bearing blog

Clothes that fit.

One of the tropes of the pandemic was:   living in yoga pants.   Or, not just yoga pants, but comfortable clothes in general:  pajamas on the bottom and buttoned Zoom-ready shirts on top, or maybe just pajamas all day if you can conduct business by email and voice call.   My spouse is still working out of a home-office carved out of half our game room, webcam and all, often in a Work Shirt, running shorts and sandals.  I hope the flourishing armies of delivery drivers were wearing supportive shoes and clothes they could easily move in, too (and that my neighbors and I tipped them well enough to pay for good functional ones).

Now that I am vaccinated and shopping in person is safer, I have been systematically replacing my wardrobe.   I've put it off too long.  Not entirely voluntarily, but to some extent. It would certainly be understandable to put it off if I needed to stay in a strict budget and replace things one at a time as I could afford it; lots of people have to do it that way; but I have been economically fortunate and do not have that excuse.   No, over the last few years I have gradually changed clothing sizes and, well, tried to ignore it.  The involuntary part is because just about when the clothes I was wearing started to be no-longer-deniably small for me, the pandemic hit and delayed me further. 

But now that I've started to buy new clothes again I've realized just how much I undervalued simple comfort.

Freedom of movement, functional pockets in the right places, clothing that doesn't gap or tug if I bend or stretch or sit a certain way, clothes that fit.  I had almost forgotten what a difference that makes.

+ + +

The first things I got, which kind of set me off in this direction, were some summer dresses from eShakti.  If you don't know eShakti, well, take a look:  you can send in your measurements and get clothing (mostly dresses) made-to-measure and customized with your preferred sleeves, hems, and necklines.  The dresses came back, I held them up in front of me by the shoulders, and I thought:  whoa those are thick in the waist.  And then I put one on and took a deep, cleansing, belly-expanding breath, and thought, "I am going to live in these dresses all summer."  And when I looked in the mirror I didn't think they looked bad at all, despite the loose waist.  

Selfie with dress that fits.

Here's the thing about clothing based on a tape measure:  it's honest.

The next things I got were new athletic clothes.  I've been lifting weights three times a week and swimming or running twice a week, with the occasional yoga session thrown in.  (More on that later.)  Result:  I am living in gym clothes a lot.  You know how one of the tips and tricks for getting yourself to exercise, if you can swing it,  is to start your day wearing the gym gear?  Or sleep in it, to help nudge you to wake up and go running?   I have been doing that.  And I finally got tired of the tops being too unsupportive and the bottoms being too squeezy. 

I finally got tired of it...  No, that's not really what happened.   I think I could have gone on with slightly uncomfortable athletic wear for a while.  What really happened is that, as is relatively normal in weightlifting, I have been taking progress photos every month to monitor the muscular development of my arms and shoulders.  And indeed my arms and shoulders are getting more muscular, and also I can tell that my pregnancy-damaged core muscles are doing a much better job holding my insides in place.  But also the athletic clothes are not getting any more well-fitting.  I guess it was reasonable to think that they might possibly do so, since you never quite know what will happen when you start lifting weights:  you might get larger, you might get smaller, you might do both at the same time in different places.  Now that some months have gone by, though, it's clear that I should stop waiting to see if the running pants and support tops will fit again, and should just start amassing a wardrobe of clothes that fit.

So I've got new quick-dry hiking pants and new roll-up climbing pants with the phone zip-pocket behind the knee.  Runnig capris and sports bras and support tanks.  A one-piece number that is like a singlet with a stretchy sheath dress over the top.   Some yoga stuff.  New bike shorts.   

+ + +

What I didn't expect was that I would feel instantly so much better and more optimistic.  There are some subtle cues that too-tight clothing sends you all day long.  In the past I had even believed that I needed discomfort in my clothes to remind me, you know, not to eat whenever I felt like it;  I thought I had shed that self-punishment, maybe I hadn't completely.   But now that I can breathe again, I feel released, easy:  not just in the sense that my body isn't pinched and compressed by my clothes anymore, but more comfortable in my own skin.  I feel not just good, but well.   Like I am already on my way to reaching my goals of being stronger, more flexible, with better balance.  A sense of power and capability, and gratitude for movement.  

I put off buying a larger size because I didn't want to be a larger size.  But I did want clothes that fit.  The tape measure helped me get over it.

+ + + 

About ten years ago, in response to a reader question, I wrote a post about "acceptance," though I definitely meant specifically self-acceptance, and should have said so.  Acceptance of other people's selves is a matter of justice; self-acceptance, of humility properly understood.  So if I wrote the post today, I'd write it differently.  For example:

I'm not really happy with the vocabulary surrounding the debate about "acceptance."  Should people accept their bodies as they are?  Is the fat-acceptance movement healthy or not?   

One thing I didn't grasp at the time I wrote this:  the "fat-acceptance" movement has an important self-acceptance component for sure, but a far more urgent feature of it is the work to compel others—institutions and gatekeepers—to accept the existence of fat persons, who have the right to equal treatment, respectful health care, and comfortable, safe access to public spaces.  Missing that was an ignorant mistake on my part.

Here's much of the rest of that post, lightly edited.

The words "accept" and "acceptance" are weaselly.  People choose them for their positive connotations (who will come out against "acceptance?") but their precise meaning requires more information. 

First: "to accept" needs an object to make any sense at all.  One doesn't merely "accept," one accepts a thing -- or a person, or a place, or an idea.  To describe a person, for example, as "very accepting," says nothing of substance, only imparts a glow of positivity, until the writer specifies:  Exactly what does she accept?

Second: the verb morphs its meaning depending on what the object is.  Watch this:

• "I accepted the job" = "I agreed to the terms of the offer of employment."
• "I accepted the gift" = "I agreed to receive the gift and I received it."
• "The college accepted me" = "The college permitted me to enroll as a student."
• "I accepted that fact" = "I acknowledged that fact as true."
• "The restaurant accepts credit cards" = "The restaurant will receive payment in the form of credit cards"
• "The employees accepted the poor working conditions" = "The employees endured the poor working conditions without complaining"

What all these threads of meaning have in common is the notion of receiving willingly or agreeably.   A thing which is "accepted" is received, along with all its consequences, whether they be good or bad, with the assent of the will in some way.   But notice the necessity of the concept of "receiving"—something is grasped, or taken, or taken on, that was not grasped before. 

So when you're talking about "accepting a person" the meaning is perfectly clear if that person has either undergone a sort of a change, or else despite some measure of apparent other-ness, has been "received" as a fellow nonetheless.

 When a college accepts a student or a team accepts an athlete, the meaning is that a person has newly become a member of a group because the group has agreed to admit him. 

When a grown child's new spouse is accepted as part of the family, that means that—even though the other family members didn't get to choose the spouse—the family nevertheless willingly extends "membership privileges," treating the new person as a family member. 

When we Catholics in our wedding vows agree that we "will accept children lovingly from God" we mean that we promise to welcome children that we don't yet have, should they arrive. 

All of these cases involve an act of will, but also an act of receiving.  Even if the receiving happened without our explicit chance to consent (as in the case of the in-laws, or sometimes in the case of the children!), the act of will that turns it from merely "receiving" to "receiving willingly"—to "accepting"—is a choice.  That act of will may happen much later than the act of receiving (perhaps the in-laws take some time to "accept" the new spouse) but the receiving is still implied.

So—here's a question—how can one "accept one's body?"  

"I receive my body willingly?"  That doesn't really work, unless personhood and will precede embodiment, a belief that I'm betting few or none of my readers subscribe to.    I have been embodied since my beginning.  I cannot "accept" it in any literal sense, because I never "received" it.   I can accept someone else's body but it's nonsense to say I accept my own.

So when we say something like "body acceptance," meaning one's own body, we must be using "body" as a euphemism or as shorthand for the real object.  

What's the real thing we accept?

+ + +

One possibility:  we accept a physical condition that our body is in.    This connotes "endure without complaining"—in the way one might accept a privation, or a punishment, or the "poor working conditions" mentioned above, or a disease.  

But even this isn't really specific enough to say whether such "acceptance" is healthy or unhealthy.  What's the attitude inside?  The term doesn't specify.   

I'll-prove-I-can-withstand-this?   

Looking-on-the-bright-side?   

Maybe uniting-my-suffering-to-the-suffering-of-Christ, or complaining-won't-help-so-why-bother? 

Any of these will do to be described as "accepting the conditions."    But I think you'll agree that which one is meant makes a very big difference to the spirit.

+ + +

Another possibility is that we accept some idea or truth or statement about our body.   This means, simply, "we believe" that idea or truth.  In that case, whether it's healthy to "accept" the truth or idea hinges on whether the truth is true!   

"I accept that this morning I weighed X pounds" is a lot different from "I accept that I will always weigh  X pounds."  

"I accept that my physical condition increases my risk of developing diabetes" is a lot different from "I accept that I will develop diabetes." 

"I accept that I wear a size Y" is a lot different from "I accept that I have to wear big baggy clothes to hide my ugly hips."  

"I accept that it's very difficult to exercise" is a lot different from "I accept that I am not able to exercise."

The original post was written as an answer to the following question, which (following the way my blog was going at the time) focused on weight loss:

[W]hat do you think is the sequence for losing weight? Not accepting your body, so you change it; or accepting who you are and then from that acceptance just 'loving' yourself enough to change.

When Delores asked me that, did she mean "enduring" a body-condition, or does she mean "believing" a body-truth?  I think the question becomes more logical if we frame it as follows:

"What do you think is the sequence for losing weight? 

• Is it:  (1) refusing to accept the proposition  "Changing your body is impossible or undesirable."   Instead, accepting a different one:  "Changing your body is possible and desirable."  (2) taking steps to change your body.
• Or is it (1) accepting the relevant facts about yourself:  that your body is in a certain condition, and that you live under certain constraints, and that you have certain tendencies and desires; (2) with the power that comes from that knowledge, just willingly making sacrifices or acts of will that create good changes."

These are not mutually exclusive propositions.  They are each incomplete, and can be put together to make a sequence that is more complete.  

1.  Understand and believe the relevant facts.

2.  From those facts, discern carefully whether a change offers benefits.

3.  If a change offers benefits, discern carefully from the facts whether they are possible to attain.

4.  If there are benefits that are possible to attain, determine from the facts how they could be attained. 

5.  Decide whether you want to expend the effort to attain them.

That's the order of operations, without using the word "acceptance."  

+ + +

Not totally a complete order of operations, though, because it's important to acknowledge that not every desired change is within the reach of the will:  sometimes there are real obstacles.  And not every desired change is, shall we say, correctly desired?   Occasionally we feel a manufactured dissatisfaction, or one imposed from outside pressure.  

Ten years later, I would also add that there is some trial and error involved:  expending the effort could bring desired results, undesired results, or nothing.  That outcome produces facts that should be fed back into the discernment loop.   I've definitely experienced some changes in the facts since I wrote that, and have had to update my priors, and redirect my efforts. 

And sometimes just de-center the dissatisfaction, and re-center in gratitude.

Giving my body space to move and breathe isn't challenge-free (it does cost money and time to make any change) but it is just not that complicated, compared to so many other more grueling sorts of change-work.   I don't have to earn the right to the space to move and breathe, and neither does anyone else, in any sort of body.

 

 

 

 

 

First: "to accept" needs an object to make any sense at all.  One doesn't merely "accept," one accepts a thing -- or a person, or a place, or an idea.  To describe a person, for example, as "very accepting," says nothing of substance, only imparts a glow of positivity, until the writer specifies:  Exactly what does she accept?

Second: the verb morphs its meaning depending on what the object is.  Watch this:

• "I accepted the job" = "I agreed to the terms of the offer of employment."
• "I accepted the gift" = "I agreed to receive the gift and I received it."
• "The college accepted me" = "The college permitted me to enroll as a student."
• "I accepted that fact" = "I acknowledged that fact as true."
• "The restaurant accepts credit cards" = "The restaurant will receive payment in the form of credit cards"
• "The employees accepted the poor working conditions" = "The employees endured the poor working conditions without complaining"

What all these threads of meaning have in common is the notion of receiving willingly or agreeably.   A thing which is "accepted" is received, along with all its consequences, whether they be good or bad, with the assent of the will in some way.   But notice the necessity of the concept of "receiving"—something is grasped, or taken, or taken on, that was not grasped before. 

So when you're talking about "accepting a person" the meaning is perfectly clear if that person has either undergone a sort of a change, or else despite some measure of apparent other-ness, has been "received" as a fellow nonetheless.

 When a college accepts a student or a team accepts an athlete, the meaning is that a person has newly become a member of a group because the group has agreed to admit him. 

When a grown child's new spouse is accepted as part of the family, that means that—even though the other family members didn't get to choose the spouse—the family nevertheless willingly extends "membership privileges," treating the new person as a family member. 

When we Catholics in our wedding vows agree that we "will accept children lovingly from God" we mean that we promise to welcome children that we don't yet have, should they arrive. 

All of these cases involve an act of will, but also an act of receiving.  Even if the receiving happened without our explicit chance to consent (as in the case of the in-laws, or sometimes in the case of the children!), the act of will that turns it from merely "receiving" to "receiving willingly"—to "accepting"—is a choice.  That act of will may happen much later than the act of receiving (perhaps the in-laws take some time to "accept" the new spouse) but the receiving is still implied.

So—here's a question—how can one "accept one's body?"  

"I receive my body willingly?"  That doesn't really work, unless personhood and will precede embodiment, a belief that I'm betting few or none of my readers subscribe to.    I have been embodied since my beginning.  I cannot "accept" it in any literal sense, because I never "received" it.   I can accept someone else's body but it's nonsense to say I accept my own.

So when we say something like "body acceptance," meaning one's own body, we must be using "body" as a euphemism or as shorthand for the real object.  

What's the real thing we accept?

+ + +

One possibility:  we accept a physical condition that our body is in.    This connotes "endure without complaining"—in the way one might accept a privation, or a punishment, or the "poor working conditions" mentioned above, or a disease.  

But even this isn't really specific enough to say whether such "acceptance" is healthy or unhealthy.  What's the attitude inside?  The term doesn't specify.   

I'll-prove-I-can-withstand-this?   

Looking-on-the-bright-side?   

Maybe uniting-my-suffering-to-the-suffering-of-Christ, or complaining-won't-help-so-why-bother? 

Any of these will do to be described as "accepting the conditions."    But I think you'll agree that which one is meant makes a very big difference to the spirit.

+ + +

Another possibility is that we accept some idea or truth or statement about our body.   This means, simply, "we believe" that idea or truth.  In that case, whether it's healthy to "accept" the truth or idea hinges on whether the truth is true!   

"I accept that this morning I weighed X pounds" is a lot different from "I accept that I will always weigh  X pounds."  

"I accept that my physical condition increases my risk of developing diabetes" is a lot different from "I accept that I will develop diabetes." 

"I accept that I wear a size Y" is a lot different from "I accept that I have to wear big baggy clothes to hide my ugly hips."  

"I accept that it's very difficult to exercise" is a lot different from "I accept that I am not able to exercise."

The original post was written as an answer to the following question, which (following the way my blog was going at the time) focused on weight loss:

[W]hat do you think is the sequence for losing weight? Not accepting your body, so you change it; or accepting who you are and then from that acceptance just 'loving' yourself enough to change.

When Delores asked me that, did she mean "enduring" a body-condition, or does she mean "believing" a body-truth?  I think the question becomes more logical if we frame it as follows:

"What do you think is the sequence for losing weight? 

• Is it:  (1) refusing to accept the proposition  "Changing your body is impossible or undesirable."   Instead, accepting a different one:  "Changing your body is possible and desirable."  (2) taking steps to change your body.
• Or is it (1) accepting the relevant facts about yourself:  that your body is in a certain condition, and that you live under certain constraints, and that you have certain tendencies and desires; (2) with the power that comes from that knowledge, just willingly making sacrifices or acts of will that create good changes."

These are not mutually exclusive propositions.  They are each incomplete, and can be put together to make a sequence that is more complete.  

1.  Understand and believe the relevant facts.

2.  From those facts, discern carefully whether a change offers benefits.

3.  If a change offers benefits, discern carefully from the facts whether they are possible to attain.

4.  If there are benefits that are possible to attain, determine from the facts how they could be attained. 

5.  Decide whether you want to expend the effort to attain them.

That's the order of operations, without using the word "acceptance."  

+ + +

Not totally a complete order of operations, though, because it's important to acknowledge that not every desired change is within the reach of the will:  sometimes there are real obstacles.  And not every desired change is, shall we say, correctly desired?   Occasionally we feel a manufactured dissatisfaction, or one imposed from outside pressure.  

Ten years later, I would also add that there is some trial and error involved:  expending the effort could bring desired results, undesired results, or nothing.  That outcome produces facts that should be fed back into the discernment loop.   I've definitely experienced some changes in the facts since I wrote that, and have had to update my priors, and redirect my efforts. 

And sometimes just de-center the dissatisfaction, and re-center in gratitude.

Giving my body space to move and breathe isn't challenge-free (it does cost money and time to make any change) but it is just not that complicated, compared to so many other more grueling sorts of change-work.   I don't have to earn the right to the space to move and breathe, and neither does anyone else, in any sort of body.

The new ground rules.

For a couple of years, 2008 or so, I wrote frequently about exercise and eating strategies.   Sometimes I wrote about how those intersect with theology of the body, or Thomist morality.  I returned to the topic sporadically, but not steadily, since then.  It's been a while since I've written much.

I wrote all that because I was in the midst of two major life changes.

• First, that year when my third child was a toddler, I was prioritizing regular exercise for me for the first time.  Having taken lessons before that pregnancy, afterwards I started swimming twice a week, later adding running.   In order to keep it up, I thought, I had to be obsessive and inflexible; for better or worse, I was obsessive and inflexible, and I did keep it up.  Still am doing it today.

 

• Later, after the shock of having sustained this new habit for several months, I began restricting calories, and over the course of about six months I lost 27 percent of my initial body weight.    Having thought of myself as perpetually dumpy and sedentary since childhood, I found myself now active, and also, not fat.

Note the causality:  My writing about this didn't bring it about.  I wrote because I was having what I called success, and I was desperately trying to make sense of it.  I needed to understand why it was happening, was because I was afraid that if I didn't figure out why it was happening, I would not be able to keep from going back to "the way I was before."

+ + +

Ha.  As if I could slip back accidentally to "the way I was before."   Back to my early thirties?  I am older!  Human beings are not reversible.  For one thing, my windows of possibility have shifted.  For another, I understand more.

I've learned that the effort required to track calories closely enough to override the body's own cues is seriously intensive, tends to push out other satisfying activities, and requires a constant input of motivation.   And I've learned that I don't want to live in that kind of monomaniacal relationship with myself.

It may seem odd, but motivation itself is part of the problem.  I do lift myself up with messages that are true and encouraging, and celebrate with rewards that are both pleasant and good.    That's great when they work.  But if those don't do the job, I've often been tempted to use any mental means to the end of self-control:  shame, fear, dwelling on bad memories, threats of self-punishment; contempt for my body, contempt for other bodies.    Those thoughts still pop up, even though I understand better the damage they can do.

+ + +

Sometimes I betrayed those thoughts in my writing.

Writing has been a way to motivate myself, maybe spread a little motivation to others who might enjoy it.  I think this is, in principle, a worthy endeavor.   I've always used writing to to see if my ideas make sense and to improve them, and the promise (threat) of a small audience raises the stakes enough to make it meaningful.    I feel reward when a reader comments that something clicked, gave them an idea, helped.   

But when you write, in part, as a tool to root out error.... a corollary is that frequently, the error spends some time noodling around on the page.  And one might not catch them all.    It's not inherently wrong to try to work out ideas in public that way.  But there are limits. 

First of all, I have to be clear about what I'm doing (sometimes, literally, making it up as I go along).

Second:  when the topic is one that has been as historically fraught as exercise and diet and body image and fat loss, one about which many people carry a great deal of internalized harm... I need to be selective about setting down those first drafts of my thoughts. 

Because I also carry internalized messages that have power, and maybe not just over me.  Some of my thoughts are not great, especially some that in the intervening years I've learned to recognize as intrusive thoughts.  It might help me to exorcise them by giving voice to their content, but will it help anyone else?  If I'm going to straighten myself out by writing about those, best to write them longhand on one of the yellow pads I buy by the case, at least in first draft.  And maybe just keep them to myself, or share with a therapist instead.

+ + + 

It's hard for me to precisely sort my previous writing about this stuff into "definitely okay, maybe even good" and "definitely problematic."  I've considered going back and editing, but the task is too overwhelming.  I've considered deleting stuff, but I think there are kernels of insight there worth rescuing.   For now it's still all there, waiting for me to decide what to do about it.

Meanwhile:  I'm changing up my lifestyle once again.  I'm committing myself to strengthen patterns of thinking that are much more compatible with good mental health and body care.   I would very much like to clarify them by setting them out on the blog. 

But:  when I blogged about fitness and nutrition before, expressing what I was going through 10-12 years ago, I wanted to write conversationally and frankly but that really amounted to being careless:  careless about language, careless about the words I used relative to the philosophy of the human person; careless about how pouring all my unfiltered thoughts out on the page might affect people who have a history of eating disorders, or of scrupulosity, or of difficulty caring for themselves.   I don't want to make the same mistakes again.

Would it be better just to... not write about this sort of thing at all?  I'm open to that possibility.  I'm not sure I can find out unless I give it a try.

What if I could write about it without making those mistakes?  What would it look like?  

+ + +

Ground rules.

 

1.  I will not conflate weight, fatness, or appearance with health.   

It's not just that these, as indicators of health, are poor and incomplete—though they are.   

It also means no more blithe writing about "desire for health" as a nobler-sounding euphemism for desires to look better, be less fat, or weigh less.  Pretended concern for "health" has justified many rude and abusive people.   Let me call things what they are.

A crucial reason to carefully acknowledge the difference:  Fat people frequently report that health care providers become fixated on fatness as the primary indicator of their health, the sole probable cause of pain or other symptoms, and the first problem that must be "fixed" before they are allowed to access other levels of care.  (See this recent commentary by Aubrey Gordon.)

 

2.  I will acknowledge other biomarkers of general health that are better-supported by evidence.  

Anyone can self-assess the time they spend physically active, the number of alcoholic drinks they have per week, the hours they sleep, the number of fruit/vegetable portions they are able to serve themselves each day.   These behavior-based markers are much more often under an individual's direct control (although the range of available choice varies).  Hydration can be assessed by checking if the urine is consistently a pale yellow color.  Blood pressure,  lipid panels, and blood glucose testing are accessible to those who can afford at least annual basic preventive care.   

As for body-size-related markers of general health, my understanding is that neither body-fat percentage, nor weight, nor BMI work well at all as a predictor of eventual development of cardiovascular or metabolic disease.  The one exception may be waist circumference.   If I find myself casting about for a NUMBER, perhaps that one will work; otherwise, maybe I need to write something else.

(Two examples of papers with this finding; two examples don't substitute for a careful literature review, of course.  Note that adjusting the results for BMI does appear to improve the correlation.  This is possibly because it brings in a dependence of height; naturally short stature is itself an attribute that raises the risk of developing these diseases.)    

 

3.  I am not a fitness professional.  I am not a health care provider.  I am not a registered dietician.

I have my own experience.  I have scientific training; it is not in this field, but I have good scientific literacy and am able to assess the general usefulness of papers and applicability of research.   I know where to go for more information, and I know how to identify the difference between a broad scientific consensus and a matter with competing viable theories.   I also know how to take a piece of popular science writing and pick it apart, if I want to, or use it for entertainment purposes, if I want to do that instead.  All these mean that I can form an educated and reasonable opinion (you will not catch me scoffing about "Dr. Google," any more than I would scoff at public access to medical libraries), and I can write commentary about it if I like.  These are not, however, substitutes for authority.  I'm an educated amateur, not an expert in any of these areas, and I have an academic responsibility to remain clear about that to anyone who stumbles across my blog.

(This isn't a ground rule about which I really needed a reminder.  I try hard to live by it anyway.  But I thought it worth mentioning for completeness.)

 

4.  No biomarker, and few health-related behaviors, imply a specific moral conclusion.

Yeah, I know myself (imperfectly).   I might be able to tell you when I've made a poor choice, or developed a poor habit, or experienced a consequence, for lack of some virtue.   I know where I have agency, and I have some ideas where my agency has been damaged by circumstances.  I don't know that about others.  I can't speak for everyone else.

Assumptions about real people are tricky at best, and at worst they are outright bad and harmful.

Moreover, the following ought to go without saying:  there are no bad foods, there are no bad bodies, there is no such thing as cheating.  There is room for rest, and room for feasting, and room for fun, and no one else gets to tell you how much; there is room for you.

 

5.  Nevertheless, I'll stand by this:  morality, theology, charity, the philosophy of the human person, the demands of justice, aren't off limits here.

Nothing that human beings do or decide is untouched by the disciplines and philosophy of my faith tradition, and there aren't many traditions that pretend otherwise for themselves.    I hope to explore them in a way that doesn't violate the very principles I'm seeking to understand.  I'm not certain that I can, but I hope to.  

It is good to use appropriate self-discipline to strengthen virtue.  It is good to consider how to use resources prudently.  It is good to exercise detachment from outcomes.  At the same time, discipline is personal, resources are personal, outcomes are definitely personal.  So I need to take care:  if I write about my discipline and my resources, I need to make clear that they are mine and no one else's.

 

6.  I will be explicit about the limits of hypothetical situations and imaginary characters.  

Ah, the hypothetical situation.  Much maligned for good reason, sometimes useful for illustration, always a bit tricky in their execution.

I love hypotheticals, but I must be more careful with them.  It is tempting to think that if I think up a hypothetical situation, decorate it with only those details that seem to me significant, and imagining human-like actors, I can treat it as my very own creature of pure reason.   Since it is mine, I can manipulate as I please and  judge with omniscience. 

In one sense it's true, I can do that.  But real human readers have a tendency to see in these hypothetical characters someone "like" themselves, or perhaps real people they know.  And I am not allowed to manipulate or to judge the real person based on my fan-fic. 

Even if I think up a hypothetical, and along comes a real person who embodies the imaginary one in every detail I created, I can't use my reason to reach deductive conclusions about the real person.   Why not?  After all, the hypothetical (in this hypothesis) is perfectly matched!  Well, the real human may possess every detail of my hypothetical, but the hypothetical on which I exercised my reason could not possibly possess every detail of the human.   Humans possess an infinite detail and and an infinite worth, far beyond the scope of any model problem.   So watch it.

Once again.  Watch out when you are tempted to make assumptions about real people.

 

7.  If I write about specific activities, I'll make room for modifications for different bodies, variations that make training plans more enjoyable, and goals unrelated to weight reduction.

That short wish list appears in this commentary piece by Rebecca Scritchfield.

 

8.  Athletic performance metrics are useful, far preferable to body-size metrics, but highly individual and unrelated to either value or virtue.

It's probably a step in the right direction to go from "my body's value comes from its appearance" to "my body's value comes from what it can do."   But it's still wrong.

Training is experiment, and experiment requires observation and measurement.  I can use performance metrics to evaluate whether my training is having the effect I desire.  I don't have to be clinical about everything, either:  I can celebrate when I meet the metric goals I've set, and I can express disappointment when I don't.   It's crucial not to connect the results to my value or my "good"-ness.   People do not, in fact, get what they deserve.

 

9.  "Quality of life" is a universal goal, but an individual measure:  how closely reality matches a person's hopes and expectations.

There are multiple ways of going about working for one's quality of life, too.  Much fitness writing is aimed at improving quality of life through hard work; but I also want to honor the effort to maintain quality of life in situations of increasing difficulty.  There is also the tough mirror process of re-adjusting those hopes and expectations to match an unlooked-for reality, maybe in the face of injury or illness, maybe other changes in circumstance, maybe after learning more about oneself.

 

10.  The big picture of what I'm getting at:  an authentically human understanding of self-care.  

Maybe that sounds like an overly grandiose aim.  Especially since, if history is any guide I'll probably be putting up posts like "here's what's in my gym bag these days!" and "I've discovered that it's a mistake for me to forget to eat breakfast before swimming a mile!"  I mean, some of that stuff is really just minutiae.  I might put it up because it's on my mind.

But all the little pieces add up to a bigger picture.  

The ground rules are here as a kind of checklist for the construction of those little pieces, so they're all align-able with the sort of big picture I want to have.  At the same time, there are questions that feel very open to me, so that I'm constructing that picture as I go along without really knowing what it will look like.  What boundaries are essential?  If vocation is about self-gift, what is the type and extent of self-investment that is appropriate for each vocation?  How do we write sensitively about practices that are health-promoting for many but not for some?   How about writing about practices that are accessible only to a few but might be interesting  to many?  How does a family distribute resources (time, effort, assets) among its members with different needs?   Can self-discipline be taught or only discovered?  What are the signs that health, wellness, even discipline has become an idol, or an obsession, and how can a person get their priorities back in order?

+ + +

Well, this post has been many days in the making, so don't be surprised if it takes me a while to get around to the actual writing.  But it was a necessary step to unclog the  pipes, so to speak.  I hope to follow up on it soon.

The belated twice-yearly post on weight maintenance.

Usually I write this post in May (around the anniversary of the "click" in my head that changed things) and November (around the anniversary of reaching my goal weight, around six months later).   I'm writing the November post late this year, in January, not because I want to cash in on all the New Year's resolution stuff, but just because I've been a delinquent blogger.

Let's grab something as it flies by and slap it up on the page to make things look current.  Here's a year-old article that has been going around on FB the last few days, it being January:  Diet and exercise alone are no cure for obesity, experts say.  Here is an extended excerpt from the  newspaper's summary of the information:

Take note, glib-talking doctors and legislators, rail-thin commentators, and fat-haters of all stripes: For most of the nation's 79 million adults and 13 million kids who are obese, the "eat less, move more" treatment, as currently practiced, is a prescription for failure, these experts say.

In a commentary published  [ed: in the May 2015 issue] in the journal Lancet Diabetes and Endocrinology, four weight-loss specialists set out to correct what they view as the widespread misimpression that people who have become and stayed obese for more than a couple of years can, by diet and exercise alone, return to a normal, healthy weight and stay that way.

"Once obesity is established, however, body weight seems to become biologically 'stamped in' and defended," wrote Mt. Sinai Hospital weight management expert Christopher N. Ochner and colleagues from the medical faculties of the University of Colorado, Northwestern University and the University of Pennsylvania.  

The human body, evolved to endure through periods of food scarcity, has adapted a host of methods to ensure that lost weight will be restored, the authors say. It will respond to weight loss by powering down its use of calories as fuel, pumping out hormones to increase hunger, boosting fat storage capacity, and tricking the brain to demand overconsumption.

"Few individuals ever truly recover from obesity," the authors wrote. Those that do, they add, "still have 'obesity in remission,' and are biologically very different from individuals of the same age, sex and body weight who never had obesity." They are constantly at war with their bodies' efforts to return to their highest sustained weight.

...Why would an influential foursome see the value in recapitulating these ideas in a respected medical journal?

"It's not just that most people still stigmatize obesity--as they say, it's the last acceptable form of stigma," said Ochner. "What really bothers me working around and with clinicians, is that some of them--a disturbing percentage--still believe it's all about personal choice: that if the patient just tries hard enough, and if we can just figure out how to get them a little more motivated, then we'd be successful. And that's just not right."

Lifestyle changes are undoubtedly a necessary condition for enduring weight loss, Ochner said. But they're far from sufficient, and when physicians believe they are--when they say "you already know what to do, I told you what to do," he said--"that's certainly cruel, and it's harmful: It prevents them getting the care they need."

Physicians, he said, should be doing more than exhort patients to eat less and move more. They should[:]

• "intervene more quickly to encourage weight loss in overweight patients before they become obese."
•  "discuss with obese patients ... medications, surgery and device-based treatments...to supplement diet and exercise..."
• "make weight-loss maintenance--an aspect of obesity treatment that is neglected--a part of their treatment plan."

 + + + 

I'm one of the odd people that did manage to correct long-term obesity through diet and exercise.  It required a level of focus that bordered on the obsessive; I paid a price in mental health.  I'm not saying it was the wrong choice to make; the sacrifice was temporary, and it worked.  

 I think I'm mentally more balanced now, but it's also been harder to maintain the habits that seem to correspond with keeping my weight off.  It could just be because I'm under a lot of demands in this season of my life; but sometimes I wonder if I will always have to choose between staying thin and staying relatively sane.

+ + +

Maintenance?

It really is very difficult.  I understand intimately what they mean by "obesity in remission."  I was obese for about 25 years, and I've only been not-obese for 7.5 years, and I feel -- deeply -- that the lifestyle which maintains it is something I put on, not something that's really sunk in fully.  

For a while, between my last two pregnancies, I thought it really had sunk in.  Post-weight-loss, I'd maintained for several months, gotten pregnant, had an amazingly healthy pregnancy and an easy delivery, and then I picked up my old, good habits where I left off.  I returned to my desired weight range and maintained that for three years or so before my fifth pregnancy.  

But after my youngest child was born I was much more sluggish.  He is two now, and I have never quite gotten back to where I was.  I'm about ten pounds and one clothing size over my desired weight.  I'd be okay with it, I think, if it weren't for the frustration and fear that's all wrapped around the knowledge that I've simply not been able to hold myself tightly enough to a plan.

Again, I have a lot of demands on me right now, and I well remember the level of obsession that it required for me to lose the weight the first time.  Maybe there simply isn't enough of my attention to go around, and maybe I could do it if I could only clear my schedule and clear my head.  But it's all hypothetical.  I can't seem to stick to anything very long.  And that "can't" is very scary to me.  

I wonder all the time:  Am I out of remission?

+ + +

Let's take a look at these words again:

The human body, evolved to endure through periods of food scarcity, has adapted a host of methods to ensure that lost weight will be restored, the authors say. It will respond to weight loss by powering down its use of calories as fuel, pumping out hormones to increase hunger, boosting fat storage capacity, and tricking the brain to demand overconsumption.

 

I don't know if the three other response mechanisms are active, but the last one?  Tricking the brain to demand overconsumption?

It is so very, very real.

My brain is a traitor.  It has completely gone over to the side of the body in this one.  How to explain it?  My brain doesn't try to get me to break my resolutions, to foil my plans, anymore.  It's learned that this does not work.  

I don't do the emotional-eating thing.  I don't get tempted to break my resolutions.  If I am conscious of a plan I have made (say "Don't eat dessert tonight") you can wave a chocolate cake in front of me all evening and I will not take that first fatal bite.   My brain has given up trying to tempt me away from my plans.

Instead my brain has learned a better way:  it causes me to forget I had a plan in the first place.  "Ha ha!" the brain says.  "If I refuse to do my job of remembering important things, there's nothing that the rest of you can do about it!" And when dinnertime comes it's all like "Plan?  What plan?  Pass the potatoes."

I realize that this sounds absolutely insane.

I can't think of a better way to describe it.

I make plans.  I literally forget them, or at least forget that they matter, when I sit down at the table.  And then immediately after we are all done eating, I seem to remember them again.  Shit.  And then the remorse.

This is not a good mental situation.  I really have to do something about it, because it is the kind of mental situation that eating disorders are made of:  a cycle of self-recrimination that begins immediately after a meal.  It's bad.

+ + +

There are definitely things I could do about this.   I think that the best course is probably to pick one good habit, one tried and proven one from my old life, and concentrate on that until it's second nature again.   But panic overtakes me.  "Just one habit" is too scary; I fear I'll let all the others go.   For example:  If I concentrate only on not snacking between meals (a worthy goal, part of the way I want to live my life), I fear, I'll destroy all the practice I've made at having reasonably-sized meals.  And so on.  I keep starting off with single habits, but eventually I try to do all the habits at once, get overwhelmed, and start forgetting them again.  

+ + +

And make no mistake:  while I might be able to develop and reinforce habits that maintain my weight where it is, I really have to be conscious at every meal if I am going to run a calorie deficit and live off my stores even for a few weeks.  I am under five feet tall.  Maintaining my weight as it is  requires, roughly, only 1850 calories per day.   Losing it at a noticeable pace means going down to something like 1400-1500.  This is not that much food, people!  Unless you are the sort of person who forgets to eat under stress, it takes attention to maintain that for more than a couple of days, and it is shockingly easy to make up several days' deficit in only one meal.  

Example.  If I am trying to stay at 1500 cal/day, chances are good I'll really manage closer to 1650.  Let's say I do that for 4 days in a row.  Great! I'm running an 800-calorie deficit.  Then on day 5 I go to a restaurant for lunch and in a fit of forgetfulness I order a cheeseburger and a fountain Coke with a vinaigrette side salad (no fries, please).   That's all it takes!  The deficit is gone, and I'm back to square one.  Without ever really departing from reasonable, moderate eating!  We're talking a single, culturally normal-sized meal (too big for my body size, but it isn't an amount of food anyone would call "overeating") after 13 carefully-restricted meals in a row.  If I kept up that pattern (13 restricted meals, one culturally normal meal) over and over, I would never change.  The only thing that would be different is that I would feel very frustrated.  Would you be able to keep that up without going slowly insane or developing an eating disorder?

It requires attention.  I have found that it requires counting.

+ + +

Still, I can point to areas of relatively easy improvement.  Someday I will have the attention available to make a final push through those two-year-old postpartum pounds, and I could concentrate on developing the habits that support the drive, make it a little easier.  Cutting back on alcohol, making easy-to-remember resolutions like eliminating snacking and seconds, making rules like "half sandwiches only," splitting things with Mark at restaurants (and NOT using that as an excuse to go ahead and have dessert).  

I could do these things.  The question is, will I?

A series of older pictures can be found here.

Here we go again.

The baby is eight weeks old, and that is how long I promised I would wait before buckling down to trying to lose the weight I put on to support my pregnancy.

Some people advise waiting six months. That does make sense -- often the work of mothering a baby takes the extra weight off without conscious effort, so why not enjoy that while it lasts? And self-starvation is not good for milk supply, itself doubleplusungood for newborns. I am not planning on self-starvation. I am planning on being intentional instead of mindless, and on attention to portion sizes, and room for ice cream after dinner and a beer with Mark after the kids go to bed, and on a great deal of roasted Brussels sprouts. Also on adapting as I go along.

One thing I have already figured out and adapted: the daily rhythm that felt best and most sustainable before I got pregnant (light breakfast, medium lunch, afternoon snack, hearty dinner) now makes my blood sugar go haywire. Distributing my calories more evenly throughout the day keeps me from falling over. I need medium breakfasts and medium lunches and medium dinners now.

And so -- I resisted it for a while -- I have had to hang up my good old mantra "one egg is enough eggs for breakfast." Two-egg veggie and cheese omelet, please. (Technically I hung that up while I was pregnant and eating a lot of steak and eggs specials. But I really thought I would be dusting it off again after the birth. Not quite yet, I guess.)

+ + +

I put on about 40 pounds while pregnant, and about 25 remain. Here at the outset, I feel fairly confident I can deal with the problem; already I am practicing waiting till mealtime, and hitting that happy spot where I feel confortably satisfied after a meal, but still reliably feel good and hungry a little while before the next one.

Getting hungry several times a day seems to be the key. Not "eat when you're hungry," as if hunger is a serious problem that must be immediately corrected; nor "hungry all the time," which probably isn't good for me or the baby; but periodically hungry for a little while before each meal.

I find that going to bed just a little bit hungry is effective, too, but it is possible to overshoot; if I am lying awake at 2 a.m. listening to my stomach growl, I probably need some peanut butter toast, and that is okay.

+ + +

So, what are the habits I am concentrating on right now?

• Watching portion size and sticking to one helping
• Vegetables or at least fruit at each meal
• A scoop of ice cream for dessert after dinner (instead of second and third helpings)
• A beer or a cocktail right before bed (instead of an endless Bedtime Snack Binge)
• Weighing in every five days or so "officially," but also weighing in the evening to strengthen my resolve against the Bedtime Snack Binge
• Preferring fruit, cheese, and nuts over bread- or cracker-based afternoon snacks
• Asking Mark to select snacks for the children that don't leave behind a quarter of a package of leftovers

I am generally aiming for 450-calorie meals, plus a smaller afternoon snack and the aforementioned ice cream and cocktails, but I am not really counting the calories up just yet. That is something to save for if I hit a plateau later on.

Here's a handy resource with 400-calorie meal plans in it. I ignore the word "low-fat" wherever it appears, so my meals are typically more than 400 calories, but they won't be crazy off the charts. It's 400 Calorie Fix by Liz Vacciarello and Mindy Hermann. It contains a refresher on estimating portion sizes, numerous recipes, a two-week meal plan, and suggested side dishes. This is particularly useful for a household that, like mine right now, is relying on shortcuts like packaged meals and takeout, because it rather nonjudgmentally makes suggestions for how to eat 400 calories' worth of movie theater junk or vending machine snacks or fast food burgers, right alongside 400-calorie homemade meals like Couscous and Vegetable Salad (with a side of tuna and mayo) or Speedy Fish Tacos or Lentils with Zesty Tomatoes (with a side of pita bread).

Not that I am saying one ought to substitute vending machine snacks (e.g., Wheat Thins and a Snapple) for a meal, but at least this particular book is light on the Good Food/Evil Food dichotomy, which I appreciate right now. And it's good for practicing the habit of learning to have reasonable portions of things, and for accepting tradeoffs like, "if I want extra meat, I will get more calories unless I take less rice." Which I am rusty on after the ravages* of pregnancy.

*ravages (n. pl.): state of having to eat cheeseburgers or steak-and-eggs whenever one wants, because iron.

+ + +

The psyche rebelled at first, but I am already remembering what it's like to have self-control, and that peculiar satisfaction of being able to notice that I am kind of hungry, while also knowing that Disaster will not befall me if I wait till lunchtime. It is satisfying because I know I did not always have that ability, and I learned it, and I still have it now when I wish to call on it.

I get hungry. I think to myself what I know from experience: "This is my body telling me it's about to switch over to burning the stored calories. In a little while the sensation will go away, and then after a while it will be time to eat again." And this message works, I find, as long as the things that I eat are generally real food with a decent amount of protein, fat, and fiber.

So, for example, today for breakfast I had

• Fresh-baked berry muffin
• A half cup of plain yogurt with a sliced banana and a bit of toasted coconut
• Coffee coffee coffee

And for lunch I had

• Homemade Niçoise salad with half a can of oil-packed tuna, a boiled egg, a potato, green beans, olives, tomato, and lemon-mustard dressing
• Another one of those muffins

And for dinner I plan to have

• Fajitas with chicken (3 oz) and peppers and onions and a bit of guacamole on 1 whole wheat tortilla and lettuce
• Some good pilsner

Hopefully we'll start to see some results before long, but for the time being I am going to try to simply enjoy having some control and predictability to my sensations of hunger and satiety again, and relax and feed myself (as well as the baby!) well and intentionally.

And try not to think about how in October I need to get a new drivers license.

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Temptation at home.

It's been a long time since I was writing a great deal about weight loss and gluttony....

(believe me, I will probably need to write more about it sometime after I have this baby... maybe even sooner, because while trying to lose weight isn't appropriate right now, dealing with old impulses always is...)

... and it's been an even longer time since someone emailed me with a question inspired by those old posts!

(Excuse me for my enthusiasm.  I'm a little thrilled to have someone give me a reason to add a blog post.  Lately, what with the homeschooling, the pregnancy, and the head lice, it's been hard to get to the computer with enough energy left to write.)

So, anyway, reader Katherine emails:

I...  have been following for the last few months.  Since May when I read your semiannual maintenance post. I began reading more of your posts about weight loss.

A nice amount resonated with me. I'm a food addict and I've been trying to make lifestyle changes to improve that. But there is one area that does undermine me and I just wondered if you had any tips or suggestions on how to deal with it.

I struggle to not eat when I'm making meals for my kids, even if I'm not hungry. It can smell good, look good and sometimes I even need to taste it to make sure it is cooked or seasoned or the right temperature. And it can be hard for me then not to, "Oh I'll just have a little bit."

I know you said you chew gum cleaning up after meals, but what about when making meals for others? Do you chew gum then too? Is there a better snack you keep on hand for that? Some other trick I'm not thinking of? I enjoy a piece of gum now and then, but chewing all day would give me a headache. 

Chewing gum all day would give me a headache too.  I resort to the gum-after-meals because I personally have a bigger problem with cleaning up afterwards -- with ending my meals -- and because there's a plausible socially acceptable excuse to do it for other reasons: an after-meal stick of sugarless gum, especially kinds that contain xylitol, reduces cavities.  So, hey, good all around. 

So, what to do about eating during food preparation for others.   I guess it would depend on (a) why you perceive that it's a problem and (b) why you think you do it anyway.

I can think of at least two different published systems that are effective for many and that recommend going cold-turkey on eating outside times when you have deliberately chosen to have a "meal" (where we allow that some meals are small and happen between breakfast, lunch, and dinner).   One of these, quite simple, is No-S and the other, more complicated, is the Beck approach.  

No-S is summed up as "no snacks, no sweets, no seconds except on days that start with S."  It emphatically does NOT define liquids as snacks, even rich and caloric ones like milkshakes or beer, because it's a behavior modification technique rather than a calorie-counting one.  Chewing gum -- unless it tended to exacerbate cravings for sweets and is problematic for that reason -- would be compatible with that system.   But taking a bite of foods  you're cooking (except, I suppose, liquids like broths or sauces) would be incompatible with the system -- yes, even in order to find out if there's enough salt.   And it would also be incompatible with the system to eat other snacks while cooking, even something like celery sticks.  The whole point is to condition you not to eat when it isn't mealtime.

The Beck approach is based on cognitive-behavioral therapy.  It's quite different from No-S, as it's a controlled-calorie system that writes "snacks" and "sweets" into the budget, while teaching techniques to help people discontinue unhelpful behaviors.  One of the pieces of advice I remember about it -- a piece that I didn't end up following -- was not to rely on a crutch like gum or sugarless candy to keep your mouth busy so you wouldn't eat things.  Beck thought that in her system, it was preferable to learn to cope with cravings and temptations some other way besides putting something in your mouth.   

I mention these not as diet-book recommendations (though you could certainly investigate them) but to point out that each system hangs together in its own way, and what makes sense in one doesn't make sense in another.  Ultimately, of course, everyone who needs a system, needs a personalized one.  

One person can't touch chips without eating every chip in sight, so it makes more sense (at least temporarily) to expose herself to chps with caution; another person reacts to food restriction with binging, so it makes more sense for him (at least temporarily) to give himself permission to have some of whatever he wants, until "forbidden" foods lose their power over him.

+ + +

So, let's examine some of what you wrote.  Starting with this one.

...sometimes I even need to taste it to make sure it is cooked or seasoned or the right temperature. 

I challenge this assumption.  When you're ferreting out unnecessary eating, I have found it helpful to question every instance of "I need to put this in my mouth because..."   Often they aren't really "need tos."  And this one sounds like a false "need to."  

• If you're unsure whether something is cooked through, tasting it isn't safe.  Make sure it is cooked by cutting into meat and observing the color and texture, by using a thermometer to find out if it has come up to the prescribed doneness temperature, or by paying attention to how long it has been cooking.
• Whether something is correctly seasoned or not is subjective, especially if you're talking about salt or hot pepper.  Even if it tastes the right amount of "salty" to you, it might not to others.  So there's no need to taste food for that reason.  Follow the recipe for herbs and garlic, err on the side of under-salting and under-spicing food, and pass the salt and pepper at the table.
• Temperature can be tested with a thermometer or a fingertip, or you can touch a spoon to the outside of your lip.

If you are the sort of person who generally struggles with "just one taste" turning into "just one more bite" and then into a whole serving's worth of bites --- and let me say that I am one of those people too, so believe me, I get it --- it will help you avoid the second, third, and nth tastes if you steer clear of that first "just one taste."  That holds true even if you are tempted to think that this "just one taste" will be different somehow because you have a  "good" reason to take a bite of the food.  But it will not affect you any differently just because it can be defined as "good."

I struggle to not eat when I'm making meals for my kids, even if I'm not hungry.

I think to figure out what about your situation is especially tempting, you need to ask yourself... what's actually wrong with eating the food you are preparing for your children?   Is it because you've already had your own meal?  Is it because you think the kid food is not good for you and you should eat something better for you?  Is it the "I'm not hungry so I shouldn't eat" thing?  

Because what jumps out at me is the "when I'm making meals for my kids" part -- not "for me and for my kids," or "for my family," but "for my kids."  Are you eating at a different time from your children?  Different stuff, because of different tastes or dietary needs?  Or are you doing something like packing lunches for them for the future, or making things to go in the freezer?

Is part of the problem that you're making two sets of meals -- one for yourself and one for your kids -- and that gives you two opportunities to eat a meal?

In any case, you are unhappy with this situation and it is probably time to shake it up a bit -- experiment with trying different things.

Would it help if you made meals for your kids at the same time that you are typically making a meal or a snack for yourself?  So that you have in your pocket the ability to tell yourself:  "I deserve to have a real meal on a plate.  I'm not a dog who gets fed on table scraps.  I'm going to have my lunch in just a moment, when the children are eating their lunch, and my lunch will be just as good or better than what these guys are having."

Or... you could decide that you DO want to have the food you are making "for the children."  And then you could commit to it.  There's no shame in eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch, with a glass of milk (or chocolate milk!) and an apple on the side.  Just commit to it!  Put it on a plate, say "This is my lunch," eat it, and be done with it.

After all, if the food you are making for your children looks good and smells good and you want to eat it, why not... plan on eating it?

I think if it were me, I might try an experiment of just eating the same food I'm making for my kids for a couple of weeks (but on a plate, not standing at the stove).   "After all," I would reason, "here I am eating bits these pepperoni pizzas and grilled cheese sandwiches day after day, even when I've already had a lunch.  Clearly I must WANT them on some level, and telling myself not to eat them isn't working.  So I'll just eat them.  Not in addition to my 'real' lunch, but AS my 'real' lunch."

If you know I am going to have a full serving of the meal I am preparing, on a plate, like a grownup, I find it is easier to tell myself, "hey, I don't want to eat this standing next to the stove.  I want to sit down and enjoy it like a human being. "  

A sociable person might say, "I want to sit down with my kids and reconnect with them over a meal!  Or with family and friends!"  

A person like me in the middle of the school day might say, "I can't wait to send the kids away for Break Time and take this grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of soup and sit down with it in front of the computer in peace and quiet and enjoy it while I check my email and then have a cup of coffee and really relax for half an hour before going back to work."

+ + +

As a side note, I admit that feel a little at sea when trying to answer reader questions.

The context in which I have chosen to interpret my food issues is "gluttony."   I had a great deal of personal success framing them in that way.  There were elements of addiction over which I had little control, but interacting with those were also elements over which I did have control.  I tried to tease them apart and, where appropriate, accuse myself.

I'm loath to tell anyone else where addiction (the disability) ends and gluttony (the weakness) begins.  That (besides lacking details) is why I didn't use the word "gluttony" while writing about Katherine's question.

But it is possible to step back and, without naming the cause as either addiction or gluttony-the-personal-weakness, identify acts that are objectively gluttonous.  There is no self-shaming to be implied in this.  Only "hey, here is something I do, and I am identifying it as a problem that I want to work on."  To see your activities with clear eyes.

Aquinas says that gluttony is the act of eating too soon, too expensively, too much, too eagerly, too daintily, not counting when you "think it necessary" for yourself.  One of the reasons I have found that definition less than useful is that it's shockingly easy for me to convince myself that eating some thing "is necessary."

 ("Needing" to taste food repeatedly to make sure it's seasoned properly is only one example.  I would tell myself things like "I only had pastries for breakfast, now I 'need' to eat my second breakfast which will provide me with protein and necessary minerals," or "I don't know if there will be food where I'm going and I might get hungry, so I 'need' to eat a full meal before I get there" followed by "I 'need' to eat because it's what everybody else is doing." Now I'm pregnant and I still struggle with what I "need" to eat because I'm pregnant and I "need" more food and better food.)

Dissatisfied with the way that this "necessary" loophole keeps undermining my resolve, plus the vagueness of the "too"'s in that discussion, I proposed an alternate categorization here.   I found it a lot more helpful in accusing myself and in changing my behavior.  

But that's me.  It's not necessarily you, or the reader, or anyone else.

+ + +

Anyone else have some ideas for experiments to try, in order to break the habit of eating while preparing children's meals?  My suggestion -- to plan on eating the apparently desirable children's meal as one's own meal -- can't be the only one.

All caught up on the chronological index.

This is just a sort of bookmarking post to let you know, in case you are one of the readers who care about it, that I got all caught up on the post that's the chronological list of all posts about gluttony, weight loss, and weight maintenance.  Entries are now up to date through, uh, a few days ago.  

(That took me a while, because it had been more than a year since I updated it.)

Maybe I should repost it, I don't know.  It gets a fair amount of traffic.  Anyone think that would help?

 

I take it back, that on-off habits thing.

All right, I said I was going to handle weight maintenance in a certain way, and I'm officially going back on my word.  

+ + +

So when I first got near my goal weight, you may remember, I was going to chart my weight on a little chart that Mark made for me modeled after a statistical process control chart.  Cue the theramin music as we go back, back in time to early 2009...

Mark made up the chart, and the "rules" at the top.  

It's like this:  I am supposed to begin doing something to bring my weight back to the middle whenever any of the conditions described in the rules are met.  I cannot return to normal behavior until the running average of five measurements in a row crosses the midline again.

This is great, except that I have not gotten around to defining "normal behavior," nor the positive and negative types of "doing something."  Right now "normal behavior" is "more or less eat what I want" and "doing something" is "eat less than I want."  (I have only slipped into the land of underweight-must-eat-more once.)

Yes, that was the plan.  Watch the weight wiggle back and forth between the control limits, and if it creeps up too far, add "habits" until it creeps back down again.

After many months of frustrated struggling at an average weight a few pounds higher than my target, I am now officially renouncing this strategy.

It looks too much like "going on a diet" and "going off a diet" and "going on a diet again."  It messes with my head.  

On the surface it seemed like a good idea:  toggle habits on and off, to turn the balance one way or another, and keep the weight under control just exactly as if I were a manufacturing process.  But I, unlike a collection of heat exchangers and reactors, have a psychology, and you know what?  It kind of sucks to tell myself, "Well, I won't have any wine, or desserts, until I get five weight readings in a row below such-and-such a weight."  It makes me feel deprived and dejected, and do you know what?  Once I got the five weight readings in a row, and toggled my "habits" back to "maintenance level," the weight did not stay down.   I was not aware of it, but I must have been overreacting in the other direction:  indulging to pay myself back for the deprivation.

This is not the way I want to do things.

And anyway, the terminology should have been a clue.  Hello -- "toggle" habits on and off?  If you do that with a behavior, it isn't a habit!  I don't want to be in an endless cycle of deprivation and indulgence.  That's what I tried to give up.  

I want sustainable living at a sustainable weight.  

+ + +

So, right around Thanksgiving, I abandoned that approach (though I'm still making the weight chart, and it's still important, as you will see.)  And remarkably, as soon as I did, my weight returned down to the target level, and I've been maintaining it with much LESS effort since then.

+ + +

Here's my new strategy:

Watch the scale, and if the weight begins to creep out of the comfort zone, re-evaluate habits and eating behaviors, through trial and error -- one or a few at a time.  But adopt and evaluate habits as potentially permanent lifestyle adaptations.  If I do not think I could sustain a habit for the rest of my life, it probably is not a good habit for me.

No more of this "I only have to do it until my weight comes back under control."  Only:  What I do, I do from now until it doesn't make sense for me anymore.

+ + +

A caveat:  A habit "for the rest of my life" doesn't mean "every single time."  If I am in the habit of not having bedtime snacks, it doesn't mean that I never choose to have one.  It's more of an "almost always."  Let's take it as a given that occasionally I will splurge.  But not often enough to make a new, not-so-good habit.

+ + + 

Another thing that's kind of weird about this is that it requires a little bit of double think.  Because I have to be open to changing the habits if necessary.  See, my environment constantly changes:  my children are growing, the seasons are turning, my schedule is different every semester, my own body is aging from year to year.  It stands to reason that the helpful habits of today might be less helpful in a future time.  So I know that it's not really true that any given habit is being adopted "for the rest of my life."

But I cannot work with a habit that I wouldn't be okay with "for the rest of my life."  If it's too hard to do "for the rest of my life" then it's going to make me suffer, and long for release, even in the short term.

+ + + 

So what did I do back then around Thanksgiving?  Well, this sort-of-New-Year's post about the turkey roasters and the puppies is getting at the distinction:

Here is my husband's idea, which has merit: "Make a list of habits that you can add or subtract as necessary. Put them in order from the easiest and most painless to the most difficult and annoying. Then, if your weight spikes up, start adding habits in order, only one or two at a time. If that doesn't help, add more until your weight goes down again, and then you can stop the habits, starting with the most annoying ones."

The idea of ranking behaviors by annoyance level was a new one, and I thought I would give that a try. I started making a list of things like "don't eat sweets" and "keep the serving dishes in the kitchen" and "put a stick of gum by my plate at dinner" and "one egg is enough eggs for breakfast" and the like.

But as my list of former and current and potential weight-controlling strategies grew longer, I began to feel uneasy about calling them all "habits." And as I began to shuffle them around to figure out which ones I enjoy the least ("no wine with dinner" and "pre-count every calorie" are two examples of behaviors that work extremely well but that exemplify the life I do NOT want to lead), I became even more sure that "habit" is absolutely the wrong word for many of these behaviors.

What Mark is suggesting is not a ranking of habits, but a hierarchy of compensatory deprivations.

A habit is not like a toggle switch; it is more like a houseplant or a tropical fish or a puppy. It requires care. Yes-no choices do go into it, though. Choose often enough to feed it and it thrives; choose often enough to neglect it and it withers. Useful habits are habits to live with: not necessarily permanently, but for long periods. They can be tried for a while to see if they are pleasant to live with and if they have desirable effects, but this is not the same as toggling them on and off; it is more like a temporary adoption, to see if an attachment will deepen.

Compensatory deprivations are less like a companion pet and more like a spare folding table or a turkey roaster: an unwieldy, occasionally used piece of furniture or appliance that you get out of the basement from time to time when necessary. (e.g., at the holidays.)

What I've decided is that I'm done with turkey-roaster dieting, for the most part. 

Anyway, I went on the next day to spell out some of the habits I was thinking about trying on:

I think a lot of people slip up by resolving to deprive themselves permanently or indefinitely of something they really enjoy that is ordinarily harmless, or at least it is harmless in moderation. It would be better to identify habits that are really desirable, and try to set yourself up to fall into them, so to speak.

As for me, my biggest problem right now is that I have slipped into an indulge-gain-deprive-lose cycle, and I really need to get out of it and into a more balanced pattern. That calls for a look at habits I would like to re-establish for the new year: permanent changes that I really want to have.

So I made a long list of potential behaviors, and then I carefully considered each one. If I found it appealing, I put it on my list of "habits to try." If I didn't, I put it on the list of "compensatory deprivations" -- and I don't intend to touch those except on rare occasions, such as the morning after a day full of bad food, or as a needed kick start.

The three habits I started trying were very simple:

• "Half a sandwich is enough sandwich for me."  When faced with a sandwich, only eat half.
• A normal portion of sweets is a two-thumbs-sized rectangle, or (if it's scoopable) 1/3 cup.
• Have only a small portion of alcohol with dinner; have more only after I've pushed my plate away.

I quit trying to deprive myself based on the scale numbers plotted on the chart; instead it was more like, "Well, the chart shows me that my current habits aren't keeping my weight well in control; I need to adopt a different set of habits that will, indefinitely, keep my weight well in control.  When I find them, I will keep them, not quit as soon as I see happier numbers."

And when I stopped the panic, stopped depriving myself of all manner of things, and switched instead to reinforcing those three habits, I noticed, other habits became easier.  For example, it became easier to stick to one plateful at dinner, rather than helping myself to unnecessary seconds.  And the half-sandwich reminder made it easier for me to have balanced meals when I ate at restaurants.

A month later, my weight is back in control.  It's in better control than it's been in for the last YEAR, I think.  (Maybe I'll post the data later to show you.)

+ + +

Permanent, not temporary, change.  That is what it is all about.  Why do I have to keep learning this over and over again?

Is it a puppy or is it a turkey roaster?

I haven't actually made any New Year's resolutions, but 'tis the season for reflecting on good and bad habits, no? So get ready for a couple of anti-gluttony posts, starting with this one.

+ + +

As part of marking my weight goal anniversary (three years this past November -- can you believe it?) I took a step back and surveyed my eating and exercise habits: what was working? What wasn't? Were there any good habits I had abandoned out of sloth and gluttony? Had I discovered any new ones, or thought of any potential new ones that might counteract problem areas?

It is a bit hard to tell if my anxiety is ill-founded (this being the nature of anxiety), but I still feel as if I only barely can keep my weight down. Probably I have an unhealthy obsession with it -- but, to put it bluntly, I do not wish to let go of my possibly unhealthy obsession because I would rather be obsessed than put the weight back on again. The story of the last three years has been the story of trying to externalize the obsession, find ways to live and to see myself that are balanced less precariously. I think of wrapping little packages of anxiety up in my mind and transferring them somehow outside myself, one at a time, into tidy little stacks. Turning this balance into something that is maintained by things I simply do and forget about, rather than things I turn over and over in my mind. From head to hands.

+ + +

Here is my husband's idea, which has merit: "Make a list of habits that you can add or subtract as necessary. Put them in order from the easiest and most painless to the most difficult and annoying. Then, if your weight spikes up, start adding habits in order, only one or two at a time. If that doesn't help, add more until your weight goes down again, and then you can stop the habits, starting with the most annoying ones."

The idea of ranking behaviors by annoyance level was a new one, and I thought I would give that a try. I started making a list of things like "don't eat sweets" and "keep the serving dishes in the kitchen" and "put a stick of gum by my plate at dinner" and "one egg is enough eggs for breakfast" and the like.

But as my list of former and current and potential weight-controlling strategies grew longer, I began to feel uneasy about calling them all "habits." And as I began to shuffle them around to figure out which ones I enjoy the least ("no wine with dinner" and "pre-count every calorie" are two examples of behaviors that work extremely well but that exemplify the life I do NOT want to lead), I became even more sure that "habit" is absolutely the wrong word for many of these behaviors.

What Mark is suggesting is not a ranking of habits, but a hierarchy of compensatory deprivations.

A habit is not like a toggle switch; it is more like a houseplant or a tropical fish or a puppy. It requires care. Yes-no choices do go into it, though. Choose often enough to feed it and it thrives; choose often enough to neglect it and it withers. Useful habits are habits to live with: not necessarily permanently, but for long periods. They can be tried for a while to see if they are pleasant to live with and if they have desirable effects, but this is not the same as toggling them on and off; it is more like a temporary adoption, to see if an attachment will deepen.

Compensatory deprivations are less like a companion pet and more like a spare folding table or a turkey roaster: an unwieldy, occasionally used piece of furniture or appliance that you get out of the basement from time to time when necessary. (e.g., at the holidays.)

We all know some person (a lot of us seem to be married to one) who decides he needs to take off a few pounds, gives up ice cream for a couple weeks and bam, problem solved,the lucky bastard. That is the idea we are going for. A useful compensatory deprivation is something that's at least a little painful, but is temporary and effective. If it works but hurts, the working should be enough motivation to keep going just until it isn't needed anymore. If it works and doesn't hurt (or you find you get used to it eventually), maybe it should be nurtured as a long-term habit after all. If it hurts and doesn't help, then there's no point, now, is there?

One way to begin turning your life around is to temporarily foster new habits, patiently nurturing them and giving them a chance to take root and thrive. Not all will be good matches, it is true, but you must be careful not to let the trying and discarding become the habit itself; the end is adoption, the testing only the means. Compensatory deprivations don't even need to enter the picture until a number of good habits are thriving comfortably.

+ + +

After I realized the crucial distinction between potential habits and potential compensatory deprivations, it was fairly easy to sort the items into two lists: one list of behaviors that either are already habits, or that I thought I might enjoy if I adopted them permanently; and a second list of behaviors that I thought would be helpful interventions from time to time but that I didn't want to become my constant companions... something to store in my basement, so to speak.

Which behaviors are your potential puppies, and which are your potential turkey roasters? Tune in next time and I will share my lists. Just in time for the new year.

Maintenance: Will change help? (Acceptance #5)

(First post.  Second post.  Third post. Fourth post.)

In my last post I wrote about all the anxiety I've been having surrounding maintenance of my weight right now.  I decided to take my own advice, step back, and go through the process of discernment that I outlined.  The first step is to accept reality:  to look objectively at what's going on. 

As I wrote in the last post, the anxiety isn't causeless.  My habits are indeed slipping from desirable ones to undesirable ones.  My weight has changed just a bit, to a slightly higher (but still healthy) number; but it's clear that my attention is misplaced.  

• I am anxious about my weight number, even though
  •  I cannot directly control it; and 
  •  in any case it might be a perfectly healthy number for me.
• At the same time I am ignoring the slow infiltration of old habits, even though
  • I can directly control them; and
  • I already know they are not healthy habits for me.

That's the reality that I accept.  

Let's see, what's the next step in my process of discernment...  "Judge whether a change offers benefits."

Heck yeah.  I managed to gain all that willpower and lose all my weight when I concentrated my effort on the habits.  I never really did manage to stop being anxious about the number on the scale, but by emphasizing the habits rather than the numbers I was at least able to keep from getting discouraged.  I could see myself getting better at self-control, and that was incredibly heartening.  

So I'm not entirely sure whether it would benefit me to stop worrying about the numbers, but I am quite certain I would benefit by exerting effort, once again, on habits.   

I think it's interesting that when I consider making a change at this level, it's the change in attitude and focus -- not a change in eating.  I think that might have been part of the reason I've been feeling so frustrated, with so many false starts -- I've been trying to jump right back to "ZOMG must stick to my habits!!!!"  I never considered where my efforts will reap the most rewards.  And I never considered whether some of the habits that were useful in my first maintenance period might not be so useful anymore, now that I have four children including one toddler.

Maintenance blues: Acceptance, #4.

(First post.  Second post.  Third post.)

Here's something I've been wanting to write about but have been having trouble putting into words.

It's three years this week since my successful weight loss began.  And lately?  Weight maintenance has been hard.  

I feel as though I'm slipping, right on the edge.  I weigh myself every day and faithfully plot each point on a chart.  The paper charts stack up in a drawer in my bathroom, one for every month since I reached my weight loss goal in November 2008.  The zigzag lines rise up through my pregnancy and back down again after the birth of #4, not quite as low as I was pre-pregnancy but back to where I decided to be.

And lately I don't like what I see.   It's not that I'm not still at a healthy weight.  I am.  But after reaching my postpartum target, my weight crept back up, and I've been on the high side of it for months now.

Worse, I can't seem to bring it back down.  Several times since just before the baby's first birthday, I have tried to lose just one pound.  Not because I needed to but because I wanted to see if I could still do it. 

I haven't done it.  I haven't sustained the effort for more than a few days.  After about three days of sticking to my habits, I start feeling hungry and cold all the time, and shortly thereafter I find myself helping myself to a third plate of dinner, or eating all the kids' sandwich crusts.    I recognize this as classic "body defending its fat stores."  Still, it's frustrating -- I managed to overcome it once, what's wrong with me now?  Have I lost my hard-earned habits for good?

And that small gain since I reached my postpartum goal -- it's not bad in and of itself, but what if it is the beginning of a slow creep back up to where I was?  My mind races.  This is the kind of thing that, as I've said before, literally keeps me up at night.

+ + +

It's only fair I write about this.  Even though I never intended this to be a "weight loss blog," weight loss is the most popular topic I write about.  Probably every day, certainly every week, some person sits down at their computer and methodically clicks through every single post in the weight loss categories; I see it in the site statistics.  

And this is part of it.  That maintenance sometimes is frustrating and hard.

+ + +

Another reason I need to write about it is that writing helps me figure things out.  I had a draft of this post up last week when I got sidetracked by the comment about acceptance, the one where I suggested a process of accepting -- not the self, but the truth about the self; and accepting the sacrifices that are necessary to change the truth.  Then I thought -- why not take my own advice?

So let me look at the reality.  Let me figure out what's going on, and accept it.  

+ + +

First of all:  The numbers on the scale are still objectively good.  I may be feeling panicky about them right now, but that is not because of what they are, it is because I fear they may change.  If I could look into a crystal ball and learn I would be this weight indefinitely, I'd be happy, not disappointed.  I am at a healthy weight.  Or, to take the metric that Mark suggests is most useful (because it involves monetary expense), I don't need to buy new clothes in a bigger size.  

But what about my habits?  Well.  Let's take a look at the background habits that I wrote about in the series on my "failure-free habit constellation," almost exactly two years ago.  Have they changed?

• I still drink mostly water, black coffee, and black tea.  I have, however, been drinking more alcohol with dinner lately.
• I'm still eating lots of vegetables.  More often, though, since I haven't been specifying the kind on the grocery list, Mark's been bringing home more of the "lightly sauced" kinds of frozen vegetables.  The problem with this is that I lose some appreciation for real-food vegetables (plain or with real butter or olive oil).
• I'm still using small plates at home, and when I'm away I do remember to use only part of the larger plate.
• "Habitually wary of sugar and white flour?"  I have definitely been enjoying more of those.  I lost weight while sticking to a two-thumbs-sized dessert portion.  For a while there, flush with my good fortune, I was testing the limits of maintenance -- and in the meantime it seems I've gotten used to larger and more-frequent sweets.
• Only a very limited selection of snack food?  This has definitely changed.  It seems the children have been clamoring for a vast variety of packaged cookies for their afternoon snacks.  And yes, I have been joining in.  Novelty is not my friend.
• I still keep that jar of almonds in the car, and I still reach for them instead of hitting a drive-through when snacktime hits.
• And I still step on the scale every morning.  

How about that constellation of weight-loss habits?  When I was trying to drop the "just one pound," was I really using them?

• Signal breakfast:  Yes, I'm having the boiled-egg-and-tomato-juice for breakfast quite a bit.  Not every morning, but then I never had it every morning.  Today, for example, I had a boiled egg and two strawberries instead.  (The kids were having strawberries and yogurt for breakfast and the strawberries looked pretty good.)
• Eating on schedule:  Meals are still regularly spaced, and I've been having the snack at 3:30, but I've been skipping the 10:30 snack -- and I've definitely been nibbling in between.  Especially (yeah, I know) the kids' leavings.  Also, I've been having bedtime snack.  I know darn well by now that I feel better in the morning if I don't have the bedtime snack.  And yet it's hard not to join in when Mark and the kids are chowing down on ice cream.
• Control the size of the snacks:  not happening.
• No seconds?  I have been having seconds at dinner.  I admit it.  Including the second half of the sandwich.
• Control the plate.  This has always been easy:  the relative proportions of veg, starch, and protein on my plate.  No problem there.

So, clearly, not all, but some of the habits of temperance are slipping and being replaced by habits that characterize my old life.  

The summary:

•    My vegetables aren't as plain as I want.
•    I'm eating larger, more frequent portions of sweets than I want.
• There is too much variety of cookies in the house.  Especially Oreos.  Grr.
• I'm eating at times I don't intend to eat.
• I don't know how big my snacks are.  I would rather know than be ignorant.
• I am eating second servings that I don't want, and that experience taught me is in excess of what satisfies me.

But just to be fair, let's summarize the good news too:

•    I haven't gone back to big plates.
• I haven't let my almond jar run empty.
• I haven't avoided the scale, no matter how much I might worry about the number.
• I haven't been having two- and three-egg breakfasts.
• My plates still look the way they ought to.

In fact, there are lots of things I used to do in the old gluttonous days that I have not even come close to doing, not even once.  I have never again eaten a whole pizza by myself.  I have never again gone through the drive through to get a hamburger just because I suddenly wanted one.  I have never again binged on every leftover I could find in the fridge.  I have not followed any impulse to buy snacks from the vending machine.  I've practiced resistance on lots of occasions.

It is a little tempting to think that perhaps there is not really a problem.  I am, after all, at a healthy weight.  Perhaps I should not be alarmed that I am standing on a floor that is difficult to break through.  Perhaps my body is merely defending its reasonably-sized fat reserves against my unreasonable desire to prove that I can force it to a slightly smaller weight.

But if I look at the habits, it's clear that there is a problem:  a behavioral one.  Because I don't want to have those habits of gluttony, even if they don't make me gain my weight back.

So.  I have to accept -- once again -- that the number on the scale is not the problem.  My daily choices are.  And if I choose to change that, I have to accept that I must once again accept some daily sacrifice.

 

(UPDATED TO ADD:  Apropos the comments -- I have written about Gary Taubes' Why We Get Fat here, here, here, and here, and about Good Calories, Bad Calories here.