I don’t think about it anymore.
Almost don’t think about it.
In the morning, during the day or the evening, I’m not asking myself what I’m going to eat and in which quantity. At the end of a meal, I almost never again go through what I’ve eaten, in order to check that I didn’t let myself go.
Last week, pre-dinner with friends, plenty of Tucs, slight compulsion on jamon directly from Spain and then… and then nothing, the rest was not tempting me, I missed my turn, without difficulties.
I never wake up anymore with the frustrating feeling that I’ll have watch what I eat. As a matter of fact, for weeks, I haven’t said that I watch what I eat. Some days, no green or red food enters my mouth. The next day or week, I enjoy fresh spinach.
And my weight? It is stable. For the past three months, I haven’t lost anything, nor gained, or not long enough for me to realize. I still weight myself every day, I wish I could stop, for now I’m not there yet. I still smoke, but not much more than when I started Zermati.
I’m not slimming down anymore, thus, since a while ago and, however, there has never been so many people noticing my loss. As if the last gone grams were the ones making the difference. Or as if it took time for people around me to adapt to my new outline.
Another more and more obvious acknowledgement, Zermatian principles have reached the whole family. My oldest daughter, twig if any with a small appetite, is never told anymore that she didn’t eat anything and that it’s nonsense. Never again forced to finish her plate or try, at least, the courgettes. She doesn’t eat better than before but meals don’t end up anymore as a food version of Festen. I can see that, for her, all this is not very serene and I guess I have something to do with it. By dint of speaking, she ended up coming out with it, admitting her terror of putting on weight, her conviction of being enormous. Huge punch in my belly, guilt increasing tenfold. But since she confided, I find her less often counting her ribs in the mirror. She, moreover, this summer enjoyed ice creams – which she loves but which she was cutting out conspicuously. At the end of the holidays, I made her notice that she didn’t put on one gram, it was obvious, when she had for once eased up. “What you eat when you are hungry won’t make you put on weight”. I believe she’s heard it, even if I’m lucid, she’ll have her own luggage with her all her life.
My son, voracious as twelve, less slim than his sister but far from being plump, learns to eat more slowly, in order not to have three helping per meal. He has, moreover, dropped completely afternoon snacks, he had never been found of it, and now by dint of seeing me skip meal by lack of appetite, does the same. Apart from that, not much to notice, since he was born this child zermats without knowing it.
Finally, number three, if she knew where her amazing food freedom comes from, she would light a candle per day for doctor Z. There is no more crisis at the table for the simple and good reason that if what’s in her plate doesn’t grab her, I won’t force her. For all that not allowing her dessert is out of question, I’ve also integrated that there is no better way to sanctify sweet food. No green beans, are you sure? Ok, go fetch your yogurt. And your stewed fruits. Actually often in the evening, she contents herself with this and it doesn’t look like it’s affecting her energy level (if only). Same for sweets, that she’s basically crazy about. After fighting this summer for her to learn how to eat only five (number arbitrarily decided by myself), I’ve finally made concessions and accepted to give her the bag, just to know how many she would eat. From the way she, until now, rolled on the ground, dribbling out of anger after swallowing the fifth and last crocodile, I had bet on the entire packet of twenty. Result: after seven, she left the thing behind, she obviously had had enough.
When I realised I spoiled one hour of our holidays for TWO extra crocodiles, I had a sort of revelation. Wait, I don’t give her sweets bag every day. But when there are some, I let her manage. And for now, she hasn’t turned into a giant Tagada Pink.
Here you go, I’ve been asked for a while what it was like for children, I must say that the word that would well sum up the situation is the following: appeasement.
Let’s hope it will last…
