My husband went to camp, and all I got was this lousy T-shirt*
I’ve had the line for this piece in my head for months, years probably, if I’m being honest, as my husband has been grappling over whether to go back to fitness camp, what I have lovingly dubbed fat camp.
He hates it when I call it that, by the way. Also, I’m using fat here as a neutral descriptor.
I’m trying to keep this piece centered on me, not him, out of respect for his privacy. But let’s just say he used to weigh more, and then he went to a fitness camp and lost weight. And he has somehow been among that mythical 5 percent of people who lose weight and keep it off. For seven years.
Until he met me. Or rather, until I deliberately stopped actively, and even quietly, dieting.
Having a loved one with anorexia, we made massive changes in our lives that involved butter and cream and calories and all the things that, at the time, were necessary. Life-or-death necessary. For me, that was the final tipping point for stepping away from dieting.
Thankfully, we haven’t been in that crisis for years, but my husband now faces his own.
His health markers have significantly declined. His mobility has degraded so much that it’s impacting daily activities. He’s gained weight. Enough that he is now seriously considering going back to camp. And he’s recently retired, so he now has the time that always made this problematic before.
Depending on when I publish this, he might already be there.
How do I feel about this?
He asked me this again last night, and I didn’t have an immediate answer. Despite the many conversations we’ve had about this topic, they were always theoretical and not conclusive.
The prospect of him going to said camp fills me with worry.
My first thought: He will go to camp and have a bonding experience with a bunch of women, which is one thing, but then he will come home to me. Still fat me.
That was my first thought. Not my best one, but an honest one.
When I began this journey of writing about quitting diets, my husband, whether he agreed or not with my views on the topic, and let’s be clear, he didn’t on many of them, nevertheless remained my biggest supporter. And it felt like real support. Most days when I hit publish, he was, and still is, the first person to like my post. And as small as this gesture is, it means a lot.
And this is not the first time I’ve confronted worry over my physical appearance as it relates to our relationship. With so much change so fast—letting myself go gray! gaining weight!—it was something that weighed on me early on. And while I feel more beautiful on many days, I am not physically the same woman he signed up for. He isn’t either. None of us are, and it’s ridiculous to think we’re supposed to be. But that is something that lurks in the back of my mind.
And it brings up questions like … if he feels like he has to lose weight, does he feel the same way about me? And mostly that’s a me issue to work through, because he has made it clear this is a health issue, not a physical appearance issue.
Plus, he still thinks I’m beautiful. And sexy. But it’s easy for my brain to do the mental gymnastics and turn this into the old he-doesn’t-love-me-anymore song and dance. By the way, the last time I used that line, and not about this, he came home with a bouquet of flowers and a note that read don’t be silly. And then we had a good laugh about it.
Here’s something he’s said about camp for years.
You should come with me. You would love it.
We’ve had the “you would love it” conversation at least a dozen times over the past few years. Yes, I would love many aspects of it. I love fitness, being outdoors, and challenging myself physically. If I was still trying to shrink myself to oblivion, it would be amazing.
Here’s the other thing he says. It’s an unbelievably supportive environment.
And then. It’s not like you’re thinking.
What he thinks I’m thinking is a Biggest Loser-style competition among campers, with coaches using humiliation as the primary motivator.
I don’t doubt that this camp is not that. Except, the whole point of it is not to help people be fit at any size; it’s to help them lose weight.
This isn’t Miraval, where we went a few years ago, whose slogan is “life in balance.”
When we went to the one in Arizona, we did woo-woo things and fitness-y things, like tightrope walking across a wire suspended several stories in the air until our legs were so wobbly they could no longer hold, and ate dishes made from locally grown foods and drank clean wine, and felt good about our life decisions. If this was Camp Miraval, I’d be all over it.
Instead, the big banner running across the top of the camp site says “STRUCTURED WEIGHT LOSS RETREAT FOR ADULTS.” Not fitness. Not wellness. Not health. I give them points for the honesty. So as much as I would love the outdoorsy adventure part of it, it falls apart for me at the purpose.
I do give them brownie points, though, because this camp has structured pricing so you pay a one-time fee and then you can come back as much as you need to at a much-reduced cost. This really says it all, right? You’re gonna need to come back. At least they’re not promising forever weight loss. My husband is totally okay with this because he sees this as a jump start to regaining his fitness and doing it in a structured, motivating way. I get this, but it leads to my other big concern with him going away.
He will go to a place designed for weight loss. Structured, controlled, restrictive.
And then he will come home to us. To me, and my life that isn’t built that way. A life I deliberately, intentionally moved away from out of mental, physical, and emotional necessity.
And that decision wasn’t made lightly. It wasn’t a whim. It took years of warring with myself, knowing what was best for me, but terrified of the potential consequences. I’ve done years of therapy with an intuitive eating-certified therapist and years of my own work to make peace with food and my body. I’ve also made a deliberate decision to focus on health, not weight. This has been one of those things we’ve, mostly respectfully, agreed to disagree on. But I do absolutely support body autonomy, including his, and I support this choice for him.
It’s not just that he’ll go away and change. It’s that he’ll come home to a life that isn’t built for that change.
He’s told me that when he comes back, he will need to cut cheese and butter and cream and red meat. Since we only eat one meal a day together, I’m totally okay if it’s chicken or beans with olive oil and veggies. This doesn’t feel like deprivation, because it’s maybe a few meals a week, and I like these foods too. I just also like cheese and butter, and I spent most of my life denying myself these things, which I’m not going to do again unless it’s medically necessary. For him, he feels like it is. And I respect that.
But I keep coming back to this thought: it won’t be enough.
What happens when he comes back to a life that doesn’t match what he just committed to? Will there be resentment, on his end or mine? Will we be able to come together? Will one of us feel like we’re giving too much? At its core, this is what happens when one person wants to pursue weight loss and the other has chosen not to.
I honestly don’t have the answers here. I like to think we will find our way through this as we have every other conflict that’s come up between us.
Since this piece involved him, I let him read it early, and he sent back a full response. A lot of it reflects where we do agree: that there are many different body types, that metabolisms vary, that there is an absolute weight bias in mainstream medicine, that diets don’t work for most people. Some of it reflected where we don’t.
He reiterated his concern for my long-term health, but also railed against Western guidelines trying to force “his big strong woman” into a ridiculous size. He told me he was grateful to see me heal.
So we’re entering a new chapter.
We don’t have the answers, but I like to think we do have enough love and respect for each other to work through our biggest challenges. Including this.
*P.S. Of course, we’ve had careful conversations with our kids about this. When I brought it up with my youngest, her first concern was for me: How are you feeling? I tried to sort through for the most appropriate response and then shared that I already had the perfect headline for the piece I was going to write about it, which I rattled off with excitement only to watch her face turn to confusion. Apparently only those of us of a certain generation get the reference.
Now it’s your turn …
Have you been in this situation, where one partner wants to pursue weight loss and the other one doesn’t? Mostly I’d love to hear how you handle conflict with a loved one when you don’t agree.