Food For Thought

I realized that I have a terrible relationship with food after having a conversation with a friend and hearing the rules and restrictions I set for myself when it comes to eating. She called it shame, but it feels like guilt. Either way, I decided to explore this more. I have always known that my relationship with food wasn’t great, but this specific conversation really captured the essence of it.

I did not intend to villainize food or make my body the victim, but the circumstances surrounding this part of my life definitely made it seem this way. It wasn’t always this way, in fact, I can remember the very moment that it began.

It was the beginning of 2020, and I had just overcome the ultimate test of mortality (this is a story for another day). Following this insane illness, I was so afraid of how fragile life was and everything sent me into a tailspin. I had constant anxiety and doing life every day while experiencing it, felt impossible.

My very concerned and loving mother convinced me to see my doctor. On this day, I was prescribed my first SSRI, Paxil (which has since been discontinued due to its side effects). Shortly after I began taking Paxil, the world shut down.

Honestly this was the best thing that ever happened to me. All I did was read books, go to class (online) and EAT. Taking this medication really put me into a bubble, surrounded by fog. The days were just going by, all the same. When people talk about medications and weight gain, they usually blame the medication. The medication is a huge part of it sure, but for me, it was the endless hunger. I was always eating something. I was my way of biding the time and an added coping mechanism for sure. I didn’t have any more anxiety, but I’m not sure if that was the medication or the isolation.

I was never a big woman, minus the freshman 15. Even then, it was only a little thickness to me. This time the weight gain was substantial. I looked in the mirror one day and didn’t recognize myself. I walked down the street and my inner thighs chaffed. The realization hit me and I freaked out. It is not easy to take off fact once you put it on.

Before the COVID pandemic, I never gave what I was eating a second thought. I ate when I was hungry and I stopped when I wasn’t anymore. I had preferences, indulged in my cravings, food did not seem like a test of my character. During the pandemic, Paxil helped me live through the whatever was going on in the world. I lived alone and during this time the most important thing for me was my mental health. I needed support, relief, and something that made getting through the day feel less daunting.

The lease where I lived was ending and so were the stay-at-home restrictions when I realized that I was not ready for the world to see me again. I started walking every day, I threw away most of the food in my house, and I turned my studio apartment into a studio gym.

Eventually, I moved back to San Diego to live with my dad for a bit where he mansplained nutrition and weight loss to me. We walked/ran 2-5 miles a day. I got really good at running and actually began to enjoy it! The cathartic feeling of pushing yourself past the limit of the day before. It became a ritual for me, running every single day. Then I began to pair that with weights. This was a game changer. I began to feel strong and capable again. Worthy of being in public.

Meals were no longer meals, they were calculations. Fasting was spiritual. I didn’t eat my first meal until 6pm. Maybe I had a smoothie that too, but probably not. I lay in bed and sleep most of the day because I was too frustrated from being hungry to do anything else. I was determined to lose weight, and it was working.

As I started to lose weight, I relaxed more about eating, but not too much. I would think about all the things I had already eaten before deciding to eat again. Think about how much more and what I could eat while I was eating. I kept a journal writing down all the things I ate in a day. Hunger was something that I needed to control. Food wasn’t something that I enjoyed, but what I needed to do to survive. If I enjoyed eating something, in my mind it must be bad for me, and I could never eat it again. When I wanted something sweet, comforting, or filling, I would feel guilty before even taking a bite and probably wouldn’t eat anything else for the rest of the day.

The hardest part for me was not being able to eat something without thinking that I had to work out immediately after and burn all the calories I had just consumed. It was craziness. I related weight gain to failure or a lack of discipline. The same discipline that I needed to succeed in life. I was again, at another extreme. Instead of eating too much, I was not eating enough. I made me angry that I struggled so much to find middle ground.

All the photos were distorted if I knew I had eaten literally anything that day. I thought I looked so ugly and so fat. I was constantly comparing myself to different versions of myself (high school me, college me, childhood me, pre-pandemic me). Food was the easiest thing to blame because it felt like the only real thing I could control. But actually, it the food wasn’t to blame. It was my mind. What I really needed to manage was my mental health. My routine, stressors, and life had change and I needed to go deeper in what that meant. Where was my self-compassion?

That’s where I felt the shame. The realization that I wasn’t perfect, but inherently flawed and unworthy of what I wanted out life. Shame has snuck into me and become my core identity. I was treating my anxiety, and it was highlighting who I had really become without it. I felt shallow admitting that I was being controlled by how I looked in the mirror and guilty for telling myself that I wasn’t. I wanted to be kinder to myself, but I also really wanted to look good.

I am still working on my relationship with food, but now I give myself so much grace. I listen to my body when it tells me to rest. I don’t exercise on vacations. I separate nourishment from punishment. Eating does not make me a bad person. Enjoying food is ok. Being hungry is not a personal failure. My body is not a project that I must complete before enjoying life.

Now my choices come from self-care rather than disgust. I am still detangling how I feel about food. Not immediately regretting ordering something and actively changing my internal dialogue when I look in the mirror. Acknowledging that a better relationship requires more than what’s on my plate is a great first step!

What do you think?