How I Formed A (Mostly) Healthy Relationship with Food and My Body

It's funny, isn't it? How consumed we’ve become by the topic of food and our bodies. How much of our day we spend thinking about food, contemplating over it, fantasizing about it, utterly consumed by it. It’s just food, isn't it? Is it really all that exciting? No. But our actions and our behaviors allow it to be. And what do we think about when we aren’t thinking about our next meal or what greasy, carb-loaded, and delicious foods we’ll allow ourselves to consume over the weekend? Our bodies. Mirror checking our abs, or our flabs, or whatever lies across the midsection of our stomachs. Raising our arms above our heads and watching as the fat and skin droop down toward the floor. Hating ourselves for it. And hating ourselves even more for indulging in a piece of cake, or slice of pizza, or whatever it is we allow ourselves to enjoy every once in a while.

There was a time I had a mindset similar to the one I describe above. Obsessed with my health, fitness, and routine. Overly concerned with how I looked and maintaining a small and toned body. I’ve always been fit, people expect it of me. I was motivated by my own misconception of what I thought I should look like along with what I thought others expected of me.

Now? Now I exercise. Yes. Everyday? No. Sometimes I wake up and feel like going for a walk rather than killing myself on the treadmill. Sometimes I skip working out altogether. Now I eat healthy, yes. I eat salads, oatmeal, and sweet potatoes but, I also indulge. A lot. I drink beer and margaritas and eat greasy tacos, blueberry muffins, fries, and tortilla chips every week. Often, I drink milkshakes from Jack in the Box and eat brownie coffee ice cream sandwiches (actually this one is nightly). Instead of a dash of unsweetened almond milk, I use whole milk and sugar in my coffees, simply because I love the taste of real milk and sweet coffee.

I’ve found within myself the ability to let go and care less. Don’t get me wrong, by no means am I saying I’m perfect with this stuff. Of course, I have my moments of struggle. Moments when I feel lazy and gross, moments when I look in the mirror and don’t love what is reflected back at me. Moments when my confidence wavers. Everyone has these moments. I honestly believe that every woman, no matter how much she preaches body confidence and food freedom, does not feel 100% confident about her body and food choices 100% of the time. It’s in moments like these, however, I try my best to remember, the body I see in the mirror, standing right in front of me is real. The body my mind wants to see, with the toned legs and abs and high cheekbones, is merely a construct of distorted social norms. A friend recently reminded me of this quote and I don't think I could put it any better:

“Those extra 5-10 pounds, that place where your body naturally wants to be- that’s your life. That’s your late night pizza with your man, that Sunday morning bottomless brunch, your favorite cupcake in the whole entire world because you wanted to treat yourself. Those 5-10 pounds are your favorite memories, your unforgettable trips, your celebrations of life. Those extra 5-10 pounds are your spontaneity, your freedom, your love.”

In college my life revolved around routine. Perfectly portioned and planned meals, gym, soccer, early mornings, and...

Run extra if you miss soccer, and make sure you get that late-night lift in since you didn't have time this morning, and go to bed early you have to be up to make it to run hill sprints, and did I make my overnight oats yet? Does this have enough protein in it? What am I eating for lunch?

Having everything planned and routine, I've realized, leaves little room for the true fun and excitement life has to offer. Things are a lot different now. Monday may be normal but Tuesday I may want to make pasta and get a milkshake. Wednesday maybe I get beers and fries with my friends. Thursday my roommate wants to make cookies. Friday we go out for tacos and Saturday morning I might want a blueberry muffin, or cinnamon roll, and so on. I don't stress when something in my weekly “routine” is disrupted, I welcome it.

It kind of makes me wonder what my life would have been like in college had I not been so obsessive, so tentative when my friends would ask if I wanted to get froyo or go out for brunch after a night of drinking. I do realize that many people, including myself, find a sort of comfort in routine. Having control over your life, over what and how much you're eating can actually lessen the anxiety a lot of people feel around food. But this is where the problem lies. Life is not about controlling the day-to-day like this. It is not about waking up and immediately wondering what you're going to have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It is not about counting calories and restricting and saying no when you want so badly to say yes. Life becomes a different place when you allow it to take its own course.

I can attest to being restrictive with my diet, excessive with my exercise, and overeating on occasion given the nature of a restrictive diet. However, I have never experienced true binge eating, bulimia, or other and more serious eating disorders, although I certainly have watched them unfold in friends. It's a difficult world we live in and unsurprising to me how many women suffer from disordered eating.

My junior to senior year of college I assisted my nutrition professor in his research. The goal was to analyze the eating habits of college students, collecting data on their food selection, body weight, BMI, and body fat percentage. I would stand at the exit of the dining hall and ask students to partake in the study. “Yeah, sure!” Was the answer I most often received, until I told them I would need to weigh them and measure their body fat. An eager “Yes!” would turn quickly into “Oh, maybe not then.” as the student would look down at the floor and turn away. The ones I did collect data from were often horrified by their results. I would try to console them, explaining that their weight mid-day and with clothes wouldn’t be completely accurate. I don’t think I came across one girl who was happy with her results, many didn’t even want to see them. I guess what I'm getting at here is that every girl is burdened by some sort of body dysmorphia or dissatisfaction. The mindset is literally ingrained within our culture. My Instagram is loaded with healthy recipes, women flexing in gym shark crop tops, and an all-around toxicity that, in an attempt to improve diet culture and push people toward being “healthy,” only makes it worse.

I remember waking up to achy limbs and lying in bed thinking, there is absolutely nothing I would hate to do more than go run right now. I was exhausted both mentally and physically. And yet, I would force my body to get up and perform some intense cardio exercise like hill sprints, or an interval run. And for what? What was I doing it for? This question still haunts me when I think back to those moments, I'm still not completely sure I have an answer other than I thought I had to do it in order to stay fit. Yes, the post-run endorphins and confidence were incredible but my body and my mind were shot. I pushed myself in a way I didn’t want or need to be pushed. I've done my best to simplify my perception of exercise, thinking about getting up and moving my body rather than getting up and torturing it. If you get into bed at the end of the day and feel unaccomplished or gross because you didn’t get an intense workout in, you may need to reassess your exercise style.

I do love a good hard workout but have stopped basing my success on how hard I'm going or how much the workout burned. Listen to your body. You should be ok with taking a day, two days, even a week off, your body won’t change, I promise. I've been injured for the past six months. I was completely inactive for three of them and now have progressed to easy bike rides, walks, and the occasional lift. Nothing crazy. My body is in a place of rest and healing and as a result, happiness. This isn’t the first time I’ve been through this. I've been through phases of taking six months, three months, weeks, days, and so on off due to injury. Without fail, my body always stays where it likes to be. If you freak out over missing two days, remember, if you missed two months, your body would likely remain where it is.

It’s a lot easier said than done, accepting yourself for who you are. I hope this helps in some way or another. Like I said, I’m not perfect, I’m still working on myself and breaking my own bad habits. But like anything in life, self-acceptance and food freedom are things that must be worked at, and are worth the effort. You just have to find the courage to let go.