It’s called The F*ck It Diet. A nutritionist recommended that I read the book, and it has been challenging almost everything I have ever believed about my body and its relationship to food. Every since I was a heavy and big boned 9 year old I have been conditioned to believe that there were certain foods I needed to avoid. For the most part, there was no junk in my house. Only muesli cereal and multi grain crackers that might as well have been cardboard. Then Pillsbury Raspberry Struedels appeared in the freezer and you best believe I attacked them. But for the most part, it was yogurt and fruits and sugar free peanut butter for breakfasts, and when I continued to gain weight, the doctor told my mom to limit the fruits I ate. I wasn’t even 10 yet, was already on my period, and a doctor told me to eat less fruits cuz I was chunky. It was only when I started reading this book that I realized how fucked up that is.
I have been every weight. When I got married I was thinner than I had been all throughout high school. Funny thing is that while I was at my thinnest, I wasn’t actually restricting what I was eating. I was just crazy in love (there’s probably another book about that.) It was the nutritionist that made me realize that if I was listening to my body and eating whatever and whenever I wanted during the only period in my life that I was thin, and I spent the rest of my life heavy and restricting carbs, sugars and fats (except for when I was on my high fat keto bout) but my weight was still “out of control”… then maybe eating less was not in fact the solution. It took a long time to wrap my head around this. Still am, actually.
I had always been careful not to use the words “diet” and “fat” or “gain weight” around my soon to be 8 year old daughter, but diet culture got to her anyway. She would get disproportionately excited when I announced I was having a cheat night and we’d share treats, and she was recently astonished when I had some pasta that I prepared for her, and went on to join her with her nightly cookies and milk before bed. I had a conversation with her that I was done depriving myself, and although I might have a bit more belly jelly, I was going to eat what made me happy and I was going to enjoy it. She looked worried. After some prying, she admitted that she doesn’t want me to gain weight. She wouldn’d explain why. I knew that I found the F*ck It Diet too late and that I had already begun damaging my daugher’s perception of what an ideal body should look like.
I still have a lot of de-programming to do and I know that when I start wearing real clothes again (thank you, CoVid) I will have to re-learn how to dress a curvier body and still be confident. It was easier to be confident before I tasted skinny and dressed a thinner body. So many more clothing options and fashion freedom. I could blame the fashion industry and music videos for that, but it’s not about blame. It’s about owning your body the way it was intended to be, which I am working on.
Now, it doesn’t help that my son is obsessed with re-enacting gender reveal videos. You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this. Several times a day, he points at my belly (which is rounder than it’s been in years thanks to being reintroduced to a healthy amount of carbs) and exclaims, with copious amounts of joy and enthusiasm “YOU PREGNANT MOMMY!?!”
“YES MOMMY IT IS! YOU BE PREGNANT!”
Nope, this is what my body looks like when I actually feed it, little man, but thanks for being an asshole.
Mommy and the Monsters 