I recently requested my doctor to draw blood and give me a thorough medical work-up. I am not getting any younger, I thought, and owe it to myself and my family to rule out high cholesterol, thyroid problems, or anything else that could potentially explain my extreme fatigue. I have every reason to be tired – a full-time practice, two kids (think sleep deprivation) and a long commute to work make my schedule a little harried. I have not had the time to eat right or exercise and I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep since my kids were born. Not taking care of myself like I should probably explained, at least in part, why I was now overweight and tired. So, it was not surprising when my blood tests revealed extremely high triglycerides. But it did not sit well with me when my doctor suggested medication for this condition. To me this meant I would become a prototypical American statistic, having to consume medication to counter the effects of an unhealthy lifestyle. I asked my doc if I could try reducing my triglycerides on my own first. He let me know that my triglyceride levels needed to drop pretty quickly, that I was not yet at risk for pancreatitis. He instructed me to go on a well-known diet for three months and then return to his office for re-evaluation. I agreed.
The concept of dieting is appalling to me. I work with people with eating disorders and know all too well that diets cause a kind of restraint mentality that eventually backfires and causes people to start overeating and gain weight. But I had to do something about my triglycerides. If dieting was the answer, I was determined to go for it. I read about the famous diet my doctor recommended. I discovered it meant absolutely no carbs or sugars for the first two weeks. I signed up online. Now all I needed to do was fill my kitchen with diet-friendly foods.
My initial trip to the grocery store was a test of endurance. I tried my best to determine if certain foods had the prerequisite number and combination of qualifiers like “nonfat”, “fat free”, “no carbs” or “no sugar.” I began questioning everything and became confused about what to select. One of my prescribed items was 1% reduced fat cottage cheese…. Do I buy the the 1% version or—wait a minute—should I buy the nonfat kind instead that actually has a bit more sugar? Many items on my new grocery list required this type of belabored contemplation. I left the grocery store over an hour later, exhausted.
The next day I began the diet. I had prepared all my food for my 12-hour work day. I brought 2 oz. hummus packages, celery, raw string beans, reduced fat part-skim mozzarella string cheese, edamame beans, almonds, and tuna. I snacked constantly while with clients, yet felt somehow disrespectful. I asked those with eating disorders if they minded my snacking—I did not wish my eating to trigger a reaction in them—but everyone was fine. Thank goodness, because I was hungry.
By day two of this diet, I was already craving foods that were verboten. I texted my husband: “Drinking tomato juice. What I really want is a buttery grilled cheese sandwich.” I was becoming annoyed with the concept of an all protein/vegetable diet. The texts to my husband became negative, ranting, and cynical, and included expletives: “I better f—ing lose some weight on this starvation diet. The science behind it? Eat very little.”…“Why don’t I just start marketing the ‘water and lemon’ diet? I could make millions and it is the same principle”…“I thought of another name for the diet: the ‘legitimized anorexia plan’.” I was complaining already and it was only day two. I am in for a rough ride, I thought.
Within only a few days, I started experiencing physical signs of dietary deprivation. I felt shaky and hungry, sometimes cold, and felt weak and a bit dizzy at my yoga class. As the days passed, I became used to these physical sensations and began feeling virtuous whenever I experienced them. These dietary signs of martyrdom meant I was doing something right. The scale said I was losing weight and I felt encouraged. This diet became a kind of competition with myself to see how much weight I could lose. The diet was no longer solely about my health. It was about hoping that my weight would drop, that I would begin to see inches off my waistline. I started imagining myself looking long and lean like some of the post-diet “after” photos. I ate only salad while my sons eagerly consumed french fries or pizza. I was on a mission to lose weight now. Each time I held back from eating the foods I really wanted, I felt powerful and proud.
I remember experiencing this sense of superiority in many areas of my life. “Restraint” was now my modus operandi. I found myself looking repeatedly in the cupboard and refrigerator to see what I could eat. It would have been all too easy to grab my typical handful of raisins or veggie chips. But I resisted. At work one day, one of my colleagues had brought a basket full of individually-wrapped Easter chocolate and set it on a table in the waiting room. I did not touch a single one. Stopping at the grocery store before work one day, I planned on purchasing snack items for the day. After passing aisles of pastas, cereals, breads, and tasty carb-rich snacks, I left the store with my fat free Greek yogurt and a bottled water. I had successfully resisted all temptation. I was limiting what I could eat and I felt in control.
Yet I noticed that there was a price to pay for my newfound sense of superiority. The scale took on new importance in my life and it influenced my mood. After eating more than my allotted quarter cup of pistachios one day, I became convinced I gained weight. Certainly I gained at least a half pound from this, I thought. When the number on the scale said I had actually lost weight, I couldn’t believe it! I was relieved. But on days when I hadn’t lost a pound, I felt discouraged and discovered I was berating myself for not sticking more rigidly to the diet. My mood was now partially determined by an arbitrary scale number. The motto “Don’t Weigh Your Self Esteem”—a philosophy I try to impart in my clients—suddenly flew out the window and I was now, in part, basing my self-worth on my body weight.
Sometimes I would obsessively check my weight on the scale. Wait, it says I went down one pound. That can’t be right. Let me check again. Now it says I have only lost half a pound. So, which is it? Let me step on the scale one more time and see….. Yet with each pound shed, the mirror took on new importance as well. My naked body was now something to be studied, judged in the mirror, and I took satisfaction in seeing less flesh. I look less “jiggly,” I thought. I need to continue this diet to lose more weight and then my body will look even better. The prospect of a more attractive appearance was now my objective. Thoughts about my weight and shape were now occupying my mind space and I didn’t like it. I needed to take a step back and remember why I was even engaging in this whole endeavor; my health is what counts, I need to lower my triglycerides, I reminded myself.
Both common sense and scientific research confirm that dieting backfires. Prohibitive restrictions make one desirous (for me personally, this includes items like muffins and chocolate brownies) and they generate with even greater intensity those foods we aren’t allowed. When we give in to temptation, we judge ourselves as morally compromised and perceive ourselves as sinning against the beauty ideal that has become the gold- and god-standard in our culture. Temptation is out there on every corner, yet our task is to resist so that we can be thin, look beautiful, and garner a fleeting sense of purity and righteousness. Some of us become cult-like in our pursuits for the thin ideal, forgetting it is essential to honor our bodies by eating nutritious foods only when we are hungry and stopping when we feel full. We become slaves to the god-like aspiration for slimness. We starve ourselves and become anorexic. Others of us find ourselves on the diet-binge pendulum where we consume forbidden fruits and then feel lousy in return. Enough already.
Yet continuing onward with this diet plan makes me feel like a hypocrite. I work with eating disordered clients to help them resist diets and the dieting mentality, yet here I am in the midst of both. Had I an even more obsessive personality, I might soon find myself trapped in a web of self-starvation, or overeating, or be incessantly worried about my body, weight, shape, and food. But I am not invulnerable: just like my clients who are plagued by these worries and behaviors, I too have now placed dieting concerns and thoughts about my appearance on my mental radar. Despite this unfortunate reality, I know all too well that my health and happiness are paramount, not to mention that the love for my husband and children are what really matter. How shameful it would be to waste a life focusing on what I eat or don’t eat, what I weigh, or aspire to meet some culturally-informed beauty standard. I look over at my older son eating his lunch with french fries. I happily steal one from his plate and he smiles at me. I smile right back.