Food Freedom, Kids' Edition

The other day, Google photos showed me this li'l gem from 14 years ago.

This is D with their friend Morgan (in the background) at the Dallas Zoo. I noticed that D was holding a long twisted marshmallow (a much better choice than when we bought a popsicle in June at the San Antonio Zoo, and its rainbow immediately melted all over D and me, and then it just fell off the stick entirely), but what really struck me was the fact that Morgan also had one. 

Morgan's mom Susan and I were different in a lot of ways, but we got along well and I always thought she was one of the most genuinely kind and encouraging people I've ever met. This picture made me appreciate the ease of parenting in Susan's vicinity. One or both of these kids saw the marshmallow and wanted it, and we both got them. Simple.

Mal has so many good friends whose parents very heavily influence what they eat. If we're somewhere and Mal gets a bag of cookies, those kids also want cookies... and it turns into a whole "thing." They ask their parent, the request is declined, they beg, the parent gets frustrated.

I'm sure the other parent really wishes that I wouldn't let Mal get whatever he wants. But letting my kid eat intuitively is a parenting philosophy I decided on when D was very, very young. I didn't want my kids to have weird food stuff to unravel when they became adults (or if they did, anyway, I didn't want to be the cause of it).

The more I thought about the ease of feeding D and their friends when they were small, though, I realized that relaxed eating was the norm pretty much everywhere we went. When we had lunch at enrichment classes, people had all sorts of stuff, and no one really commented on what anyone else was eating unless it looked good and someone wanted the recipe.

In fact, I remember vividly the exception to that rule when I was watching D's friend's sister once, and she was hungry. I asked if she wanted a grilled cheese sandwich, and she said, "I don't think my mom would want me to eat that much sugar." I was flummoxed. What did she think was in a grilled cheese?

I've heard this from one of Mal's friends many, MANY times. The thing is, I'm very good friends with her mom, too. We just have different food philosophies. But it makes her and Mal's together times around snacks and meals more stressful.

Whereas another friend of Mal's would come over here and eat whatever regardless of what her mom might think, this friend will often reject certain offers by saying her mom wouldn't like it. The other day, after she said no to a banana, an apple, and string cheese, I offered her a Lunchable. She said, "Oh, no, my mom wouldn't want me to eat that. She said they're so bad that even the creator wouldn't let his kids eat them!"

Mal asked me if it was true that they're "bad" and I just indicated that we weren't going to talk about it. But I had to know if that was the truth, so I looked it up. First, I did find a couple of websites that indicated that Bob Drane, who was one of the Oscar Mayer employees who developed Lunchables to help them sell more bologna, didn't let his kids eat the kits (which are not enough food to be a full lunch, in my opinion, but they're adequate in a snack situation) but they were all URLs like "healthvalues" or "eatingcleanforlife," etc. Not what I consider reliable sites, with zero citations. 

I finally tracked down an article from Popular Science entitled "Industry insiders don't use their products like we do. That should worry us," It's a bunch of elitist crap, like the fact that Steve Jobs's kids didn't use iPads. Listen, if I could outsource my kids' every moment, what they do in a day might be vastly different. But this isn't an instructional article for me. It's just saying, "Wealthy people don't have to live the same way that most of us plebes do."

Furthermore, it doesn't say that Drane didn't let his kids eat Lunchables. It says that one of his two adult children doesn't let her kids eat Lunchables because they're "junky" and "awful," and "we eat very healthfully." Barf. Or high five. Whatever.

Here's why I don't really pay much attention to "nutrition" guidelines or diet fads: I've seen them change too much over my lifetime. Eggs are terrible. Steaks are death. Butter will murder you. No, wait! Those fats are good, and protein is great, and margarine is fake and IT is the real danger! Don't eat fat and you won't be fat. Nevermind. Fat is good and satiating, but added sugar is something to avoid. Processed foods and things that are ultra-palatable is what's causing the downfall of our food society! Heck, even salt, which has been vilified for years, has recently made a comeback when studies have shown that the recommended intake of sodium that the American Heart Association publishes is actually associated with WORSE health outcomes than consuming moderately more sodium. 

When D was a baby and couldn't breastfeed, I fed them a bottle of formula. We'd only been home from the hospital for a couple of weeks, but initially, D was losing weight and becoming jaundiced. They were also very frustrated because they were literally starving. I made a bottle, which they slurped right up and were so content. I had been contacted by lactation consultants who offered to come help me figure out the breastfeeding thing, but I was just exhausted and ready not to have to worry about my newborn's health. The threat of being re-hospitalized was too much. I just wanted to know that D was getting enough to eat.

We visited the pediatrician a couple of days into formula-feeding, and I sheepishly admitted that I didn't have the will to try too hard to go back to breast-feeding, and did he think that D would suffer? As he continued D's exam, he asked me, "Is your baby gaining weight? Does your baby seem content? Is your baby thriving? Then I don't care what you do. Keep that up."

I guess that's been my feeding philosophy since. 

Fundamentally, there is a difference between "nutrition" and "health." Nutrition is literally a measure of the nutrients in any given food item. You might say that spinach is more nutritious than a slice of cake, and that's probably true (if it's a real cake and not a fake "hide 'healthy' ingredients" recipe). However, calories are important to consume! And joy from having a treat is a mental health boost that goes a long way toward a total "health" picture. Health isn't just about maximizing every calorie for its narrowly-defined benefit to the mechanical function of your biological components.

Food is about joy and family and socialization and meeting your needs in a specific moment in time. I love a good salad! And I also appreciate a Cinnabon. There is literally no time when I could switch one out for the other. Nor would I want to seek out a "more nutritious" version of a cinnamon roll in order to biohack my body's performance. And I'm certainly not putting that weight on my kids' shoulders. When they're hungry, I want them to listen to their bodies, not to have my voice in their brains knocking around, nor to see my side-eye even if they can still that voice. 

So... here's to those two kids in the picture with uncomplicated relationships with the stick of spun sugar and corn starch that they're carrying around during a fun day at the zoo. They and their moms are my heroes.

Hopeless Case

We've lived in our house for four years now, and although our immediate surroundings are gorgeous, last week I decided that it's time to cross the scary, busy highway that divides my part of town in half, and go explore the other side of the neighborhood.

Mal went with me the first couple of times. We took streets I've only rarely even driven down, and saw a lot of neat houses, including one I've seen for sale on Redfin that has a play castle in the side yard. Mal even found this stash of "diorite" in the road (he's been playing a lot of Minecraft).

Also, yes, my son is six and he's still walking around in public wearing only underpants. I'd blame the pandemic, but that would be disingenuous. He just doesn't like to wear clothes. Anyway, on this walk, Mal walked a good 65-70% of it, which was super helpful on the inclines. Inclines are plentiful and much more pronounced on that side of the highway, as Hill Country does its thing as you get further from the lake.

After a couple of days of this, I found a pretty neat 3.4ish-mile trek that I knew I wanted to try without Malcolm the first time, since a small part of the path doesn't show up as passable on most maps. Here is the route. As you can see, it basically goes around the outside of the other side of town, at the top of a hill. I figured there would be pretty views!

(I didn't start/stop where it shows; I mapped it like this because of the blip there that isn't traversable according to maps.)

Well, I was right. It was gorgeous. Here are some of the views I had during the walk.

About an hour in, I looked at where I was on my phone's map. I hadn't plotted out my route because my phone is losing battery life, plus the route was fairly straightforward. I had thought that the whole circuit might take about an hour and 15 minutes, but could tell that I had a good hour left. I blamed it on the strong wind gusts that were blowing straight into my face as I hiked up, up, up, up. 

Also, I'd not checked the elevation and had believed that once I got to the top of the hill, I'd be up high until I started coming back down toward town. But there were plenty of dips like this one.

Down, down, down, then back up, up, up.

I passed all kinds of discouraging signs like this.

But I know that people who live around the Hollywood sign put up the same warning signs, even though the roads and trails absolutely are for public use.

So. Finally, I hit the place I was guessing was where the map indicated I couldn't get through. There were a bunch of logs piled up to keep cars from ploughing through.

The logs are at the bottom of the picture, and the road just goes away. Also, it's a steep decline down 70 feet. There was no way I was turning around, though. Here's what it looks like from the bottom.

I kept on, even though there were possible portents. 

Soon, I learned that it's impossible to distinguish an unpaved road from a wash when you're looking at Google Maps.

Finally, after two hours and some change, I got back home.

Unexpected hiking conditions notwithstanding, I was a bit humiliated that the walk took me that long.

Until I looked at the map again.

Up there is what I meant to do. This is what I actually did.

It was just under six miles. You can see the bright white road that would cut the route in half. I guess I just missed the turn. I'm going to try that shorter walk soon!

Anyway, when I was looking at the route to see the elevation changes, it varies, but overall there's a 400-foot+ gain from my house to the top of the hill. And I realized that the website I was using to look at elevations, Map My Walk, has a place to track walks. 

Earlier this year, I'd seen a neat Sesame Street virtual run for which you can sign up, and you get swag each time you reach a certain goal. Plus you get a t-shirt. But then I saw that it was $125, and decided it wasn't worth it.

But I had the idea that I could still track my progress just to see how many miles I might walk this year.

Fourth day, and I've realized that I can't. I get too obsessed with it. I'd already decided not to walk today, to give my blisters a chance to heal up a little bit. However, I decided that since the weather was nice and we are headed into some uncertain wintery times in February, I might as well enjoy it while it lasted. I just did a quick half hour.

Later, it was still so nice, I begged Mal to get out with me in his wagon. He declined. But what I recognized is that I didn't want to get out so much because I love it and I love taking Mal around, but because I wanted to log more distance. I don't want to get to that place again. So I'm just going to blithely walk and not pay attention to the miles. Because I DO love my neighborhood, and I do even love weird adventures where I end up in the middle of a nature preserve and don't see any sign of life for more than an hour. 

I can't ruin that with legalism. I'm just not doing that anymore.

Scarcity vs. Abundance

When I was visiting my parents last week, my mom noticed I was drinking more water than I used to (read: any water at all) and asked why I was doing it. In the past, I've exclusively drunk diet soda. I wrote recently about changing over, and, honestly, I think the biggest reason was just boredom. We're all stuck at home, and you can only handle so many days of opening all the blinds, making breakfast, cleaning up, brushing teeth, making lunch, tidying up, checking the mail, making dinner, brushing teeth again, closing the blinds, going on a walk, and heading to bed before you're just itching to shake SOMETHING up.

Then yesterday morning, I had a shower thought:

The question to ask isn't why am I drinking water now, when I didn't used to at all.

The real question is: Why didn't I used to drink water?

And I know exactly why I did not.

For YEARS, I lived from a mindset of scarcity. There was never enough of the things I wanted most: acceptance, emotional stability, and, most of all, FOOD.

My mom made me a Diet Coke birthday cake when I was 16, so obviously I have a history with the beverage. But then once I started dieting in college, diet soda was one thing I enjoyed consuming that I could continue to enjoy without feeling guilty, or having anyone judge me for it.

Also, I didn't and don't and never will believe the causation argument that consuming artificially-sweetened beverages makes anyone gain weight. Yes, I've read all of the things. But none of it is very convincing. If a person does the mental gymnastics "I'm drinking zero calories, so I can eat an extra hamburger," that's nothing about the beverage itself. And it's impossible that the body somehow metabolizes a no-calorie sweetener the same way it metabolizes sugar because "the body doesn't know the difference." So no. I mean, drink it or don't, but it's not the devil, and I've always drunk diet soda, whether I was heavier or lighter.

Anyway, I was restricting. I wasn't eating things I really wanted because I was trying to maintain a weight that would be esthetically pleasing to people who wouldn't like me if I were larger. Then I also experienced a BUNCH of outside control in terms of what music I was "allowed" to like, and which movies were "appropriate" for me to watch, and how often it was "reasonable" for me to interact with various family members.

It was a lot.

But I could drink my diet soda and be quietly happy without annoying anyone.

Fortunately, I don't live in a place of scarcity anymore. I have unconditional love and acceptance from my family and my church, and no one tries to control to whom I talk or how much I love a recording artist or gives me a dirty look for throwing down a slice of pizza at 10:45 PM because I have the munchies.

At some point, I guess it occurred to me that I have enough to enjoy, food-wise, that I had the space to drink water, which wasn't my favorite. I'm also drinking other things. Like I'll have a mug of milk with cookies, whereas for years, I didn't want to "waste" the calories on the milk (which wasn't my priority) when I was calculating intentionally "spending" calories on cookies (something I wanted); it seemed too extravagant. Also, I've started drinking a can of V8 Sparkling Energy drink as my morning "coffee" and it has a whopping 50 calories; I literally used to disavow ingesting calories on liquid, unless it was a smoothie with which I was replacing a meal.

I don't have to live that way anymore. I'm allowed enough pleasure that I don't have to cling to the tiniest slice of happiness or risk fading away.

I'm living in abundance, and I can tolerate water now. Yay.

I reduced my consumption of artificial sweeteners, caramel color, and caffeine; and increased my intake of water. You won't believe what happened!

Hey-o! A few weeks ago (or a few months? maybe 10 or 12 years? who knows, at this point), I mentioned that I was cutting back on my drinking of diet cola, specifically. Since whenever that was, I have drank both less diet cola and more water. Before, I was drinking either diet cola or diet Mt. Dew varieties (we have a Sodastream, and they call theirs "Fountain Mist") all day every day. No water. Because it's gross.

When we got the Ozarka delivery service, and the water is pristine and ice-cold, it was palatable enough that I decided I could try to drink more sad, tasteless water... only less sad and more tasteless (in a good way).

While I long ago made my peace with caffeine and artificial sweeteners, I have read enough about caramel color to make me want to try to cut that down. So I did.

These days, I usually drink some of the Diet Fountain Mist for "breakfast," as some people drink coffee for that initial wake-up boost of caffeine. Even the 4-8 ounces of soda I drink there has less caffeine than a cup of coffee. And usually that's it, unless I'm lagging at that 2-4 PM stretch, in which case I'll have a booster to get over the hump.

I am otherwise alternating between clear diet soda like Sprite (Lemon-Lime in Sodastream-speak) or uber-dyed beverages like Powerade Zero and our magical water cooler water.

Whereas, in the past, I drank literally NO water unless I was mowing the yard (which I haven't done fully in more than two years), now I'm drinking probably 20-30 ounces per day.

I don't have exact measures because I have long since given up tracking precisely anything that goes into my cake-hole, because disordered eating sucks, and, honestly, logging everything that passes your lips, even if it's not compulsive, also sucks... and becomes compulsive. I'd rather be free.

Anyhoo...

So basically: Caffeinated soda, water, caffeine-free beverage, water, caffeine-free beverage, and then maybe another water/no caffeine drink, depending on how long the day is and how thirsty I am; and perhaps another shot of caffeine in there. That's from drinking all caffeine, all the time.

Do you want to know what this has done to my overall, day-to-day well-being and health? Good! Because I'm going to tell you:

The increase of water and decrease of things like caffeine, artificial sweeteners, and caramel color has produced no change in my appetite, either way. It does not affect my level of energy. It has not weakened nor strengthened my sweet tooth. My weight (according to clothes and the mirror, since I don't have a scale) has stayed the same. I am sleeping no better or worse. I do not feel any different (since I got over the mild headaches at first.. which I'm sure would be worse if I'd eliminated caffeine entirely).

A lot of times, people make changes to their diets, then go off on how they have a new lease on life. Listen, if you want to cut out sugar, you do you. But I think that a couple of things play into people's drastic wellness changes when they make a sweeping change in their diet: 1) They EXPECT results, so they experience them (placebo affect, and its negative Nelly cousin, the nocebo effect -- see also "When we let my kid play on the iPad, he acts AWFUL"). 2) When someone makes a big diet change, they're probably also increasing their exercise, paying closer attention to their sleep hygiene, etc. (For a negative example of this, please miss that "documentary" "Supersize Me" where the guy not only ate McDonald's for every meal, but he also forced himself to eat every single bite of everything he bought, AND he stopped working out entirely, even though he'd been an athletic dude before.)

I fully believe that if a food or category of foods gives you physical symptoms (some people can't eat tomatoes or they break out in hives; my older kid can't eat avocado anymore or the left side of their face balloons up frighteningly), don't eat it! But the fact is that outside of those conditions, the inclusion of elimination of any one food item is not going to ruin or supercharge your life.

A couple of interesting effects, though; one negative and one positive: 1) Whereas before, I could drink caffeine in bed as I was winding down and still sleep like a log, my tolerance is diminished. If I have some soda with dinner, I am not sleepy at 11, even if it's been a long day and I need sleep. I guess an upside of this is that I need less caffeine to get a boost from it? 2) When we went to Haiti 7 years ago, I had to find caffeine gum to take with me because I wasn't certain I could find soda there. I did end up having one Coke and one Diet Coke during the week. But I have a wider variety of beverage options now. Mal wanted to get McDonald's the other day on our way home from the Zilker Botanical Garden, and what sounded really good to me was unsweetened tea. It was not good; it was McDonald's swill. But it was drinkable and I finished it. So the beverage world is really my oyster now?

That's it. Sorry it's not more compelling. Reality usually is not. :)

Rebel Eaters, Episode 2 Journaling Prompt

This week's writing prompt was basically: What rules would you like to impose on the people in your life regarding food and your body?

I have this pin on my purse. I bought it about two years ago from Fat Girl Flow, but I don't see it on her merch site anymore.

Since I bought it, I haven't heard anyone talking negatively about food in my presence. That's fairly amazing.

I am extraordinarily fortunate in that I live in a house with people who eat unapologetically and live in bodies without shame. I don't have to set boundaries about diet and exercise talk, because no one around here goes in for that kind of thing.

That has not always been the case.

 It took years to divest from the mentality of "good" and "bad" foods, or from feeling like I had to earn the right to eat by making sure I'd gone through the paces of a rigorous -- and boring as all get-out -- exercise regimen.

One of the reason I'm likely so devoid of the chatter of Diet Culture is that I don't work in an office anymore. I remember food and portions and workouts being prevalent topics of conversation when I was in the corporate world.

When I worked at a newspaper just out of college, I remember a lady counting the calories in each potato chip as a male co-worker ate a bag of them in at lunch. I was ear-deep in disordered eating and exercise at the time, but even I wouldn't have done that to another person.

When I was pregnant, prenatal vitamins made me ill, and I was trying to be extremely vigilant about making sure I got all of the nutrients I needed to provide for a baby. I was sitting in the break room with a packet of baby carrots when my supervisor came in to get a bag of peanuts out of the vending machine, looked at me on the way, and asked, "Do you know how many carbs are in a carrot?"

I don't miss that, and I wouldn't put up with it. I wish I'd just said, "I do not care about that on any level, thanks. I'm trying to enjoy my snack."

It's actually difficult for me not to lecture in the other direction these days. When someone seems apologetic about what they're eating, I try to encourage them with, "Your body knows what it wants. It's fine!" I could actually talk about it for three hours, but that's no better than the Diet Culture evangelists, so I shut my trap.

Rebel Eaters, Episode 1 Journaling Prompt

Virgie Tovar has a new podcast, Rebel Eaters Club. She has a journaling prompt at the end of each episode, and I thought the first one was interesting.

This week, she asked to think about a food that we associate with our family of origin, with growing up, and our relationship with that food over time.

Almost immediately, I thought of freshly-baked bread.

My dad likes to bake bread. I do, too. But I REALLY like to eat bread! I always have.

We didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up, and bread was a cheap staple we always had on hand. Sandwiches, cinnamon toast, filler for other meals. I've always enjoyed eating bread.

That's what struck me: With all of my disordered eating and exercising to "earn" food, I never stopped eating bread. This might be because, back in the '90s, carbs weren't the "enemy." Fat and calories were. So while I'd NEVER eat a fat- or calorie-dense bread like a bagel (the subject of the first podcast, and a favorite chewy way to start the day for me now) or a croissant (ditto the "fave" part), I could always do toast (with fat-free butter substitute and sugar-free fruit spread, naturally) or a warm roll.

In fact, when I was in my least healthy phase of dieting, I had Little Caesar's Crazy Bread at least two or three days a week for lunch. That meant I had to skip breakfast, but it was worth it. Man, I love that stuff; no other pizza place has anything comparable and I don't know why. 

Further, I cannot remember ever feeling guilty for eating bread. I've always been able to enjoy it without any negativity. I do remember being shocked when I learned that Texas Roadhouse's yeast rolls have more than 200 calories each, but... I don't think about that anymore and they're amazing.

An interesting note about this that I made, and that may or may not be related, was this:

First, I am fortunate in that neither of my parents was the food or body police. Neither of them ever told me that I needed to eat or to look different. My food intake was controlled only inasmuch as my mom thought we could "wait until dinner" rather than snack 45 minutes early, and if we had a rare bag of Oreos in the house, we could only have a couple at a time. I feel like this was more a resource thing than a restriction thing.

However, my mom was often, if not on a diet, "being careful." One year, I purchased from the Christmas bazaar at our school, a light-sensitive pig that you'd put in the fridge or cabinet, and it would oink when the door was open. I didn't see this as being rude, and it was in no way mean-spirited. I saw it as a funny way to help my mom remember her priorities.

But my dad... I think my dad gave me permission to LOVE food. He cooked, baked, and grilled a lot (my mom cooked almost every night, and the unfortunate reality is that all of those common meals of spaghetti, meatloaf, and hot dogs just blend into one generic memory). He loved trying new things. He really REALLY experienced food. He ate slowly. He paid attention to flavors. Food wasn't the enemy. It was a comfort. An indulgence. An adventure.

I have a vivid memory of being upper-elementary aged and kind of recognizing somewhat our financial situation. We were on a road trip and had stopped at the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo. Someone was attempting their challenge to eat a 72-ounce steak and all of the fixings in under an hour in order to get it for free. I was crying, because I'd seen that the cheapest menu item (this was in the early 1980s) was an $8 hamburger. It was *so* expensive!

My dad came over and hugged me and said, "It's okay. We're on vacation! We can't eat like this at home, but we have a budget for vacation, and that is fine! Order whatever you want."

Many years later, my mom told me that the cycle was that they'd have a thousand dollars or so in credit card debt that they'd pay off right as we went on another vacation, and it would start over again. 

But for my dad, those experiences (which were, still, fairly modest things like visiting Laura Ingalls Wilder's or Mark Twain's homes, or the St. Louis arch, or the Huntsville Space Center) were worth the price. They were a necessary getaway, and food was a welcomed part of it.

That might also be why, no matter what stage of eating disorder I was in, I have never "watched it" on vacation. Vacations have always been guilt- and stress-free times to enjoy whatever food I could find. 

And to this day, I'm one of those people who will happily fill up on fresh bread at a restaurant and bring my entree home. I try to find good bakeries wherever we go. I love bread, and it's a lifelong relationship.

Resolve isn't all it's cracked up to be

At about this time in 1992, I had resolved to drop some significant weight. I did this because, after a Christmas weekend with my maternal family, my husband at the time seemed to have an issue with how the women in my family aged, in terms of body size, and even though he swore he never would have said anything to me about it, he finally did after I pressed him and wouldn't let him keep shrugging off the disdain that he was unsuccessfully trying to hide.

Side note: When I asked him why he never mentioned his problem with my weight/shape earlier, he said, "Because I was afraid you wouldn't marry me." At some point during this whole discussion, he pulled the car over and, crying, begged me not to leave him. I told him I wouldn't. And I didn't. For more than 5 years. But, honestly, now I see that it's really difficult to come back from the knowledge that your partner has a fundamental problem with something about you that is ingrained in your DNA.

I specifically wanted to share an incident I've been remembering lately.

For Christmas, one of the things James got me was a one pound Reese's Peanut Butter Cup package. Each cup weighs 8 ounces and is multiple servings. It's lasted me a week and I just ate the final bite. I've had it for dessert for most meals since Christmas, and I'm not tired of it yet. Perfect gift.

26 years ago, I swore off of most of the food that I loved. I limited myself to 1500 calories and 7 grams of fat per day. I also committed to exercising every other day no matter what. If you think about it, this is how many people's New Year's Resolutions shape up. I wasn't doing it for the calendar; I was doing it to "save my marriage." Actually, I was doing it to keep my partner from being disgusted by me, which, again, in hindsight, was his shallow problem and not mine. He expressed displeasure, and I had to do all of the "work" to assuage it. How effed up is that? Plus the fact that it lead to years of my feeling like crap about myself. And it probably barely registered on his radar. In fact, he probably felt like he'd done something constructive.

We'd gone to visit my parents one weekend, and I remembered a really good chocolate shop near where I'd worked at a daycare when I lived in town. We all visited, and everyone got chocolates except me. It wasn't my "cheat day." I distinctly remember asking to see my then-husband's white bag, with three perfect candies nestled into paper cups at the bottom. I stuck my nose into the bag and inhaled. I can still smell the rich chocolate smell of those bonbons.

My mom asked me if I was going to eat one, and I said no, that smelling them like that was just as satisfying.

Which, of course, it wasn't. But that's where my brain was at the time.

Now, I did lose a bunch of weight. I got a lot of kudos for my efforts. I was praised for having discipline and self-control, for being "healthy" and for approaching the culture's version of attractiveness.

It was all bull, of course, because I was not healthy. I was obsessed with food, obsessed with maintaining a lifestyle within a hamster wheel, running to retain the supposed love I'd earned with my efforts.

Worst of all was this: Anyone who knows me knows I adore chocolate. It and pizza are the foods I could eat for the rest of my life and not get sick of them for at least a couple of years. You guys know that. James knows it. I'm certain my ex-husband knew it. But he was okay indulging in something I would have very much enjoyed while I abstained out of loyalty to his desire for how I should look.

Do you see how messed up that is?

Every time we went out to a restaurant when he got off of work and he ordered steak and potatoes while I ordered nothing because it was after 6 PM, and the waitress asked repeatedly if I was sure I didn't want anything at all... he never encouraged me to eat if I were hungry. He knew my rules and enforced them with his quiet approval.

He was allowed access to things that would have brought me joy because his body was naturally smaller than mine. And he never once advocated for my pleasure as a whole person. He was more invested in his own social currency, having a trim wife.

MESSED UP.

As we launch this new year, if you feel the motivation to make life changes based on the very arbitrary changing of the calendar, then I urge you to examine your motivation for doing so. Trying to become the best version of yourself possible is admirable, and it's hard work. I'll never believe that shrinking is tantamount to "better" nor will I ever again buy into the notion that making fundamental changes to oneself in order to obtain or hold on to the affections of another person is a productive goal.

In 2019, be kind to each other and be kind to yourself. And if you encounter someone who is not extending you the same respect, it might be a good exercise to look into that, to have difficult conversations, and to set boundaries. Best wishes to all.

"...like a fat kid loves cake"

The other day, Mal wanted to go to Altitude Trampoline Park. It's almost an hour from where we live, and it's a bear to drive down, but we'd had kind of a weird morning, so I thought it'd be a fun thing to do. As much as Mal likes Jump Street, which is considerably closer, they have only one area where kids under 4 are allowed to jump. It has 3 long trampolines, a bouncy slide, and a bouncy obstacle course. It's fun, but at Altitude, he can go everywhere. It's also considerably more expensive, except when they have open toddler jump, and we can't seem to get a straight word from them on when they're going to start doing that again.

Anyway, none of this is really about that. It's about something I noticed during the hour we were there.

There were more kids there than I was expecting, but I guess it's possible a lot of them were homeschoolers, or that some schools start later than AISD. I was amused by this one pair of middle-school-aged girls who just hopped around to places to sit and gab most of the time. Like: jump jump jump, sit on the stand for 10 minutes; jump, jump, walk, sit in the corner against the wall for 15 minutes; repeat variations on that theme. I know how much it costs per hour for kids to jump there. I'd just drop them off at the mall. But they were having a good time, regardless.

Mal had seem someone with popcorn and wanted some, so we went to buy a box. Making our way to the snack area, I saw those girls sitting out in the lounge. The smaller of the girls had an Icee. The larger one had a straw, and every now and then would take a drink, but it was obviously the smaller girl's, and she never handed it over.

Something in my head said, "That big girl doesn't think she's allowed to have a slushie in public." Then I decided I was projecting, and went on.

When Mal was ready to go, we packed everything up and I was throwing our trash away when I saw the girls again. This time, the smaller girl had a cup of Dippin' Dots ice cream. The bigger girl was, again, not eating anything.

Now, it's entirely possible that one girl just had money where the other girl didn't. Maybe the second girl's parents just thought they'd spent enough on the admission and that she could drink out of the water fountain. I realize that.

But it made me remember of a friend of mine who said it used to make her cry when she'd see a fat kid eating a hot dog. She said she wanted to yell at the parents not to let their kid eat that way. I didn't realize at the time how fatphobic and wrong-headed that "concern" (judgment) was.

This girl, the one who had an Icee and ice cream, can eat whatever she wants in public and no one will ever say a word to her. But the eyebrows fly when a bigger girl might want to enjoy the same foods. And this food policing is a breeding ground for private binging.

The double-standard -- like, the Gilmore Girls eat two large pizzas between them and it's adorable, but if a real life fat person ate half a pizza, throngs would chime in "that's why you are the way you are!" even though EVERYBODY has times they overeat, or eat non-nutritive foods, and not everybody's bodies look the same.

That double standard is troubling enough lobbed at adults. But, man, it's particularly infuriating and damaging when a kid feels like they can't have a treat because they've been taught they don't "deserve" it; that there is something wrong with them and it's their life's work to fix it so people will treat them with at least some respect for being a "good far person" and trying, even if they aren't ever able to make their bodies into lithe forms pleasing to the fickle eyes of our culture.

This made me ponder the phrase I used in the title. Something like "I love you like a fat kid loves cake." How dumb is it? I mean, most people love cake. Why wouldn't you love cake? (Or at least icing.) And my guess is that, for a fat kid, eating cake can be particularly fraught: This tastes good. It's so bad for me. I want to eat it. I shouldn't eat it because it'll make me fatter.

I hope those girls had a great day. I hope I just read a lot of my own feelings into that situation, and maybe that bigger girl had just come from IHOP and couldn't have eaten another bite, anyway. And I look forward to the day that I don't have to worry about a little girl's self-image at the hands of a cruel diet culture.

Hey, Friend Who Lost Weight and Gained It Back... You Look Amazing!

Friend, I've wanted to affirm you for months, but wasn't sure how to bring this up. It's an awkward subject in our society because Diet Culture has so brainwashed us with the ideas of what is "good" and what is "bad." What is "virtuous" and what is "shameful." I don't buy into any of that anymore, but most people still do.

So how to tell you that I see you, and I am super proud of you?

I'll bet back when you were losing weight, you got a lot of positive feedback. "Looking good!" "Wow, you're so dedicated!" "Your hard work is paying off!"

An aside -- "paying off"? How? Because you're thinner than you used to be? Is that a reward? Being skinnier is the payment you get for obsessing over food and exercise? Um. Pass. Anyway...

It seems like such a big, loud deal when you lose weight. It's full of accolades and appreciation and maybe even some jealousy thrown your way. Then, over time, you realize something. Maybe it's a year or two. Maybe it's more than five. My longest was more than seven years (and, yes, I've had at least three major weight cycling events, with other fits and starts in the midst).

But eventually, you realize that one of the biggest lies of Diet Culture is the "maintenance phase." Dieting to lose weight isn't easy, no. But it is a walk in the park compared to maintaining an artificially low body weight. Once you hit your goal weight, you have to eat less and/or exercise more to keep the weight off. Not for a while. For the rest of your life.

Maybe you didn't realize it until the weight started slowly creeping back on. Maybe you realized it when you hit a plateau from which your body would not budge. Maybe it's just dawning on you.

And whereas your weight came off with visible work and "discipline" and praise, it can creep back on in silence and shame. Maybe you think people are wondering why you would "let yourself go" after working so hard. Maybe you feel like a failure. Maybe you're just waiting for a life season to pass before you buckle down and have another go at taking the weight back off.

Might I encourage you not to do that? Any of it?

Unless there is a 1-to-1 medical reason for you to lose weight, fighting your body's "natural" weight is not a battle you can win unless you're willing to wrestle mightily with it for the rest of your life. So, seriously, if imminent death or disease is not on the line, maybe think about why you're willing to devote such a large chunk of your emotional and physical energy to the pursuit.

(And, to me, even if you're a "yeah, but my knees" person... I'd encourage you to find out what you can do to build strength in your legs. Go positive and strong instead of negative and "less.")

I just wanted you to know that I see you, and I'm proud of you, and I am cheering you on.

I'm so thrilled that you can go to Texas Roadhouse with your family without having to spend half an hour perusing the menu online first to see what is "safe" for you to order. I'm ecstatic that you don't have to write down everything you eat, or to measure every portion before you can sit down to a meal. I'm happy that you have the time you used to devote to a specific, repeatable, boring gym routine to do things you love and that make your body happy.

I'm glad you're not fighting your body. I'm glad you're not sucked into the trap of spending valuable time, talent, energy, and money on something as vapid as "thinness" and are instead able to channel those amazing resources to bigger and better things. It looks amazing on you.

Stupid Things I Did to Change My Body, Entry 2

From January 1993 until Octoberish 1996, except for one cheat day a week, I only allowed myself to consume 7 grams of fat (with no differentiation between types of fat; this is just any fat, period) per day.

To put that in context, the general recommendation for daily intake of fat for an adult is 70 grams. I was eating 1/10 of the daily recommended intake of fat, back when fat was super demonized, and no one was talking about how important adequate fat consumption was.

To my black and white brain, fat=bad and no fat=great.

Obviously, I wasn't eating any meat. Or eggs. Or peanut butter. Or nuts. Or omega-3-rich fish. Or avocados. I was eating candy corn. Jelly beans. Fat free bread with fat free "butter" and fruit spread. I could have chosen fruits and vegetables, but usually didn't. I felt so deprived from food I loved (pizza, French fries, anything robust and hearty) that I ate for comfort and for what a food DIDN'T have (fat) instead of what it DID have (any nutritive quality whatsoever).

Oh, and I was instinctively doing what I learned manufacturers do when they remove "excess" fat from a food product: Add sugar to make it more palatable. I was eating a LOT of sugar (no more than 1500 calories a day, but we'll get to that in another post) to make up for the fact that was I was eating was empty garbage and mostly tasted that way.

Why do our bodies need fat? It helps up absorb many vitamins, including A, D, E, and K. Fats also help the brain to produce serotonin and dopamine. In fact, extremely low fat diets have been shown to contribute to suicidal tendencies, but even without being that serious, a fat deficiency can contribute to anxiety and low self-esteem... Which might explain why I still felt like a big fat failure at 148 pounds (5'8") because the scale at GNC still considered my skinny butt 8 pounds overweight.

In addition to the sugar I was eating to make up for a more well-rounded fat profile, there's an item that really bothers me about our "food as fuel" or, worse, "food as medicine" mentality pervasive in diet culture. It says that as long as we meet the micro- and macro-nutrient goals for our weight and exercise levels, we're "healthy." This completely discounts our mental and emotional health. There are demonstrably food that makes us FEEL better, and a reason they're called "comfort foods."

"Comfort foods" need to be un-demonized. Meeting our emotional needs is every bit as important as making sure our nutritional needs are met. And I was just in an endless cycle of deprivation, totally ignoring my desire to eat something satisfying because I believed that all of the "sacrifice" would yield a look that would make me... more worthy? More admired? More desired? A more virtuous appearance?

Ugh. It was dumb and unhealthy. No more. Never again.

Stupid Things I Did to Change My Body, Entry 1

Laura Hattaway
Monday, May 14, 2012 at 12:25pm CDT
Last night, I bought these vouchers for laser lipo, so we'll see what that is.  Whether it works or not, it's an experience.

James Ashley
Monday, May 14, 2012 at 12:27pm CDT
Sometimes, just having an experience is a victory.

Laura Hattaway
Monday, May 14, 2012 at 12:27pm CDT
Right.

In March 2012, I had been living in an RV for just under a year. I was working 3.5 days a week, bringing in about $9000 a year. Child support paid for D's gymnastics. I could mostly cover rent and utilities. But I was taking about $100-300 a month out of the savings from having sold our house in order to cover expenses like groceries and entertainment.

Yet I had spent close to $500 on what was billed as 80 percent off of three or four treatments of this thing where they focus lasers on "problem areas" of your body and in 15 minutes, it's supposed to break down adipose tissue that will then be absorbed by your body and flushed out.

I KNOW HOW STUPID THIS SOUNDS.

It even sounded stupid then. Not to mention that I did not have the funds to spend on this kind of thing. But I was trying so hard to make a relationship "take" and all I knew was that other men responded well to my having a smaller body that was shaped a specific way, and figured this couldn't hurt my chances with this other guy.

I was so embarrassed about the whole thing that I never told anyone. Except for James.

Not even my sister, whose house I would visit so D could stay with them while I went in for the treatment. I think I told them I was doing a series of mystery shops. Because, what the heck was I doing?

Incidentally, this guy and I were not a good match, and we both dodged bullets in our not being able to make things work. We were both in the same situation, having been soundly rejected by the people who had vowed to love us for our entire lives, and when you live in that for years, someone being nice to you who is also fun to be around feels like The Answer. It was not.

And this was not.

But I believed then, as much as I would have told you that I did not, that if I were just a little smaller, I'd be more worthy of love. Now I know better. And I still wish I had that money (and those hours) back.