''Oh, so it isn’t all just in my head,' I thought. 'Everyone really is judging me because of my weight gain.''
I thought, quietly scooping some spuds onto my plate from the Thanksgiving spread.The year was 1998. I was two and a half months post-delivery, and 35 pounds heavier than my pre-pregnancy weight. But I was in a cute sweater and jeans, and I was feeling more like myself than I had in a long time.I shrugged it off as paranoia.
My love-hate relationship with food continued for the better part of a decade. At the time, I was stuck in a real estate job I hated, I was dealing with the aftermath of sexual assault, and I had two small children. Food was what I turned to for comfort. “Please help me,” I begged the coach during our first phone call. Before she had a chance to respond, I broke down crying. Through my tears and snot, words came tumbling out ― words that I desperately needed to say.I told her about the gruesome sexual assault. About my anger, my grief, my confusion, and the subsequent spiral into compulsive overeating. I told her how I felt powerless in the face of food and confused about what I was supposed to be eating and when. I told her how ashamed I felt.
When I was deciding what to eat for breakfast, or when I was feeling stressed and craving a distraction, I asked myself: “Susan, which choice feels like love?” Dieting, I learned, was never the right answer. It’s always a temporary fix, and it was only after I began to approach my food mindfully, andto what my body was asking for, that I began to shed weight naturally. Diet culture stole years of my life. It kept me miserable and insecure.. Every year, nearly 45 million people in the U.S. decide to go on a weight loss journey. Ninety-five percent of them fail. Why? Because dieting isn’t pleasurable, realistic, or sustainable.