It’s really stupid that guilt is a major part of the “eating experience” for many women. Every time, I tell a woman that I lose weight ‘though I’m eating three square meals and three snacks per day, with fat and carbs and everthing, including cake, greek yoghurt, and candy, they think I’m lying. Everybody thinks that losing weight means mortification. And that 1000 calories are a day’s ration for a grown woman. So everybody’s thinking when you’re just eating you’ll be getting fatter and fatter.
So here’s the choice: eat when you’re hungry and with pleasure – that would be leading to growing weight – or you take the advice of an aquaintane of mine, who’s counting calories with every bite, and when she reaches her calory count for the day, she stops. Even right after breakfast.
I still believe that food is good when you’re hungry, for pleasure and the soul, and that I can trust my feelings. Those feelings just have to get a chance of getting through almost forty years of habitually overeating.
To spend my life counting calories, or hysterically avoiding certain food groups would be perverse. To stuff myself because of every mood known to man would be too.
When your bathing suit doesn’t fit, throw it away and buy a new one. Bigger or smaller, who cares. I started losing weight after I threw all clothes away that didn’t fit anymore. (Apart from a cashmere turtleneck, three Tees, and hot red undies). I ordered “happy size” clothes by the dozens, after two years of hoping to lose the fat soon. Then I started using my brain again: if I lost weight immediately and lost about two pounds per month, I’d have to lose weight for about one year and a half. My beloved clothes from 1996, which I found real cool, would be outdated by then. I thought if ever I lose weight it’s worth new clothes.
And if not, at least I look good now.
P.S.: Thank you for your patience. When I started writing about dieting I didn’t know it would take so long. You know – I tried to keep this real short.