to the scale until after I had kids and then I thought it was supposed to be a certain number and the more I tried and the more I stepped on that square, the more worthless I felt. After I had Payson, I went to Weight Watchers with my friend Nichole and counted all the points and ate all the things and only lost four pounds in three weeks. Four pounds people! I was miserable too. I hated the Weight Watcher packaged meals, I hated counting out 14 Cheez Its and then handing the rest of the box to my husband. When the three weeks were out, Nichole picked me up in her van and we drove to Fat Boys, eating chicken and sipping root beer floats, basking in the glory of my four pounds lost. By the time we got locked out of her van because we were so excited to be watching Magic Mike in the theatre, I had tasted the buttery goodness of the popcorn and completely abandoned the Weight Watcher mentality.

Years later, when everyone began hopping on the Whole 30 Diet, I begged Joe to do it along with me. I was exercising my little heart out, but feeling hefty at 162 pounds. We bought all the things, the books, the salad dressings, the organic beef. The first week we did it, I literally thought I was going to die. I had headaches, I had shaky withdrawals from missing my sugary coffee. I would watch people eat spaghetti in the staff room at work and open my mouth and swallow when they did. After the first week, I noticed Joe’s body composition change completely, extra weight drained from his face, his arms and shoulders became more defined. After one week, he lost something like 10 pounds. I took off all my clothes, earrings and bracelet and carefully stepped on the scale. I had lost a pound and half.

A pound. And. A Half.

I cried, I swore at him. I put chocolate in his scrambled eggs to spite him. Here I was, torturing myself and preparing all this wholesome food and doing all these damn dishes and the universe was working against me. At the end of the month, I ended up losing 8 pounds and Joe ended up losing some ungodly amount. The experience of Whole 30 was somewhat of a bust for me because it felt like punishment and it also felt like some weird social experiment of marital torture. In the end, I just think guys have different body structures and respond so differently than females, but also if you go into any diet, having the expectation that you will lose x amount just because someone else does, you end up losing x amount of value for yourself. I have decided I just don’t have time for that.

Fast forward, to today and I am not at my goal weight but happyish. I also haven’t stepped on a scale in four months. I can tell I am not at my goal weight because my running is slower, and my skinny jeans are hella tight. I also have some weird acne and I am sleeping worse. These are all signs that my emotional eating has been up and in essence I’m sure if I stepped on the scale hourly I could see it reflect that. Instead, I’m going to exercise more and differently and start out by drinking more water and less coffee and wine. This week I already started and it turns out, if you do a workout and drink two full glasses of water, it’s hard to have three cups of coffee in a row. I also go into the grocery store, now that my bravery has been restored and just completely annihilate the produce section. I take all the watermelon and all the cantaloup in the cut up, for lazy people, convenient section that I can get my hands on. It is not weight watchers, it is not Atkins but I can feel the difference and that is the most important. Also I don’t want my daughter to think that she ought to punish herself to look a certain way and I for damn sure don’t want my son to think that girls should eat a certain way to fit into a mold of looking good for his luxury viewing.

What is your relationship to the scale? Have you been stepping on or stepping off during quarantine? Do you emotionally eat like I do or eat for purpose and fuel? I am trying to grow toward the second, but it is a challenge as of late.