The Elephant in the Room

The elephant in my room is my eating problem. And baby, it's ugly.

I was always slim, didn't really start piling on pounds until I got pregnant with Figgy at 34. But even after childbirth, I lost all but maybe 15. In my forties, my weight has been on a steady climb. I've lost about seven pounds over the last year or so, but am at an unhealthy weight and must get serious. My mother died at 56. I want to live a long, healthy life.

My doctor has sent me to the nutritionist in his Upper East Side office. Again. I went today for my second appointment. Marlee and I have known each other for years, because Dr. B. sent me to her in the past also, sometimes with success and sometimes not. Once, H. and I even went together.

I've also done Weight Watchers several times. My first time, before I married, I hit goal and even became a WW employee. I went and weighed people one day a week at lunch-hour meetings, until it got too stressful to run to another office in the city when I had my own job. [But I still remember how much people had invested in the numbers on the scale. It was as though they imparted great power to the blinking red digital reading, rather than to themselves.] I later joined WW groups at Hearst Magazines [we met in the auditorium at the Good Housekeeping Institute]; at the Woman's Club of Upper Montclair on Monday nights; and at a church in a nearby town.

And I've seen a string of nutritionists. It would kill me to add up the money I've spent all together, so let's not go there. I could have a nice little college nest egg for Figgy. When you lose, don't lose the lesson. My gurus:

1. A very pretty, high-heeled blonde whose office was on Fifth Avenue across from Tiffany & Co [and not too far from Lindt Chocolate]. Sadly, that was 50! pounds ago. I found her through my ob-gyn, who had great things to say about her. I still remember many things she told/taught me, including, You don't need to eat in the car. [Even on a nine-hour drive to Maine.] And something like You're giving power to a lousy bag of potato chips.
2. A woman I found very impulsively by calling a number to find registered dietitians in my town. [I read about the number in a Redbook article.] We met at her dining room table. It turned awkward when she had someone call me repeatedly--a woman who sold supplements in a pyramid scheme. I did not want supplements, I wanted healthful eating. Things ended weirdly. She told me some quirky things, but I guess that was her style. She even recommended some facial cleanser to get at Whole Foods, which I sheepishly did.
3. Caryn, my very sweet, smart, petite neighbor across the street, who has a lot of good advice. When I told her early on that I love to eat, she said that's great, that's a good thing. She taught me a lot about a lot, such as greens and creativity. [I do believe she's right, that the former helps foster the latter.] And she gave me fabulous recipes and goodies at every visit, from a greens cookbook to a small sack of quinoa to a terry washcloth for pampering. She even took me on a shopping trip to Whole Foods, so we could review the smart way to shop and read labels.

The problem is, I am an emotional eater. And since I don't have the time, inclination or finances to go to therapy every day, I have to find a way to feel my feelings without trying to bury them in frenetic eating. I have to find a little best friend, a tiny upbeat angel, to sit on my shoulder. The thing is, I think she is inside me. I just have to let her out. And really give her a chance. Sticking point: The little red devil out on the other shoulder already--and she is really loud and proud. After all, she's been perched there, enthroned even, for a very, very, very long time.

I'm not talking about giving up the finest foods life [and the Upper East Side] has to offer. I can manage those in moderation. I'm talking about standing at the kitchen counter at midnight, mindlessly eating graham crackers and chocolate, or pulling out pretzels and cheese. [I love to melt the cheese in the microwave--tastes so good with salty, crunchy pretzels.]

Figgy has said to me lately, Mommy, please stop eating everything in sight. I'm really worried about you. Victor at the Montclair Counseling Center said I might find Overeaters Anonymous helpful.

All I know is, I ain't giving up, and I ain't giving in. In the words of Tom Petty, I will stand my ground. I won't back down.

I believe, I believe.


Source for adorable elephant photo: stevelundeberg.mvourtown.com.