Confession: I joined Weight Watchers. Why is this a confession and not just a statement of what-I-did yesterday? A bunch of reasons:
|Canned fruit platter anyone?|
|It's a salad bowl and a melting pot!|
Why can’t I just eat a fucking salad? This is the big one. I’m a firm believer in the Michael Pollan Diet: Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants. If the solution is simple, what’s my problem? That’s what I wondered during so many shame spirals. Despite a predictable high school and college history of disordered eating, I managed to eat (pretty) well and exercise regularly for about 15 years afterward, so it stood to reason that I should be able to do it again. But should is not is.
Yesterday I had a small epiphany: In every area where I’ve had success, I’ve had help. Writing a book. Raising a kid. Recovering from cancer. Getting my head straight. I’m completely open and shameless about my writing group, my co-parent and family, my team of doctors and my therapist. So if I need some nutritional coaching, where’s the shame in that?
The shame is in 1995. Food and I go way back, and I realized I was applying my old-timey value system to a current problem. When I catastrophize about all the ways I could fall apart in life, I usually tell myself Well, if it [whatever it is] got to that point, I hope I’d be brave enough to ask for help. That’s the only guarantee that any of us won’t end up on an episode of Intervention or Hoarders. I could wait until I had 200 pounds to lose instead of 20, but why not save myself some suffering?
When I think about what I’ve learned from my miscarriage spin-out (in which I sought minimal help) and my cancer experience (lots of help), it resonates with what we say every day at Homeboy: Healing happens in community. Eating a lot of mediocre chocolate happens in private.
|All the ick of canned tuna, all the horror of a whole fish looking at you.|
|Feeling inspired to eat a croissant instead.|
I feel really conscious of the fact that Weight Watchers has been “her thing” and here I am blogging about it before attending a single meeting. As most people with siblings know, almost everything is subject to becoming battleground for sibling rivalry. So in addition to not attending the same meetings as my sister, I’m going to try to be low-key about this in general, and to fight my flare for drama. I don’t particularly want Weight Watchers to be “my thing,” but for a while I would like it to be my body’s thing. I’ll let you know how it goes. But I’ll try not to overshare. Too much.