Recalibrating My Post-Diagnosis Relationship with Food
And suddenly food makes me happy again.
For the last 24 months, I have started each month with the same resolve. This. This would be the month that I started losing my COVID weight. It was going to happen. Spoiler alert: it did not happen, and I’m still sitting here with an extra (checks scale) 11 pounds I don’t want.
When I sat in the psychiatrist’s office a little over a month ago, she told me that the medication she was putting me on had a tendency to suppress my appetite and that weight loss was normal when starting with it. She said that I would feel less of an impulse to eat and would probably find myself skipping a meal regularly.
I must have been visibly excited about this idea. She offered me some advice, but it was rather vague. She told me this would be a great opportunity to change how I see food. I tried hard to shrug it off that food and I are cool.
Side note: you cannot hide unhealthy attitudes toward food from psychiatrists. Don’t try it. They do not play. They see right through your bullshit like it’s made of cellophane.
I had no idea what she meant about my relationship with food, but this woman seemed to be handing me a life preserver in so many ways, so I decided to trust her.
She was right about one thing right away. The first week I started taking my medication, I noticed it would be well past lunch before I was even remotely hungry. This is coming from someone who tried to do intermittent fasting and hated life the entire time.
I lost five pounds the first month I took my medication. It was almost weird how my seemingly ravenous appetite and all-day grazing were replaced with having to set reminders to eat.
What I soon realized was that my grazing was partly a result of my ADHD. I didn’t eat because I was bored. I didn’t eat because I was stressed. I ate because I was standing in my kitchen for no absolute reason because I had forgotten why I went in there in the first place.
To hide a little bit of shame in not remembering my intention for entering a room, I figured I was there because I was going to get something to eat. Horrible train of thought, really.
Let’s break this down, I created my propensity to overeat to not feel bad about myself for my lack of focus, which resulted in me gaining weight, which made me feel bad about myself.
As a result of my new focus and a new understanding of my old habits, I wasn’t grabbing a handful of things here and there. I was eating strategically. This was the light bulb moment. This was when I realized what the doctor meant.
I have a golden opportunity ahead of me right now. Because I am eating less often, hardly snacking at all, and inadvertently doing intermittent fasting, I can enjoy richer, more fulfilling foods without concern about what will happen to my waistline.
Food has become fun again. Instead of denying myself a delicious meal of things that are “not good for me,” I can plan a decadent meal that I’ll enjoy with intention.
Tonight, I am making Chiles En Nogada, a traditional Mexican recipe where poblanos are stuffed with meat and fruit and served with a walnut cream salsa and pomegranate seeds, with Mexican rice and a salad.
I have always wanted to make this. My diagnosis gave me a way to recalibrate how I see food. It’s no longer a part of my shame and confusion. It’s not the demon that made all my pants not fit. It’s a warm, inviting necessity that allows me to remind myself that I can have creative and wonderful sustenance and that I can treat myself well.
I have to work hard to fall back into the old habit of grabbing something from the pantry because that’s what I used to do. All the time. But at least I know that what I feed myself at the end of the day will be rewarding. I deserve that.
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