I am happy in my kitchen these days and it’s a welcome feeling.
I’ve spent most of life dieting. I recall sitting in the living room of my childhood home with my best friend, Karen, when we were both around 13 or 14 years-old and declaring I needed to “go on a diet.” I wanted to weigh 115 pounds. At 5 feet 4 inches, I think I weighed around 120 pounds, but I was desperately afraid of becoming fat.
I’ve gained and lost the same 20 pounds so many times, I’ve lost count. I’ve counted calories and macro nutrients, kept food diaries, followed Weight Watchers, and jumped on the low-carb, high fat band wagon of the Keto diet, too.
And all for what? I walk around hungry most of the day. I’m cranky and stressed out because I feel as though I have to spend so much time figuring out healthy food choices.
I’m reading an interesting book, The Eating Instinct: Food Culture, Body Image, and Guilt in America, by Virginia Sole-Smith. Books like this one are helping me to reframe my thoughts on food.
“Food is supposed to sustain and nourish us. Eating well, any doctor will tell you, is the best way to take care of yourself . . . But for too many of us food now feels dangerous. We parse every bite as good or bad and judge our own worth accordingly.”
Why is it so hard to feel good about food?
Learning to listen to my own body and trust that I can make good food choices intuitively is my goal.
I am shifting my focus from the number on the scale to my physical and emotional health.
Nothing beats color for making a composition come together.
The words that accompany my photographs are often quotes from people I admire. I select these passages because they reflect my beliefs and feelings, expressed in language more eloquent than I might ever write or speak.
I tell people that writing is not my strength.
I wonder if this is true. Or am I simply afraid? There is the worry that what I have to say is not important or relevant or interesting.
There is a perceived need to be perfect at the outset.
But what if being myself is enough?
On my way to a barre class I stop the car, struck by the abundance of it all. / I keep asking myself what is the picture about. / I think this is how I feel inside, in full bloom. / Happy to be older, I breathe in the sweet spring, wishing I could lie on a bed of fallen petals.