Breaking up with weight loss is hard to do

Welcome to Almost Sated, where I talk about what it’s really like to detox from diet culture in a world that’s still obsessed with being thin and share other people’s stories of quitting diets. There can be a lot of healing that comes from quitting diets, but there are still plenty of challenges, especially for people living in larger bodies. It’s not always pretty, but I’m trying to keep it real.

How is everyone feeling about their body? Are we all good out there? Could some of you use some extra support? I sure can. 

This week especially I’ve been hard core battling the I-hate-my-body-this-size vibes. In the dieting days, these intense feelings of body shame would often prompt a fresh wave of restriction! Now, I sit with them. Most weeks I work through them just fine, but sometimes the little things just keep eating away at me.

I’ve been feeling fat. 

Despite my size, this isn’t a feeling I have often any more, but I’ve been riding my mountain bike more regularly now that the weather is nicer, and every time I put on my pack, it feels snugger. Here’s where I admit I still use the strap as a barometer of my size. For a few months, it was looser, but now it’s not. I should adjust the damn thing, but I haven’t.

This week I also had to take my bike into the shop for a new tire and general tuneup. My riding buddy who works there reached out and told me I’m using too much of the travel on my rear shock, which basically means the bike isn’t set properly for my—ahem—larger size. 

He asked me for my “riding weight,” a real term that includes my actual weight, plus the clothes and gear I wear while riding. Since I haven’t weighed myself in years, I have no idea what this is. I told him my best guess, and he replied back we could just manually set it up by having me get on the bike when I came in to pick it up, which I did. It’s fine. I’m fine.

But this New York Times article entitled “They Promoted Body Positivity. Then They Lost Weight.” is what tipped me over the edge. 

I’ve been pitching an opinion essay on a similar topic, loosely pegged to the Oscars, about when our favorite fat celebrities suddenly lose weight, so it was already on my mind. The NYT piece spelled out the emotion I realized I had been sitting with for months after seeing the transformation of a celeb who was once recognized for being “an average-size woman” now shrunk to Hollywood sized proportions.

Betrayal. 

But it’s complicated, right? Because I also fundamentally agree that we should do what’s right for our bodies and that this is an individual choice. I support this woman’s decision to lose weight, and yet I am also sad and disappointed, because every time someone consciously decides to shrink themselves or appears to consciously decide to shrink themselves, it feels like a setback to all of us who are trying to accept our bodies just as they are.

The New York Times focused heavily on Dronme Davis, a curve model with a huge following who regularly championed body acceptance and railed against fatphobia … until she lost weight. For months, she’s kept posting pics of her shrinking body and remained silent—leaving her legions of followers hanging and watching their idol get smaller with no explanation. 

Until this week when the piece came out, and she told the Times she had been unsure how to tell her followers that she had relapsed in her eating disorder. Instead, she let the largest newspaper in the country do it. 

A therapist interviewed for the article talked about how when influencers’ personal choices affect the community they’ve cultivated, it leaves them adrift —with intense feelings of betrayal. 

Adrift is a good word to describe how the article left me. 

Reading another article about people abandoning body acceptance, on top of all the other feelings, made me feel alone and vulnerable. It brought up a fresh wave of anger. Why me? Why couldn’t I just give up dieting, take up intuitive eating and become a normal weight?

There was a fresh wave of bargaining. Maybe I could just lose a little bit of weight, maybe I could just cut back on X, maybe I could just eat ________ instead of _________. We know the drill.

And the logical part of me played it all out in my mind. I’ve tried all these things. They don’t work long-term. The last time I tried them they barely worked short-term. And, of course now, there’s the big O—ozempic and similar drugs. 

I won’t do it. 

These drugs are meant to be taken for life. It’s been well reported that most people start regaining the weight as soon as they stop taking the drugs, and there are indications that many people reach a point where they start regaining the weight even when they stay on them. Plus, there are all the side effects. I already had my experience with prescription diet pills that your body develops a tolerance to—I believe that experience is largely the reason I am the size I am today. 

And finally there are my kids, two of whom are in recovery from their own eating disorders, and the message this would send to them.

I can’t do it. 

So I’m left here sitting with these feelings. 

Thanks for reading, everyone. This wasn’t an easy piece to put out there, but also life isn’t always pretty. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Also, I’m good really.