By Lynn Haraldson-Bering
My 2-year-old granddaughter is nothing if not polite. Even when she’s on the brink of a hissy fit and her mother asks, “Do you need a time out?” she replies, “No, thank you!”
Yesterday, Cassie and the grandbabies were here for a few hours to drop off their dog on their way to State College for a night. When it was time for them to leave, I said to Claire, “Let’s get your shoes on,” to which she replied, “No, thank you. I stay here.”
The girl knows what she wants, and for the most part is nice about it.
After they left, I thought how Claire’s statement, “No, thank you. I stay here,” applies to maintenance. I’ve often said “No, thank you” to a party host or family member who offered me food I didn’t want to eat; “No, thank you” to offers of diet “shortcuts” and lose-weight-fast snake-oil salesmen; and even “No, thank you” to my own body when, for no good reason, it wants to stay in bed rather than work out.
And why the “No, thank you”? Because my goal is to “stay here” – here as in this scale number, this regimented attitude about food, this maintenance plan, this “Green House” lifestyle (See Barbara’s and Lynn’s maintenance philosophies).
I will celebrate my 3-year maintenance anniversary in a few weeks. Looking back, I see how each year has brought a new maintenance perspective to the table.
“Now what?” was the question for Year 1. I was lost when I got to goal, especially as I lost 10 more pounds during the year. I felt even more disconnected from my body than I had at 300 pounds. My body had a mind of its own and I had a mind of my own…the two didn’t gel. I muddled through, but it was not easy. I understand why so many people gain weight back after reaching goal. My saving grace was a fabulous maintenance group and Barbara, who patiently answered all my questions that were wrapped in confusion.
Somehow came Year 2. I felt guarded but gradually more at ease with the mechanics of maintenance. I started to think that maybe I really was a person who could maintain. God knows I’d failed miserably in the past. I always succumbed to the “Yay! Now I can eat normally again!” syndrome whenever I made a weight goal (obviously counter to what it really takes to maintain a healthy weight). Year 2 cemented in my head that everything I previously thought about food – physically and emotionally – was backward. The changes I made had to be permanent. I knew this…peripherally…in Year 1, but part of me was hoping I could be “normal” again. And we all know what “normal “means. And it doesn’t work.
Year 3, I got bold. I’ve spent the last year looking almost microscopically at the details of maintenance. “So THAT’S how sucrolose affects my body!” ( I had to curb my gum chewing.) “Wow, eating too many potatoes in a week really shows up on the scale!” (I still eat potatoes…they are a treasured treat…only not as often as before. I find butternut squash and rutabaga fit the craving quite nicely.) “I need to sneak in more protein.” (I am still perfecting vegetarianism.)
Perhaps the most profound realization in Year 3 is that I don’t need to eat more food even when my caloric intake chart says I’m “allowed” to eat more calories. If I’m not hungry, I don’t eat. I’m listening to my body more now than ever. That Year 1 body/mind disconnection was pretty much conquered in Year 3. My body and mind seem to get along quite well. (I only hope Congress can do the same!)
While chapter Year 4 is yet to be written, I can’t wait to live the story. I move around in maintenance with much more ease and am comfortable living in my Green House. It provides me shelter and security. Food pushers, predators and naysayers are just outside the door. But in Year 4, I know what I want, just like 2-year-old Claire. And I can say boldly and loudly to those predators and naysayers and my own inner voice that once in awhile says I can’t succeed, “No, thank you. I stay here!”
