I would love to be one of those people who don’t seem that fussed about food, the people who forget about a morsel of cake wrapped in tin foil in the bottom of the fridge.
I am not.
I am one of those people who upon finding said tin foil-wrapped cake sporting an unfortunate additional coating of raw chicken juice from a leaky package – will still eat it. Salmonella be damned. If there is food of any description within a 20 ft radius I am always keenly aware of it. I will be able to detect its variety, quantity and thievability instantly.
I can stay straight for days, even weeks at a time. I call this “being good”, but I am an addict. If I fall off the wagon (“being bad”) it is usually in spectacular style. I go on cheese benders. I lose days of my life to walnut whips. I hide sweets in my bedside table. If a packet of crisps is open I will devour the whole thing with a joyless, grim determination. Then I hide the evidence. It goes way beyond enjoying food. Post-bender I invariably suffer eater’s remorse and feel guilty. It’s a vicious cycle.
I have done all the diets with usually the same outcome: Mild weight loss which leads directly to rewarding myself with food. Cue four day cheese bender, guilt spiral and the next diet.
I’ve noticed that the five stages of dieting are not unlike the five stages of grief, only instead of grieving the loss of a loved one, you’re grieving the loss of carbs.
The 5 stages of dieting:
Stage 1: Denial and Isolation
This stage is the prelude to the diet when I can usually be found isolated and in denial about the insane quantities of crap that I am consuming.
Lies we tell ourselves:
“I just so sick of OBSESSING over food, from now on I’m just going to be moderate and eat sensibly.” (If only I had ANY idea how to do this.)
“Planning an entire evening’s activities around my snack foods is FINE. It’s NORMAL to eat alone.” (If you are indeed hungry, not as an actual pastime.)
“I’m just going to have one…” (Hundred biscuits.)
Stage 2: Anger
This is the point when I become FURIOUS at having gained weight through my diet of fried sandwiches, crisps, cheese and roast potatoes dipped in butter.
Lies we tell ourselves:
“I bought these jeans small, they never fit.” (They are, in fact, formerly my fat day jeans.)
“Why does nobody else have to watch what they eat?” (They do, they are just better at it than you are.)
“I’ll start next week.” (And the week after that and the week after that, and the week after that…)
Stage 3: Bargaining
Bargaining during times of diet is an inevitable stage for me and one that always backfires.
Lies we tell ourselves:
“I’m going to stick to the diet at dinner tonight so that I can have a few drinks.” (I will stick to the diet and fill up on drinks leading to a hangover binge of epic proportions. Result.)
“I’m already off the wagon now; I may as well just keep eating my face off for the rest of the day. I’ll get back on track tomorrow.” (Sure you will.)
Stage 4: Depression
Stage 4 usually hits me when I’m a few days in to a diet and fed up with weighing pieces of ham before consuming them with a single tomato and half a Ryvita.
Lies we tell ourselves:
“I’m just bad at dieting. It’s because I don’t like cottage cheese. If I just liked cottage cheese, I’d be able to do this.” (NOBODY likes cottage cheese.)
“I’m not going to eat carbs for the next month.” (HA)
Stage 5: Acceptance
I’m told that at a certain point I will come to accept myself as I am. Like how Jennifer Anniston always says stuff in interviews about how she is so much happier now that she’s in her 40s. I’d be happier if I looked like Jennifer Anniston in her 70s rather than like myself in my 20s. Usually at the end of a failed diet I reach a kind of grudging acceptance of my body.
Lies we tell ourselves:
“I’m never dieting again.” (Until someone tells you about the 5:2 diet where you eat five gherkins and 2 pickled onions a day and lose LOADS of weight.)
With Jennifer Anniston’s 70-year-old body in mind I am going to commit to a new healthier approach to food. Yay.
