The Fat Egg Fights Back, or, My Recent Brush With Diet Culture

This post talks about weight, weight loss, calories and dieting. I have avoided using actual numbers where possible, but if you think this post might be triggering for you, please don't read it.

I've been putting off writing this post for a little while. It's been hard to get my thoughts in order about this sensitive topic, and it also means admitting to a bunch of thoughts and feelings I rather wish I didn't have. But since this whole blog has kind of been an exercise in doing exactly that, I guess I'll just go for it.

So, earlier this year I went on a diet. If you know me in real life, you know this is a Big Thing for me, and also massively hypocritical, as I am usually quick to point out to friends that calorie counting is unsustainable and doesn't work, and that the assorted diets peddled via glossy cookbooks and 'wellness plans' amount to starvation. Why I came around to thinking that my diet was going to magically be the exception I don't know. With a history of disordered eating, I really ought to have known better.

But an old schoolfriend had been posting a lot online about her new, healthy diet and intensive exercise regime, and how much better she felt now she had lost all her baby weight. Conversely I have the kind of body shape that means after family functions my mum gets phone calls from various aunts asking when my baby is due. I'm aware of this, and my feelings about it range from not giving a flying fuck to crossing my arms over my belly when I sit down to hide my spare tyre, depending on the vagaries of my mood.

It's also true to say that at my final wedding dress fittings, there were some concerns about the tightness of the bodice. It was getting to be a bit of a struggle. My takeaway habit was showing. 

So I decided that I was going to have to do something about this issue. But, knowing my propensity for problem behaviours with food, I knew I was going to have to tread carefully. I downloaded the NHS Better Health app, thinking that the health authority of my country would be the safest and most appropriate guide. I bought a scale, because my general policy is not to have one, and entered my height and weight on the app. It told me I was slightly overweight, set me a target of how much weight I should lose, and a plan for how to do so in twelve weeks.

What I didn't like very much was the calorie goal the app set for me. 1400 calories. I knew that this was far too low for a moderately active adult human, so I changed the settings to 1800. This is still low, by the way. Food, health and nutrition experts have criticised the NHS's recommended calorie guidelines for normal eating as well as for weight loss. Consider that the calorie allowance for the famous Minnesota Starvation Experiment was 1600 calories a day, which was considered a semi-starvation diet. Marion Nestle, PhD, professor of food studies and nutrition at NYU, describes the modern 2000-cal recommended daily intake as "only enough to sustain children". (For more on this, read The Fuck-It Diet by Caroline Dooner.)

Two days in, I was hungry, dizzy, and miserable, and I face-planted into a takeaway pizza feeling like a failure.

The next morning I decided to try again. This time I turned the calorie counter off and tried to focus on smaller portions and more plants. The app doesn't like this very much, and kept prompting me to turn the calorie counter back on. This raised a few red flags for me - I didn't like to be pushed towards obsessive counting and monitoring. Maybe for many people these are 'normal' aspects of a weight loss diet, but I find it hard to see the differences between fixating on your food in this socially approved manner, and disordered eating. I'm not sure where the line is drawn.

Anyway, over the next couple of weeks I managed to lose almost half of the recommended weight. I wasn't hungry all the time, and I discovered that I quite enjoyed exercising. The only downside was that the weekly weigh-in made me really anxious, which, again, reminded me of having an eating disorder. 

Eventually the weight loss plateaued. And then, despite the fact I was still eating smaller portions, still exercising, it began to creep back on. I got stressed about this. I came, I would say, the closest I have come to relapse since my early twenties. I am still a bit cross about all of this. I knew, going in, that this industry is built on smoke and mirrors, that its game is fuckery. I've spent years trying to inoculate myself against its poison. And yet I still fell for it.

The week before my wedding, I was the same weight at which I started, albeit a bit stronger and a bit more flexible from all the movement I'd been doing. But I've still got a round soft tummy and a round soft bottom. What I learned is that unless you're willing to devote your whole life to the misery of monitoring and restricting your eating, which I am not, diets still don't work. Your body defends itself. Your metabolic rate adjusts.

I'm a bit annoyed that I now have a set of scales I don't want and that I put my hard-won mental equilibrium at risk when I could have just been kind. I'm disappointed that I felt badly enough about the way I look to have started this game yet again. Especially when I can see that the women around me are beautiful at all different sizes. Why don't I think that that applies to myself? Why do I think that other people are gorgeous when they are soft and curvy, but think of myself as looking like a fat egg?

So, I'm going to go and re-read The Fuck-It Diet and Beyond Beautiful. I found several fitness instructors on YouTube offering body positive workouts, which I'd highly recommend - it's nice to move my body just to feel good, not to punish or force change. I have deleted the Better Health app. I will be wearing crop tops and bikinis this summer, and unfollowing anyone who conflates self-love with having a specific body type.

Notes:

As well as the above-mentioned books, I would recommend reading up on the work and findings of the Health at Every Size movement (particularly when the NHS has apparently not caught up, oh dear).

The Body is Not An Apology 

 I will be away next week; normal service will resume the week after.