A version of this post appeared on The Famished Freelancer, my defunct food writing blog. I decided to kill it because a) maintaining 2 blogs is more than I can possibly be expected to deal with and b) it was supposed to be a work sample, but I ended up writing different stuff that I do for clients so it just didn't make sense anymore. I'll be re-posting over here about once a week in the interest of consolidation (and in actually having more stuff to post here).
But that doesn't mean that I don't love food. Or that I don't think about it a lot. Though I don't think about it as much as I did during my dieting days. Between the meal planning, the algebra of counting points and the hunger, food was on my mind a lot. Not that I was enjoying what I ate. I remember wishing once that I didn't have to eat at all.
Can you imagine that? Food is love. Even healthy, low cal food. Food is tasty. Food is life. Who would want to give it up?
Someone with a fraught, miserable relationship with food. That's who. Someone who went on their first diet at the age of five because the pediatrician had concerns about where she fit into the height and weight charts. Someone deep into the disordered thinking and eating patterns that come with dieting. But don't call it an eating disorder, because you're still fat.
It took a lot of years, but I swore off dieting forever. For my health. The stress was bad for me.
Now I believe that skim milk tastes like self loathing. Have you ever poured skim milk into iced coffee? In a clear cup, so you can see it all blend together? It's depressing. Milk is supposed to make coffee lighter, but skim milk just can't pull it off.
This isn't a fat-acceptance blog, but it will be a diet talk-free zone. (Seriously, can I go an entire day without hearing about how someone feels they have to punish themselves with exercise because they ate something delicious? Apparently not, even though I rarely leave the house.)
I'm done hating food.