Saturday, May 5, 2012


Sometimes I think if I see one more article about losing weight I'll scream. I have no idea what I weigh and I don't care. I tossed our scale in a dumpster a long time ago because whenever I weighed less than I expected I rewarded myself with sweets, and whenever I weighed more it wrecked my morning.

I have other measures to tell me how to eat and I think they're more valid. Do my joints ache? Is my stomach sticking out a lot? Do I have bags under my eyes? Is my head stuffed up? Am I constipated? Did I sleep poorly? Do I have a pain anywhere?

Am I unmotivated? Am I having trouble concentrating? Am I  anxious? Am I impatient with my husband? Is my house a mess? Do I feel like lying down?

Do I think my artwork stinks? Or my parenting? Or my friendships?

Do I crave sweets? Alcohol? Bread?

Do I dislike how I look in the mirror?

Those are my scales. Yes answers can mean I need a change in diet. That's the beauty of knowing the effects of different foods on my body and moods. I'm not saying it's a one to one thing like more spinach = more loving attitude toward spouse (though it helps), but I have figured out that too much wheat makes my joints ache; that a headache may mean I need a little meat; and if my stomach's sticking out too far I'm eating too much sugar or drinking too much wine, and I better cut it out.

It's a relief to know that so many aspects of my life can be helped with food. And feeling good means looking good no matter how many pounds I weigh.

I wish I'd figured food out sooner, like when I was a teenager or at least before I had children. But do I spend a lot of time regretting the past? Usually not. When I do it means I need to eat a salad and go for a walk.