As many of you know, my fiance recently came home from a year-long tour in Iraq. I love this man more than anyone in my life, and he's my hero in more ways than one. But when he left, I was at my highest weight and I was shameless about eating whatever I wanted. He had a girlfriend who would eat pizza, drink beer, and want ice cream after. I would wear jeans and baggy t-shirts or sweatshirts everyday. Didn't do my hair or makeup. What he interpreted as "low maintenance and casual" was actually the Megan who had such low self-esteem that I wanted to only wear clothes that one, hid as much of me as possible and two, kept me practically invisible. I didn't want to stand out. I didn't feel good, so why would I try to look good.
Well then he left for a year, and I decided to take the opportunity to get control of myself and finally lose weight. I wasn't doing it for him, I did it for me. I wanted to feel good. I wanted to be confident. I wanted to feel athletic. I wanted to WANT to make love with the lights on. At first he was supportive, he bought me a Wii Fit before he left and would celebrate in my mini victories of a pound or two lost. Well, flash forward 9 months later to when he came home for his mid-tour leave. I was in my goal range of about 127lbs. After nine months of practicing and perfecting my calorie counting. Establishing a routine. Dealing with the emotional side of all of it. Etc. I know that he appreciated the physical transformation, he'd pick me up and put his arms around me. But he made it very well known that he wished I'd just be normal again. Just eat normal, what everyone else was eating. Not worry about calories.
He doesn't understand, and I have no idea how to make him understand, how deep of an issue this is for me. He came from a family that ate balanced family dinners every night. Food was enjoyed, but it was just food. He can quit eating when he's full, he can enjoy snacks without needing to eat the whole box, and mostly he sees food as fuel.
Well I don't have the luxury of having such a background. I have a severely late stage alcoholic for a mother who raised me. Since I was 6 and 7 years old, I was left at home alone while she was at work during the day and with her drinking buddies all night. And I'm not exaggerating, we're talking a first grader at home alone for literally days on end. I got myself up in the morning, took the bus to and from school, I did my homework, made myself food, entertained myself, put myself to bed. During the summers, I didn't go outside, I didn't have friends. I sat at home inside by myself watching daytime TV every single day. I had to eat, we had a lot of Kraft mac and cheese because it was cheap, so that's what I ate. I learned early on that eating provided positive feelings. Though brief and artificial as they were. I was bored, I was lonely, I was depressed, I was angry. Eating entertained me and it made me feel good. Every other weekend when I was with my father, he'd "spoil" me with sundaes and pizza and candy bars. If I did something well, I'd get food as a reward.
Now I'm a decently smart person, and even as a kid, I knew which foods were "good" and which ones were "bad." I knew that eating too much candy and ice cream would make a person fat. I knew that exercise was good. I knew all of these facts, but I didn't have the resources to make the right decisions, nor did I have somebody to help me practice healthy choices.
On top of all of this, I have a family that puts extreme value on physical appearance. On both sides of my family, the women are petite and dainty. Little women with little frames who remain slim their whole lives. Not me, I was a chubby chunk of a kid. And of course they let me know that I did not live up to their standards of feminine beauty.
So we all know how the story goes, I grew up perpetually hating my body while still shoving my face with garbage. I have all the classic dysfunctional habits. Scheming on how to sneak food, packratting as much garbage food as I could find and binge later in private. That desperate out of control need to get as much food as I can in my mouth. To this day I can't tell you what drives that. I stop tasting the food, I don't want the food, I feel guilty about eating it, but it's a desperate need to medicate some deep hurt.
Well, returning back to now. After practicing calorie counting for almost exactly a year and losing nearly 60lbs. I can honestly tell you that I am satisfied eating on plan on any given day. Planning is part of my routine, I crave a chicken breast and vegetables, I'd prefer to avoid junk than to cheat. I feel that I am doing well. I eat between 1300-1900cal generally. Almost exclusively lean protein and fiber and complex carbs. I DO need to get more healthy fat in my diet, I average about 50% of the suggested amount of fats. And I am okay with using olive oil to cook, eat avocado, olives, nuts, fish, etc. It'll take some tweaking of my plan. I exercise very moderately...I try to walk for 60 minutes everday and I lift weights when I feel like it (rarely). I should probably exercise more. I'm VERY respectful of my maintenance range...too high and too low are equally undesirable to me. I have dropped below my maintenance range, and you better believe that I upped my calories for a week until I was back in the comfort zone. I don't feel that I'm obsessive about weighing myself...I weigh every few days and write it down and forget about it. Fluctuations don't offend me. Most of you know that I'm not even a very rigid calorie counter. I don't count a lot of things and it doesn't bug me. If I have a side salad with no dressing, cheese, etc...psh, I'm not going to bother recording it. And I am a HUGE believer in the occasional indulgence...even an all out free for all for a day.
Well it's turning into a source of neverending frustration for my fiance and I. He's the poster child of normal healthy eating, and he doesn't understand my need to count calories. And to weigh myself every few days to stay on track. He sees that as an eating disorder and that it's dangerous.
And we're running into conflict because he doesn't understand the depth of my hurt that all of this is stemming from. He doesn't understand that I literally feel the emotion of terror when I think about gaining the weight back. He doesn't understand that my eating behaviors are fundamentally broken and disordered, I do not and cannot eat "like a normal person." So he approaches me offensively. He tells me he's frustrated that I'm not eating enough fat and that I just need to eat 200-300 more fat calories per day. And naturally, I put my defenses up. My red alarm goes off at the thought of eating that much more. Even though logically I know I need to adjust my plan to get more healthy fats, it's not as easy as snapping my fingers and being perfectly content with eating a bowl of greek olives in addition to my normal plan.
I don't know how to make him understand that this is a very delicate situation for me. It's a lifetime of dysfunctional cycles and hurting. OF COURSE I want to "eat like a normal person" and just be content with whatever healthy weight my body lands at. But fact is, I can't. I'm exhausted of defending myself and trying to explain why I need to count calories and why I don't want to go to Five Guys after we had pizza for dinner last night.
I'm at the point where I just want to say "screw it, it was fun while it lasted, but it's not worth it." I have loved being slim and feeling good about myself for the first time in my life. But if I am so dysfunctional and so impossibly irritating because I want to make two separate dinners for us and so embarrassing because I order a salad when everyone else gets burgers, then I guess it just isn't worth it. I'll eat like a normal person. I won't witch and moan about calories. I won't weigh myself. I'll wear jeans and baggy sweatshirts and be overweight and eat pizza and beers with the guys.
And thus ends my pathetic pity party. I know this is wretchedly lame, but I could really really use some supportive words right now...I'm feeling rather defeated.



And you didn't say anything negative about him so honestly, I'd print this out and share it with him. I think that might be the best thing you can do. I hope you two have talked about this? I hope he can see reason through his concern for you, because he's obviously coming at this from concern.
I was terribly obese! I had just stepped into morbid obesity! But his love for me clouded his vision, I guess. They don't get it. And men don't balance their entire self-worth on their bodies the way so many women do. They simply don't understand.