Lately, I’ve been doing ALL the eating, so much so, I’ve been approaching each new day as if it’s actually Christmas Day and whilst it’s been fun (oh, has it been FUN) I now feel a little bit sick, bloated, spotty: insert a multitude of other adjectives that suit someone who’s been consuming mince pies for breakfast 4 days in a row, and not even gluten-free ones either! HELP!
For the most part, I’m pretty balanced when it comes to healthy eating, and especially since taking the York Test in March this year, removing trigger foods from my diet and losing a stone without really trying (and quite possibly more since, although I rarely weigh myself) and transforming my health in the process.
I often wear a UK size 8 now (a size I didn’t even rock pre-kids) and would say I’m a 10 across the board be it designer or high street. Now, whilst size really doesn’t matter, most women do look to it as guidance over the scales (well I do, anyway) and I do feel the fittest I’ve been in a long while with regular running and yoga sessions with personal trainers and solo. This body (which has a mumtum intact and is far from perfect but leaner than before) and the way I feel emotionally, is not something I want to let slide if I’m honest.
I’ve had a dysfunctional relationship with food in the past (and I’m not sure it ever really leaves me) which started as a tween and the darker days of puppy fatness aged 10. Going from a fairly tall (for my age) slim jim to a chubby mono-browed kid overnight (my eyebrows seemed to grow in direct correlation to my cheeks), made me feel as if I was inhabiting someone else’s body at the time, rather like post-pregnancy, where the baby is here yet so was my vast, empty tummy I’d hoped would have vanished in childbirth.
It was tough being 10 and the only kid with boobs and a faux bra every other child wanted a look at. I didn’t want to be the mature one in my class. Where had my lean limbs gone?
Unforgiving adolescence along with early PCOS, only discovered at 19, led to a yo-yoing body going from a UK 10-14 right up until I conceived Oliver, my first born, thanks to swimming and a low GI diet keeping me at a UK size 12. I fell back in love with sport when Oliver turned 10 months old and I was ready to reach for help after a traumatic birth, so ran for both mental wellbeing as well as weightloss. Twice daily walks and daily 2o minute runs each morning saw me reach a size 10 within months.
Most of all though, I felt fit and I’d learnt what foods work with my body: slow releasing carbs, quality protein and lots of veg with a bit of fruit.
Of course, my weight has gone up and down since then, with personal tragedy and trauma has come emotional eating and deviating from eating what works for my body, and whilst that’s something I’m working on, it’s not always been easy. Due to PCOS and insulin resistance, I can literally put on weight within days of indulgent eating. I can’t really ever take my eye off the ball.
The intolerance tests helped me hugely, cutting out egg (which makes me dizzy) as well as wheat and other triggers made a mammoth difference to my emotional and physical wellbeing, and I recently took another test so will be writing about the results in the new year.
I’ve admittedly enjoyed going off the bandwagon over the last couple of weeks but today, I’m feeling rather rubbish. My clothes are tight, my self-esteem is low and most of all, the foods I’ve been scoffing really don’t agree with me on a cellular level. Yes sugar and all things delicious are fine and to welcomed once in a while, I’ve been eating them as if it’s a sport and need a week of soup and salads to reset myself.
Whilst we mustn’t feel guilty about letting our hair down and enjoying the odd treat (life wouldn’t be worth living otherwise), it’s time I reign things in to restore balance, even if it’s only December 11th.
‘Everything in moderation’ as my Dad always says, ‘…Even moderation’ and I’ve done just that with 2 desserts a day and hot chocs 24/7. I’ve peaked too soon with Christmas 2 weeks away but it’s time I regain a bit of self-control and of course not feel guilty for eating Christmas pud on the big day.