I’m a big believer in the whole #wycwyc movement:“what you can, when you can.” It beautifully applies to anything in life — the notion that little bits DO add up to big things. And now, it’s being turned into a book!!! (Way to go, Carla and Roni!).
But it hit me last night that lately I’ve been royally sucking at #wycwyc … and, when it comes to food … I’ve been acting like an impulsive toddler. I’ve been doing a lot of “what I want, when I want it.” (which I’ll be dubbing #wiwwiwi).
The truth is, I’ve had zero self-control since we got back from California which, clear-as-day, explains why I can’t ditch the vacation weight from a couple weeks ago. I’ve been doing a lot more of #wiwwiwi than #wycwyc.
This might sound like a big fat “duh” response to weight loss … but my appetite for food didn’t necessarily shrink, too.
And it irked me, especially once I settled into a comfortable weight range, that I could be satisfied on less … especially when “less” was becoming smaller and smaller portions.
The truth is, I like to eat, and always have. I’m not an over-eater, but I’ve always enjoyed food — talking about it, thinking about it, and now as I’ve gotten older, reading or writing about it, too.
And if I go to the trouble of weighing and measuring my food like I do, I want to be able to eat it. All of it. I feel “entitled” to it. It’s “mine.”
This is why my plate is usually loaded first and foremost with fruits and veggies: I get the biggest bang for my buck with them. I can be part of the Clean Plate Club if I want to be, and not feel uncomfortable about my choices.
No, today’s post isn’t about what goes on behind closed doors.
But it is about satisfaction, and the air of entitlement I’ve felt when it comes to food since losing weight—which I feel has contributed to some of my disordered eating behaviors.
In many ways, I really do believe that ignorance is bliss. Granted, back when I didn’t worry about calories, I surely wasn’t the picture of health. But I also wasn’t obsessed.
To be honest, before Weight Watchers, I don’t know how I ate. I don’t remember; I just “ate.” Obviously I was chubby, so it was clearly “too much”.
But I know I didn’t think about food a lot. I surely didn’t weigh or measure anything, and I can guarantee I didn’t base my day around my meals.
I remember I used to drink two Snapples a day and have a peppermint-mocha and shortbread cookie after work at Caribou Coffee with one of my best friends a couple times a week. (What’s a calorie?!)
I don’t recall making breakfast a priority, and I ate lunch out most days (usually a sandwich from a café, or a salad). I didn’t cook much back then—I know that much!—so dinners were not planned in advance, and if an invitation sprang up, I jumped on it. Snacks were usually on a whim; I never kept food at work or in my purse for an “emergency”.
And while I can remember what being “stuffed” felt like (as in, falling into a post-Maggiano’s or Cheesecake Factory coma with friends), I honestly never thought about satisfaction levels or the emotional connection to food. It was just that: food. Continue reading “Getting Satisfied”→