Turning 30 was hard for me. It wasn’t because I had a fear of wrinkles. Or because of the ticking of my biological clock. Rather, it was that I had planned on accomplishing so much more before reaching my third decade. Most of my goals remained unachieved or untouched. I had wanted to read more books. I had wanted to master my profession enough to be able to present at conferences and maybe even serve as an adjunct at a local college. I had dozens of writing ideas that I never started, as well as numerous half-finished pieces. But there was one thing that always seemed to get in my way – my preoccupation with my weight.
I started dieting in high school. The types of diets varied but generally included calorie restriction and a ban on carbs. I could hardly remember a time when I wasn’t calorie counting, food logging, and meal planning. It consumed lots of time and energy.
For a while, I thought that I had improved. Around the age of 25, I stopped weighing myself. I adopted the mantra that food was nourishment. But I didn’t trust my body’s hunger signals and found comfort in limiting my meals to small portions consumed on a strict schedule.
What resulted was self-sabotage. On most afternoons, I would reach a point at which I was too hungry to function. My mind was cloudy. My energy was low. But, I had already eaten what I believed to be enough for the day.
So instead of fueling myself to tackle the next thing on my list, I would postpone the task for another day. If I had social plans, I would cancel or no-show, knowing that I was incapable of carrying a conversation on an empty stomach. I would pivot to something that required less brainpower. Or I would call it quits and spend the rest of the day in front of the TV.
I was nescient of the toll that my obsession was taking. That is - until my 30th birthday. As I reflected on the past decade, I became aware that I had been capping my own potential, missing opportunities, and operating at 50% productivity – all to limit the fat on my body.
I wallowed in regret. I felt pathetic. But then I realized my luck. I was only 30! I still had lots of time to live differently. So, I decided to do just that.
Changes beget more changes
One result of my attempts to control my size, with varying success, was fluctuations in my weight. I was constantly donating ill-fitting clothes and buying new ones to replace them. So, I decided that I wanted to find my “set point weight” – a weight that our bodies want to be at in order to function optimally. My set point weight would be one that I could maintain by eating and exercising “normally.”
What normal eating meant, I had no idea. Years of disordered eating had left me without an innate sense of satiation. So, I enlisted the help of a professional. I found a non-diet dietician who taught me about intuitive eating and health at every size. I worked on tuning-in to my hunger and fullness cues. I learned to honor those feelings, either by eating, drinking, or putting my fork down.
In the past, I had used exercise as a means to control my weight. I decided not to exercise more than an hour a day and not to leave work or skip other activities to get in a workout. I promised not to use exercise as punishment for something that I ate. I would pick exercises that I enjoyed and not necessarily the ones that burned the most calories.
Embracing my set point weight was an easy goal to set. But I grew anxious when I realized that my set point weight may not be my desired weight. I would have to find a way to mentally prepare myself.
My 30th birthday coincided with my moving from Atlanta to Seattle. Some people warn against attempting major changes during periods marked by havoc. But, I actually found that the move aided my efforts to ditch diet culture.
In the days following my arrival in Seattle, I was too busy unpacking and exploring my new neighborhood to dwell on my weight. I also hadn’t gotten around to hanging a mirror, which made it easy to forget about my appearance.
I put off buying a mirror a little longer. But after a few instances of looking at my reflection in shop mirrors to see myself wearing poorly combined outfits, I recognized that boycotting mirrors was not a viable solution.
Nor was avoiding looking at my body. And frankly I didn’t want to be triggered by the sight of it. That body had served me well. It fought off countless infections. It carried me on twenty-mile hikes. It generated heat on cold nights. Rather, I needed reprogramming.
New life’s resolutions
I like games. We all play games with ourselves more than we realize. In my late 20’s, my game was to eat as little as possible each day. I would eat just enough to perform the tasks required for my job, housework, and occasional socializing. So, I needed to play a different game.
My new game was to accomplish as much as possible each day. That could include things at work, physical activity, hobbies, socializing, chores, errands, self care, you name it. When it came to food, I strove to eat what I needed to feel and perform my best.
Next, I abandoned my food log. The log was a working document that I had maintained daily for six years. I recorded the times at which I ate and what I ate. At some point, I was even color-coding my days. Green meant good, yellow meant o.k., and red meant that I had fallen off the wagon.
It was an arbitrary classification system. Not only did the log reinforce flawed concepts of nutrition, but it required quite a bit of time to record. So, ditching the log reaped double benefits.
A nourishing environment
When I came to Seattle, I started in a shared house. My housemates cooked a lot and they seemed to enjoy eating. They planned elaborate meals and cooked them from scratch. I’d never been much of a cook, due both to late hours in the office and lack of interest. But everyone in the house would pitch in for ingredients, those who liked to cook would, and we would all share meals. Some dishes were decadent and others were lighter. Being surrounded by people who had healthy relationships with food gave me something to aspire to and emulate.
Set-backs
Naturally there were some set-backs. Just when I was starting to feel at peace with the possibility of gaining weight, I received a compliment from a secretary on my “thinness.” Her well-intentioned comment opened the floodgates to thoughts about what I stood to lose by putting on pounds. Would people not see me as attractive? Would I be assumed to be less professional or good at my job? It dawned on me that just because I was o.k. with gaining weight didn’t mean that others would share my perspective.
It’s a process
You can’t instantly stop caring about something that you’ve obsessed over for half of your life. Counterintuitively, overcoming an obsession with weight and food requires lots of time spent thinking about food.
Even after resolving to stop waging war against my body, I was constantly fighting to silence voices saying “tomorrow, we will eat less” or “if we workout twice in a day, we can compensate.” But, the whole thing was a process. I welcomed every bit of progress.
Still trekking, but with longer strides
Two years later, I’ve come a long way. I’ve gained weight and lost weight. I’ve discovered new foods and rediscovered old foods that I hadn’t eaten since childhood. I enjoy food, but I don’t live to eat.
Some days are harder than others. I occasionally find myself thinking of thinness as something to aspire to. Like, if I were to drop to a certain weight, good things would magically happen to me. I try to vanquish these thoughts by looking at anti-diet and body positive content on social media. Sometimes I overeat, but I try to respond with self compassion.
There’s a quote that frequents body positivity circles that goes something like: “When you’re old, you won’t care how much you weighed. You’ll care about what you achieved, where you went, and who you loved.” Likewise, I don’t want to look back and regret squandering my time and energy on diets.
Aging can be scary. But, in my case, turning 30 sparked a personal revolution. And I’m optimistic for the years of food freedom to come.
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