Oh my God. How is it only Wednesday? I barely crawled out of the primordial ooze into my cheersome little Georgina Goodman slippers this morning. Frankly, I’m surprised I’m even wearing a bra (wait…quick fact check. Yes. Continue.) much less attempting to post with all the wit, cleverness and uh, otherstuffliness that you’ve come to know and expect from a Miss Plumcake Joint.
The thing is, I have absolutely no idea WHY I feel like someone locked me in a portapotty filled with angry badgers, I just do.
I think it might have something to do with seeing my nutritionist. Now, I love my nutritionist. She’s 10 pounds of awesome in a five pound bag and if if we didn’t have a patient/client thing happening I would totally take her out for cocktails at some college bar and play “Guess The Social Disease” based solely on each girl’s
tramp stamp totally meaningful lower back tattoo. Good times.
Anyhoodle, my nutritionist believes that PERHAPS going all day without eating anything and then having a big dinner at 10:00 p.m. is not exactly the ideal food model for proper nutrition. I know, I’m as shocked as you are. So in an effort to get me to eat during the day and at regular intervals she’s had me keep a food journal.
Did your heart just drop with anxiety?
It brought back pretty much every anxious feeling I had as a chubby young girl subjected to diet fad after diet fad by people whose main goal for me wasn’t health or happiness, but being thin.
I don’t have many food issues now, and I certainly don’t have much in the way of food shame, but handing over my brutally honest food journal –well really my iPhone with all my notes– was an incredibly vulnerable feeling.
I can’t say I particularly enjoyed it.
She wasn’t shaming, but I noticed I was hyper-aware of what she was saying. She observed that I had a sweet tooth and for a second I felt defensive. Historically I DON’T have much of a sweet tooth, at least not compared to my brother and my father who could eat sugar from the jar and while the sweets I like are very rich, they aren’t generally super sweet. I wanted to point out that prunes, a square of 90% dark chocolate, a lump of homemade pseudo-marzipan (almonds, salt and honey) and some grapes –while sweet– is all pretty healthful.
And then I caught myself.
Sweets = Bad
If I like sweets then I must like bad things, and what sort of person likes bad things? A BAD PERSON. Dude. It was vicious. And this all happened in a second AND to someone who has, as I’ve said, a relatively normal, value-neutral relationship with food.
I was raised believing what went into my mouth was a reflection of who I was as a person, and that ain’t necessarily so. What goes into your mouth doesn’t make you a bad person. What comes out of it does. And I don’t mean on Twenty Cent Tequila Night, either.
And then I checked myself.
I may be a bad person (honestly though, if the kid didn’t want me to tell her my coat was made of puppies she shouldn’t have asked) I’m not a bad person because I like sweets.
Today Miss Plumcake wants to know:
What is a food or fat-related anxiety trigger for you, and how do you address it? Where does that trigger come from and if you’re a mother, does it affect how you relate to food with your child?