What's Weighing You Down?

The results are in.  The bloods are fine, although I could use a little more Vitamin D (Bali here I come!), my cholesterol is on the high side (I may need to re-think steak-night Mondays...) and apparently, I’m a little overweight (Damn Lindt Balls!)

Given my dismal track record with dieting, I thought I should consult a professional so I booked an appointment with a nutritionist to get some advice on what I should (and absolutely should not) be putting into my body.

What I wasn’t prepared for was accidentally booking myself into a therapy session. Somewhere between discussing breakfast options and fibre intake, I found myself ugly-crying while this poor woman nodded sympathetically and kept passing me the tissues.

You see, I’ve been “on a diet” in one form or another for the last 30 years.  That’s right.  Thirty.  Years.  I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been seduced by influencers, Instagram ads, glossy magazines and every fad that promised to “change my life in 28 days.”  I’ve bought the plans, counted the calories, weighed the food, measured the food, and occasionally just glared at the food.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, has produced long-lasting results.

When I reflect on the mountain of conflicting advice I’ve received over the years - cut carbs, eat carbs, increase protein, avoid dairy, embrace dairy, no alcohol (please) it’s no wonder I’m confused.  Frankly, it’s a miracle I can order lunch.  So yes, it felt like the right time to consult an actual professional instead of Tiffany-from-Instagram. 

My tragic dieting origin story began at the tender age of 14.  It was the Nineties and stick-thin supermodels were plastered across every magazine cover - Kate Moss, Elle Macpherson, Cindy Crawford.  Fat was the enemy and thigh-gaps were all the rage.  I bought a calorie counter book (remember this was pre-internet, pre-apps, and pre-sanity) and became obsessed with cutting every gram from my diet.  I failed miserably.  So when that didn’t work, I tried simply not eating at all.  Starving and cranky, it’s no wonder I was destined for my first of many spectacular binges. 

That’s when I discovered Bulimia.  I could binge as much as I wanted and then… go hug a toilet bowl.  Tragic I know.  But at the time, I thought I’d hacked the system.  Thankfully, I was promptly outed by my mum and that operation was shut down immediately. 

Fast forward to my twenties and I was introduced to the no-carb diet.  Atkins anyone?  Unlimited bacon, eggs, cheese and butter — a dream, really.  I lost weight but felt absolutely revolting.  So naturally, clean eating came next.  Nothing processed.  Nothing packaged. Nothing fun.  My response?  More binge-eating on chips, chocolate and ice-cream.  Everything that was “forbidden,” and almost always in one sitting. 

After the birth of my second daughter and nearing my thirties, I tried Lite n’ Easy.  Pre-made meals delivered to my door!  It worked a treat, and I lost all the baby weight.  The second I stopped however, my body said, thanks for that, and promptly returned it.  With interest. 

Around 2010, skinny was out and fit was in.  Extreme exercise was the new goal.  And with that came counting macros.  Ugh!  And weighing food and measuring food.  I ate every two hours and lived at the gym.  It was basically a full-time job that paid nothing and destroyed my joy. 

Time for diet pills.  Duromine.  The weight dropped off and for the first time in a long time, there was no food noise in my head which was such a lovely change.  All the weight (and more) came back once I stopped.  So bitchy.

Low fat.  No fat.  Keto.  Atkins.  Clean eating.  No eating.  Binge eating.  Running.  Extreme workouts.  Rinse and repeat.  My body never had a break and neither did my mental health. I hated myself for constantly failing and treated my body accordingly. 

Now that I’m 45, I wish I could go back and hug that 14-year-old me.  I’d tell 25-year-old me to wear the shorts.  The real kicker?  I was never fat.  I wasn’t overweight.  I had a flat stomach, no cellulite, and it still wasn’t enough.  I could never see past the “fat girl” in the mirror. 

So, when I sat with the nutritionist and walked her through my dieting résumé, she was understandably horrified.  We talked about a simple, balanced eating plan with no food groups banned, and no moral value assigned to carbs.  When I asked, “You mean… I can eat sandwiches?” and she nodded, that’s when the floodgates opened.

And that news, Dear Readers, was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Lauren x