There was a brief period in my early twenties when I tortured my body into a slim, (relatively) healthy machine. I achieved this by basically eliminating all fat from my diet. I ate my toast dry and there were certain foods that never crossed my lips; butter, cheese (with the exception of cottage cheese), nuts, avocados, cream, mayonnaise, and any kind of oil. I don’t eat meat anyway so there was no question of lean vs fatty cuts, but I do eat fish and if I had tinned tuna, it had to be in brine. One memorably dismal lunch at a supermarket cafe consisted of a limp salad without dressing, accompanied by a dry wholemeal roll and glass of water. I was nothing if not dedicated. Food had to be functional rather than enjoyable. I did eat sugar and I ate carbs - the current bad guys of the dietary scene, but because, in not eating fat, I cut one food group completely from my diet, I lost a lot of weight.
The medics approved of me - according to the charts, I was the perfect weight for my height. This state of being required constant vigilance (as Mad Eye Moody would say). I was forever scanning food labels to see their fat content and I even took my low fat, low calorie meals round other people’s houses so I wouldn’t be tempted to share the takeaway they were having. (convivial, eh??) In many ways this fat-free diet seemed perfect as you didn’t need to restrict the volume of what you ate and as a consequence, (in theory) you never felt hungry.
When I lost weight I was totally intoxicated by the approval of others; “Haven’t you done well?” They’d say. “Well done you! You look amazing, you’ve lost so much weight.”
I loved hearing it, felt morally superior to my former, ‘fatter’ self. How weird and schizophrenic we become when we enter the world of dieting - I blame those ‘Before and After’ pictures you get in magazines; you’re encouraged to jeer at the former fatso with the comically large, clown trousers and you begin to look at your former self as this disgusting, idiot twin. It’s not the real you, the ‘real’ you has broken free of the fat chrysalis and flown out as a beautifully svelte butterfly. I felt that I’d cracked the code. I’d finally learnt how to be thin and being thin was the way to be.
Then gradually, from my mid-twenties onwards (after I got my first, ‘proper’, full-time job), something began to go wrong, I started to put on weight. Without me making a conscious decision to do so, I started to introduce fat into my diet again; a bit of cheese here, some marg on my toast there, a Danish pastry for breakfast. I also ate too much, I ate very large lunches, reasoning that I would burn it all off at work. My weight crept up - only a little at first, but eventually to the point where I could grab handfuls of flesh (Like Alan Partridge, I had a ‘fat back’) and where I had to move into a larger size, then a larger one again! So, I’d gained almost all the weight that I’d lost - why did I not just go back to the fat-free eating again?
This is a difficult question for me to answer. Was it because I was sick of eating dry toast? Or was it because I didn’t want to be on a diet for the rest of my life? Or was it because of the theory put forward by Susie Orbach in her book Fat is a Feminist Issue, that, on some deeply unconscious level, I wanted to be fat? Did I want that protective layer of fat to act as a barrier - a protective wall, between me and the rest of the world? At first I baulked at the idea - who, in their right mind, would want to be fat? But then I looked back at the times when I put on weight and patterns seemed to emerge. I did seem to put on weight when I felt that there were a lot of external demands on me. The weight gain was gradual - it wasn’t that I went to bed one night a slim 25 year old and woke up fat, the day I turned 26. So perhaps I thought, in the beginning - so I’ve put on a few pounds - does it really matter? Maybe this is just the weight my body settles at.
I’ve always been a comfort eater - ‘’You’ve had a hard day - you deserve this.’ I’d tell myself, as I ate something with little nutritional value but a high calorie content. Invariably something sweet.
I never let it go too far; I was never morbidly obese. Whenever I went over 12 stone I would pull back, cut out sweets and cakes and biscuits (all the sweet stuff) and try to exercise more. I lost weight when I was a bridesmaid, twice, and for my own wedding but I never seemed to be able to get down to my ‘goal weight’. Whenever my weight got down and neared those magical and mythical goal posts, it had an abrupt turn started to creep up again, seemingly of its own accord. Was/Is my conscious desire to be slim and fit, in conflict with a deeply unconscious desire to be fat?
I do think that how you are exposed to food as a child is pivotal in whether you become overweight or not. I don’t really place much importance in a ‘fat’ gene (but hey, what do I know), rather, I believe that if, when you were unhappy or upset as a child, you were offered food rather than a hug/chance to talk, then you will associate food with comfort and this will become ingrained into your way of operating. I remember being offered chocolate, even as I vomited into the sink, after reacting badly to an anaesthetic as a child.
It’s not our parents fault - that’s how they were brought up themselves. And society itself is geared towards smothering problems rather than dealing with them. (For god’s sake don’t talk about your feelings; have a biscuit. You’ve broken your arm? Never mind, have a biscuit. You’ve been a good girl, have a biscuit. You feel like ending it all? Have a tablet!)
If your parents were part of the post-war, rationing generation or they come from a country where food is scarce (and mine tick both boxes, respectively) then you would have been encouraged to clear your plate - another fat-inducing habit. Habits are very hard to break, especially when they are associated with something essential to our survival. I don’t have any answers, if I did then maybe I would be thin...
Now, for the first time in my life I am only too aware of the need to ‘manage my weight’ for my health, rather than for aesthetic reasons. And do more exercise. Best get myself away from this computer. Happy New Year!
