Getting Real About Weight Loss

Well, I went to the psychiatrist and found out I lost 4.8 pounds, bringing me down to 176.8 pounds, and my total weight lost to 47.2 pounds. I know it’s a perfectly good amount for 5 weeks- almost exactly a pound a week after all- but it doesn’t feel very significant. It’s not a nice, round number, and it doesn’t sound so far off from my last weigh-in at 181.6. But I’m right on track. And I think my doctor’s actually impressed at how consistently I’ve been losing weight- he keeps saying how none of his other patients are this successful with it. So I know I should feel good. But the clock is ticking on this next Germany trip, and I still won’t fit into my smaller clothes by the time we leave. I have started wearing my newly thrifted men’s jeans with my belt on the 6th notch, which is another landmark: I started the weight-loss process on the 2nd notch. But the jeans are staying up just fine for now. How they will fit in 7 weeks when we leave, I’m not so sure.

All this progress with losing weight has got me thinking. In the past I’ve always seen any kind of diet or restricted eating as just setting oneself up to binge. The rather dismal statistics on the long-term success of dieters suggest that we’re almost entirely likely to gain back all the weight- plus more- after 5 years or more. My own personal experience with dieting (starting at age 9) supports this idea of diets setting you up to binge. In the past, it was always “one false move and it’s over.” If I strayed at all from my latest diet, I would call it quits and start eating everything in sight, not stopping until I’d binged my way back up to beyond my starting weight. I struggled with binge eating throughout my childhood and couldn’t imagine that there was anything to do but diet.

But then I discovered those books I’m always going on about: Overcoming Overeating and When Women Stop Hating Their Bodies by Jane R. Hirschmann and Carol H. Munter. Their feminist philosophy and practical instructions rocked my world and gave me hope for an ideal approach to food. And with the help I got from those books, I achieved that ideal while I was in college. I could eat whatever I wanted and stay thin. The suggested steps included the (somewhat terrifying) process of legalizing foods- allowing yourself to eat any and all of the foods you craved. Then there was the constant support of carrying around a “food bag” so you always had your favorite foods with you. And finally there was the acceptance of your body at any size, as well as the dismantling of negative thoughts about your body. This process led to an initial weight gain for me as I recovered from dieting, and then after a few months, I started to eat like a normal person. I ate when I was hungry, stopped when I was full, and ate whatever sounded good to me.

As I said, all this worked great for me in my twenties, before the full extent of my mental illness came into view. As I got sicker and sicker, I would vacillate between dieting and legalizing (usually bingeing after my latest diet), getting extremely frustrated and physically heavier. My weight gradually went up over the last decade or so until it finally peaked this year at 224 pounds. I’ve finally acceded to the idea that the feminist approach might not work for me being as sick as I am. And that due to my mental illness, it might never again work for me. So I’ve been adhering to a strict calorie limit since last year as well as doing some minimal exercise, and I’ve been getting the steady results I’d hoped for for so long.

The longer this method keeps working, the more my beliefs have shifted. I used to dismiss anyone who had lost weight by dieting as a fool who was just setting themselves up to binge, never imagining that it could last. But my own recent experience has me questioning whether it might actually be possible- whether you can restrict your eating for a long time (like forever) and successfully keep your weight where you want it. Entertaining the possibility of true weight loss success (other than through the feminist methods I described) is something I haven’t even considered since childhood. But what I’ve gleaned so far from my own experience is that small steps combined with religious consistency are more sustainable than extreme measures. My caloric limit is reasonable, I think, at 2,000 calories a day. I aim to eat 1,800, but if I need to go over that for any reason (like hunger), I’m comfortable with 2,000 and still consider myself within my plan. This little “release valve” is key for me. It makes it way less likely that I’ll end up at the end of the day with 140 calories allotted for dinner, trying to subsist on a can of vegetable soup. It also helped me get through the time change when traveling home from Germany when I was faced with a 30-hour day.

I recently discovered on my calendar that it’s almost exactly one year since I started limiting my eating, and that there was only one day when my caloric plans went out the window. That day I got into a screaming match with my Trump-supporting neighbors and flew into such a rage that I didn’t know what to do except eat. I ate 2 large bags of candied nuts (which were the only sweets in the house) and had half a frozen pizza for dinner. Now I’ve done a lot more damage than that in my bingeing days, but this was way out of line in terms of calories, coming in at around 4-5,000 for the day. But the astonishing part of this story is that the next day I just went back to the plan. With my “one extra bite and all bets are off” history with dieting, this was nothing short of a miracle. All I can attribute it to was, well, partly feeling justified- it’s not often that I’m arguing with white supremacists in my driveway- but also that returning to my moderate 2,000 calorie plan wasn’t too extreme. It actually took less effort to return to my usual meals than it would have taken to start bingeing.

There’s an analogy my husband offered: I’m climbing a very slight slope. If it were too steep, I might come crashing down into uncontrolled bingeing with any slight misstep. But with such a slight slope, I can handle the odd mishap and stay pretty much where I am. Moderation is the key to my eating now, and my mental health depends on it. And so this is an aspect of my life where, at least for now, I have to abandon my ideals. Is calorie counting my ideal way of eating? Of course not. Is it working for me at this stage of my mental illness? Yes. And so it is the most realistic approach for me right now. I would love to live according to my ideals in every way. But I do not live in a vacuum. I have a lot to negotiate in the real world. So I have to compromise and just do what works.