The power of Gizzi Erskine compels you
I expect I shall be back to whinging about my Tormented Nights soon enough, but in the meantime here is some glee.
I've been doing the Cook Yourself Thin Thing since I went on maternity leave and found myself in possession of free time and an absent sense of purpose, so cooking healthy meals became a way to give me both. Then I got into the habit of it, and when the Best Baby In the World came along I kept it up and I have lost a stone since August, which means all kinds of glee and shaking of my new and improved ass all over the house. I now have another stone left to lose to reach my Goal Weight (and two stone away from my ideal weight but meh to that).
I am essentially a stress/boredom eater, so diets don't work for me even if we don't factor in my devotion to cheese*. Food has never been just fuel to me. I love it, I adore it and the moment I would try dieting the thought of everything that I COULDN'T eat would depress and anger and frustrate me and essentially shove me into the loving arms of the nearest pizza.
That would in turn start the cycle of guilt and self-disguist, all woven into an intricate braid of toxicity with my low self-esteem and the cycle would roll on and keep itself in place. Over time I learned how to undo most of the emotional angle (certainly much of the emotional fallout) but the weight crept up and I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least on my tall and broad frame I carreid weight well.
And then along came Gizzi Erskine and her magical ideas about all these wonderful, delightful, tasty things you could eat and drink and just like that my new self was born.
To illustrate here I am in a pair of jeans and boots that I haven't been able to zip up individually, let alone together, in almost three years.
So fuck you Polycistic Ovaries and in your face cabbage soup and every other eating fad I have ever followed in the hope of downsizing my ass. And fuck you to every person who mocked or bullied or belittled me because of my shape; you didn't help, all you ever did was make me sadder and fatter. In your face anyone who wanted to reduce my eating to sad, plasticky, powdery food and you Sneery Dietician with your long list of pulses and gruels.
*I don't think I have ever met a cheese I didn't like.
I've been doing the Cook Yourself Thin Thing since I went on maternity leave and found myself in possession of free time and an absent sense of purpose, so cooking healthy meals became a way to give me both. Then I got into the habit of it, and when the Best Baby In the World came along I kept it up and I have lost a stone since August, which means all kinds of glee and shaking of my new and improved ass all over the house. I now have another stone left to lose to reach my Goal Weight (and two stone away from my ideal weight but meh to that).
I am essentially a stress/boredom eater, so diets don't work for me even if we don't factor in my devotion to cheese*. Food has never been just fuel to me. I love it, I adore it and the moment I would try dieting the thought of everything that I COULDN'T eat would depress and anger and frustrate me and essentially shove me into the loving arms of the nearest pizza.
That would in turn start the cycle of guilt and self-disguist, all woven into an intricate braid of toxicity with my low self-esteem and the cycle would roll on and keep itself in place. Over time I learned how to undo most of the emotional angle (certainly much of the emotional fallout) but the weight crept up and I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least on my tall and broad frame I carreid weight well.
And then along came Gizzi Erskine and her magical ideas about all these wonderful, delightful, tasty things you could eat and drink and just like that my new self was born.
To illustrate here I am in a pair of jeans and boots that I haven't been able to zip up individually, let alone together, in almost three years.
So fuck you Polycistic Ovaries and in your face cabbage soup and every other eating fad I have ever followed in the hope of downsizing my ass. And fuck you to every person who mocked or bullied or belittled me because of my shape; you didn't help, all you ever did was make me sadder and fatter. In your face anyone who wanted to reduce my eating to sad, plasticky, powdery food and you Sneery Dietician with your long list of pulses and gruels.
*I don't think I have ever met a cheese I didn't like.