Category: Intuitive eating

Lately with doctor Zermati, we don’t really talk about food. And, at the same time, we talk only about it. For the good reason that we concentrate on emotions.

I won’t do a lesson on mindfulness, I would struggle, I think, as I don’t really master the concept. But basically, the idea is, when you’re facing an unpleasant, nerve-racking situation or simply a boredom moment (it triggers, for me, almost automatically a desire to eat), to stop for five minutes to “observe” this emotion.

Not to try to fight it or chase it away. Not in order to relax (it would actually be trying to avoid it). Just to take note that, at this particular moment, you are anxious, angry, sad, bored or even happy (for some happiness pushes them to eat) (for me it makes me feel like smoking).

Put like this, I’m fully aware it sound a bit dumb. Even new-age my balls.

And truly, if there’s someone who doesn’t buy new-age stuff, it’s me.

And though, it works. Namely, generally, the fact, thus, of observing the emotion and its physical signs (tight stomach for anxiety, accelerated heart bit for anger, wet eyes for sadness, etc) and the desires that follow (to eat, to hit, to shout, to smoke, to drink) without trying to counter them, it makes them… disappear. “Because the distinguishing feature of an emotion is that it’s not meant to last. And not fighting it is finally the best way to let it go”, doctor Z was explaining to me. Also because when being the observer of what you are feeling, you are not undergoing anymore, you are less overwhelmed, you find again a freedom of movement you’ve lost when you give in to compulsion.

I have to admit I’m struggling with it, I can’t be more explicit. But a few days ago, I had to face a situation that was a real source of anxiety for me. As I can’t really take beta blockers each time I have to speak to someone who’s hostile or who impresses me, I tried to follow this funny method. I felt my sweaty hands, that weight in my tummy, the beginning of tachycardia. I observed all this unpleasant phenomenon with the curiosity of a medicine student or of a crime scene witness. Without trying to make things better with pathetic stomach breathing exercises (which make me hyperventilate every time and don’t really make this things better)

« I’m scared and I feel bad », I told myself, a few second before entering the arena.

And then the feared face-to-face happened. And I can’t explain why or how but there I was, my powers at their peak. The panic crisis was gone. Vanished. Dissected.

I’m not trying to convince you, I’m simply sharing that small step I think I’ve made, which have nothing and everything to do with food compulsions. Because for me, emotions often rime with trips to the kitchen. Next time, I’ll stop for five minutes on the why and how of what presses me towards that chocolate, who knows…

Bye.

Edit: On the picture are the angry eyes of my oldest daughter, it’s the best I found to illustrate an emotion, forgive me.

– You disappeared.

– Yes, you can put it that way.

– What happened?

– An issue with my medical aid, my husband, unemployment… and I had missed an appointment, I was ashamed, didn’t dare to call back, I wasn’t in a good shape, when it’s like this I think I do exactly the opposite of what I should. But now, there you go, I feel better so…

– So you come to see me now that you don’t need me anymore? Not bad. You know you could have called me, explained to me. I was aware of your husband’s difficulties, we could have talked about it.

– I… I know, it’s just that I didn’t want to look like I was begging, and most of all I was ashamed to have stood you up. It looks simple but I’ve taken it upon myself to call back, if you knew how many doctors must think I’ve been run over by a bus.

– And so why did you feel the need to come back?

– Because I think I’m not done with all this.

– What makes you think this way?

– I… I mean, I’m fine. Weight is fine, food is fine too. But I think I’m really happy I’ve lost weight.

…

Too happy.

….

I…I don’t want to gain weight again. And I think about it. A lot

– Ah. I warned you, didn’t I? After your “I don’t want to gain weight again”, come on pull the other one. The truth is that you are SCARED to gain weight again. A lot.

– A bit.

– A lot.

– Ok, a lot. But it’s too good, you can’t understand.

– Oh yes, I understand. It’s much more comfortable to be slimmer. And those compliments… But except this aspect, what would change if you’d put on, I don’t know, five kilos? People from your circle, would they make fun of you?

– Oh no. I know how to surround myself with loving people, I believe. But they would surely be sad for me, they would feel pity.

– You must be lucid. Some, not so many, would be truly sad for you. Others, more numerous, would be very happy. Slimming down is an achievement, not many people manage to do so on the long term. Thus envy from some and admiration from others. And this is the issue. The more enhancements, the higher your stress is. And, you know it, this stress, this “weight issue”, triggers, within you, emotions… that make you want to eat. Do you see where I’m getting?

– Yee… yes. No but I don’t think about it the whole day in reality. Furthermore, when I overdo things, I tell myself it’s not so bad, the next day I’ll watc…

– Ouch.

-No, I… I didn’t mean this, I’m not watching my diet, what I mean is that I trust regulation, right. That’s it, isn’t it? Just like you said?

…

– I need help I believe, actually.

– I think you were right to pick up your phone…

Well, I’ve got it, I’ll have a few more sessions with mister Zermati and I must confess I’m not unhappy, even if rahhh, he gets on my nerves sometimes, right.

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…

So with Zermati, where do I stand?

Let’s say I can’t pretend I’ve grown away from all weight consideration. Proof is the excitation I felt while reading the happiness house in Corsica’s content list when I saw, between “24 plates” and “5 pots”, “1 scale”.

I wish I could tell you that somehow, in the middle of our stay, I came by chance across the scale relegated to the bottom of a cupboard. But I fear “came by chance across” doesn’t really match my mortar attack on the door of an a priori condemned closet to discover the famous scale.

When I finally saw it, I was as happy as if, on a Sunday evening, stuck with no fags, I had, in the end, found a full packet in the pocket of my coat.

And of course, the comparison is not fortuitous.

You get it. If, I think, I’ve integrated most precepts instilled by this good doctor Z, there is one that is still going far over my head. Namely the one consisting in not neurotically controlling my weight.

On the other hand, I feel I have moved forward: weighting myself on that day, I indeed saw a confirmation of the tendency noted when I came back from l’île de Ré: 2 extra kilos, thanks step-mum.

Well I wasn’t too scared.

I mean, I was scared.

But not too much.

Not too too much.

For example, I haven’t said ONCE during the day these words I’m capable of repeating until other side (= the one who then regrets he said ‘Yes’) is exhausted:

« I’ve put on weight… »

Followed by the unavoidable: « Do you think it shows? »

Then « Are you sure? »

And finally « You’re lying »

No, then, I breathed deeply, and I treated myself to a good moment of mindfulness (or something close). I was that close to levitation.

And during the two following days, I simply followed my desire, trying to listen to my hunger. That was not big, because of the heat and beach. I avoided the TRAP when you put on weight: trying to lose it. Starving yourself for the first twelve hours, seeing cheeseburgers everywhere for the next twelve hours and ending up head first in the canistrelli at dusk while mentally calling yourself a fat pig with no willpower.

And believe me, believe me not, but 48h later, after a mojito per day and eating stuff as healthy as fig tart or lonzu which smells fat pork from 20km away, I had lost the two kilos.

Mainly, except this obligation on the scale – after peeing, with an empty stomach, holding my breath and proceeding delicately when stepping on the machine – I haven’t thought much about “this”.

I believe it was the first summer I’ve been that detached. Within my means, we all agree, thanks Einstein and relativity.

That is to say that I came back with a weight similar to the one I had in July. With, most of all, the proof that yes I can gain. And not die from it.

Now, I’d be lying if I’d say I couldn’t care less about these lost kilos, one year after starting my therapy. Last year, I told you it was when looking at my holiday pictures and asking myself who this big woman on them was that I decided to call doctor Z. I even showed you the said pictures. Except that I didn’t feature THE picture that hurt so bad. No one wants to show his or her worst side, right.

And then yesterday, while sorting out the 2010 crop, I found a picture taken by the Churros, exactly at the same place. Except the fact that my love has no link whatsoever with Helmut Newton and will never do, I have to admit: seeing the transformation of my body in twelve months gave me a certainly exaggerated satisfaction.

I know I will have ‘moved forward’ when I’ll be at peace with this woman whom I refuse to appreciate still today on those steps. Thus for this reason, this time I feature it. Because her worth is not less than mine today. I just need to convince myself.

As you might have noticed, Wifi was as scarce as hen’s teeth on Ile de Re, at least not close enough for me to be motivated. Not giving up and slightly anxious to be disconnected from the World Wide Web during one week, I tried to install a 3G stick.

Result: 3G stick 1 – Caro 0.

So no blogging next to the swimming pool, too bad, I was finding this idea deliciously romantic, a bit like coming back on this island in winter wrapped in a blanket to write this much vaunted novel everybody is waiting for.

There would be a chimney fire, a fur carpet, wind in the pines and long walks on deserted beach. I would be mysterious and locals would call me “the writer”. At night, driven by creative fever I would write pages and pages. It would be said later that my words were inspired by the unleashed sea and oyster farms (for the last part of this sentence, I’m not so sure).

At the end of this exile, I would send bundle of sheets telling a truly original story to two editors, Gallimard and Acte Sud, because there you go, I’m instinct driven. They would call me back within one hour, being sure they found the new Darieussec, with just what you need of Gavalda within. The one to which I would have said no (I don’t know yet which one I have to admit the idea of having to choose tears me) would jump out of despair from the top of Saint-Sulpice church.

Alas, thus, none of this could happen, since I’m still looking for the PUK code of my 3G stick like a furious hen.

No use retorting to me that you can write without an Internet connection and that Balzac had neither ADSL nor Wifi, I’m a woman in her time, that’s it.

Apart from that, if I’ve been beaten hollow by modern technology, my step-mother won hands down her match against healthy eating. It’s with a dedication I can only admire that she indeed set about sapping one year of Zermatian therapy, making use of “take some more”, “you’ve eaten nothing”, “be KIND, do you want be to toss out these prawns?”. She went for anything : calling upon small starving children (I haven’t had heard this one for 15 years), preserve not being fat, the paper towel she pat dry the chips with so that they are not greasy, the quantity of sugar divided by two in the fondant and the dark chocolate which, it’s well known, doesn’t make you fat. Let’s not talk about the lime sorbet renowned for its slimming virtues or the biscuit which, eaten with the said sorbet, “pushes all down”.

If on the first day I resisted gallantly, explaining to my step-mother that my body is not a bin (it’s like explaining quantum physics to Secret Story candidates) or chewing for five good minutes each bite so that she could not have the pleasure to reserve me thrice during the meal, I rather rapidly surrendered. How to make someone who applauds my kids each time they finish a plate understand that licking dishes is not a performance deserving to be recognised?

In order not to become literally sick (on the third day my esophagus started a zeal strike which will stay in the records) (no, the sentence before is not sexually deviant) I cheated as much as I could. Especially, during each trip of my jailer to the kitchen, I offloaded the rest of my plate onto my son’s. Who at the end of the week couldn’t fit in any of his jeans.

It’s bad, I know, to sacrifice Thingy on the altar of my Zermating, but you don’t go to war without breaking eggs. He’ll simply add this to the long list of gripes he’ll surely enumerate later in front of his someone.

It looks like I’m having fun but more seriously, that week was, and I knew it before, probation as I never had from the beginning of my therapy with Zermati.

The lesson I’ve learnt is that I will make another appointment with the good doctor in September. Because it’s hard for me to pretend I passed the test hands down. I didn’t stop dwelling on food eaten during the day, scourging myself for taking preserve twice, complaining for putting on twelve kilos and cursing the Churros, him being by definition responsible for my distress.

For the record, we were at his mother’s.

I’ve even been that close to weighting myself in a pharmacy, with my clothes on, at the risk of seeing a figure bound to be higher than the one given by my corrupted scale. And this openly on Ile de Ré. I gave up at the last minute, you had to pay to humiliate yourself, there are limit to my dumbness, even if they are rather far to reach.

In short, I can tell you that every nice sentences from Zermati, about regulation, about the fact that putting on two or three kilos won’t kill me, on the exceptional character of that week, on the necessity to trust yourself and so on, however hard I was repeating them to myself like mantras, it was going straight over my head.

Oh yeah, I can show off in my size 10 slim (a labeling mistake a priori, I since then tried on other trousers in this size – which represents for all dieting regular the absolute ideal – in which not one of my thighs could fit, not even half actually) I’m far far from being out of the wood if I’m unable to spend one week, one tiny week, totally chilled out in front of my step-mother’s bouillabaisse.

Apart from this, Ile de Re is even more beautiful than in my memories. I think the village I’ve preferred is La Flotte, and, higgledy-piggledy : I’ve had a salted butter caramel ice-cream from La Martinière with no guilt (liar) // People with darker skin or whose children wouldn’t be named Auguste, Henri or Domitille are missing // I witnessed a distribution of sweets at Bois Plage which made me fear a possible famine in our regions for Jean-Mathias or Marie-Gontrance can alas turn into hellcats with no brain for two packets of Tagada Pink // I’ve seen the sweet and pretty Zoe Sheppard at the same Bois Plage book fair, with other young and less young literature celebrities // I missed Marjoliemaman but I’ve, by incredible chance, had a drink with Dom des ménagères and her charming husband // I’ve admired salt marshes // had a tea, one morning, with Rose, while the older ones were climbing the 247 steps of the Des Baleines lighthouse // Enjoyed ‘Chroniques du plateau Mont-Royal’ from Michel Tremblay // celebrated Helmut’s two years by eating lobster and strawberry cake // and finally, drank Ti-punch made by my step-mother who doesn’t only push you to eat, let’s give back to Cesar what’s his.

I’m leaving you with a few pictures, for information I don’t master my new lens very well and I find that on most of the pictures (taken with automatic mode) colors are very dark, my children’s light brown hair appears to be dark brown. In case someone has an explanation.

That’s when I saw Zoé/la bureautière


This is Zoe whom I find more at ease when she’s next to the handsome David Foekinos

Here it’s PPD with his new hair, he looks like he’s having a blast.

Here is the man whose book was published the day Seguin died.  No matter what…

Here it’s just because I thought he was dead so it’s a bit like a resurrection for me.

So, more answers to questions on Zermati’s method, as I’m struggling to answer in the comments. I’ve selected a few questions, I’ll do it next week as well if you are still interested, I’m afraid all at once will be too long.

– You say we must detach ourselves from kilos and though you weight yourself every day? Paradox, isn’t it?

Answer: First of all, who snitched for the scale? Then, wait a sec, I’ve never pretended to be a Zermating Dalai Lama. I’m not yet in the phase where I eat 100% without feeling guilty, where I don’t think of what I’m eating, have eaten or will eat and where I accept the idea of gaining, loosing, gaining, los… Ok. So yes I weight myself, on a scale that doesn’t mean anything as it reduces the figure by five kilos straight away. Actually yes, it means something. That it loves me, I think. In short, it’s indeed the next step, get rid of the scale. And it’s a girl who went, fifteen years ago, to islands in Italy with a scale in her backpack who’s writing this.

– Ok, you’re not careful about what you eat and do slim down. But from what you say you eat, aren’t you afraid that inside you it’s not so nice? Still, stuff like vegetables and fruits, it’s important for our organism, isn’t it?

Answer: First of all, my answers are not to be taken literally. When I write that for dinner I eat what I have, quiche, pizza, pasta or so, it doesn’t mean I don’t regularly eat ratatouille, tomatoes and mozzarella, cucumber or I don’t know. However, I’d rather die than have veggies I don’t like or unseasoned because it’s good for your health. What I find awesome in Zermati and Apfeldorfer’s approach to food is this way of going against all brainwashing about five fruits and vegetables a day. Not being a food control freak, it means trusting your desires. Desires that naturally drive you towards what you are forbidding yourself when you’re frustrated. When you are not frustrated anymore, it’s surprising, some food loses their aura totally. Example? There is some EXPIRED Nutella in my cupboard. Yes. Madness. Oh and what I’ve notice is that I never have heartburn anymore. In my opinion, it means that within my body, it’s less a war than before. For more info on healthy eating, it’s here.

– Why do you say Zermati advised not to tell you current weight?

Answer: In that article, I relate the episode. Basically, what he wanted me to understand is that featuring my weight loss too much is like forcing myself not to gain again. Once everybody knows how much you have lost, it’s as if there was an obligation to stay slim. Yet it’s this “obligation” that, nine times out of ten, makes you gain again, because it generates emotions you can’t handle without eating. Especially, you shouldn’t delude yourself, not everyone around you has good intentions. I first, I’m always very annoyed when my friends manage to stop smoking. It’s now said, sorry Chloe for handing you the first resumption fag.

– And what does it change in your life to have lost weight?

Answer: Again, lot of answers already I think. But basically, I don’t have that feeling, like some of you, of not fitting in or that “fear” of being slimmer. I have to admit one of the first consequence is financial, what I don’t eat I spend. In clothing. Recently a playsuit. Yeah, you can laugh. Fair enough. Seriously, the most positive effect is that I don’t have to tear my hair out in the morning in front of my closet. It’s the kind of consideration that doesn’t really showcase my brain – which maybe melted just like snow in the sun, who knows – but who doesn’t understand this happiness has never been fat. Also, of course, less tired in the stairs, more self confident in the street, less shy I think, less petrified when it comes to speaking in public. Less ‘guilty’ to be overweight when I enter a shop. At the end of the day, not much. Still mother of three who don’t care, I guess, still married to a maniac but as much as before. And still, that irrational fear to put on weight again. As I said above, there is room before I shave my head and walk around in an orange toga.

– And how do you manage during meals? When you’re not hungry you don’t eat but it’s not very family friendly! And if you’re hungry at 16h? Do you eat a blanquette?

Answer: After a while, what is magical is that you are hungry more or less at the same time as everyone else. That said, sometimes I’m not hungry, I eat next to nothing while explaining that right now I don’t really feel like it but I stay at the table with them or sit on the couch right next to them to chat. Because from now on, no fight to finish the plates, no remark like if you don’t eat your greens you can forget about dessert. And believe me, we have won a lot of serenity. Meal is a moment of conviviality. But it’s not the only one. And according to doctor Z, it’s a good example to give not to force yourself to eat.

Edit. The picture is to show that balanced diet also works with children. I’ll come back on it but since I’ve started this therapy, I don’t bother my kids with this anymore. As a result, sometimes, Rose begs me to give her… some salad. As a snack.

Yesterday, several questions have been asked in the comments and call for rather developed answers. Alas, I have about three minutes and 12 seconds to write this article, so I really advise that, for further details, you rummage in the articles ‘Zermati and Me’ in which I already have broached many of these topics. This article sums up rather well all this.

– What do you do when you are entertained by friends and it’s impolite not to eat if you are not hungry after Pringles?

Answer: I don’t go out every night, not even close. Thus, when I’m invited, I ban all form of restriction. I tell myself that this particular night is special and all is allowed. I go there hungry because the idea is to appreciate what I will eat. If I’m full during desert, I don’t force myself either. And the next day? The next day, I don’t weight myself, because I know I probably have gained one kilo – in case I went really wild – and it will undermine me. So I trust REGULATION. Namely, naturally, I’ll be hungry later and probably less than if I didn’t have both cheese fondue AND Vacherin the day before. The objective of this therapy, doctor Zermati was telling me at every session, is not to break your social bonds.

– And alcohol? What do you do with alcohol?

Answer: A bit similar to the previous one, I don’t drink every night. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, but then it’s a nature’s curiosity, alcohol puts me off my food. My drinks are my supper, basically. But once again unless you’re drinking one liter per day – and in that case your problem is not specifically food I’m afraid – alcohol is not an issue.

– But what happen if you feel like eating simply to enjoy it? Not because of hunger but not to fill yourself either?

Answer: Well then you do it. Doctor Zermati is positive on this subject, you must know how to eat something without hunger or feeling guilty. To do so, you must DECIDE what you will indulge with, sit in front of your treat and savour all its taste subtleties.

– But during the day what do you eat exactly then?

Answer: It depends. A croissant in the morning, pastas for lunch or a club sandwich and chips, or a salad, in short what is tempting me. In general, to end my meal, one or two pieces of chocolate. In the evening, whatever is in my fridge, rice, pastas, courgettes, quiche, you name it. With a piece of chocolate to end on a sweet touch which I can’t do without. Basically, I eat just like before but less because never, or almost never, while reading or watching TV (devil).

That’s it for today !

“After two months working at Fauchon in the pastries section, I had put on five kilos. Indeed one pain au chocolat per day, it’s fatal, no one can get through without putting on weight.”

This secret has been told to me recently by a charming young lady who is a cupcake teacher, actually I’ll tell you more about her demoniac know-how soon.

I didn’t answer anything, I’m not Zermati’s press attaché, neither a nutrition guru who would try to spread the good word everywhere. But within, I smiled.

Every morning, indeed, for almost one year, I have enjoyed my pain au chocolat or my butter croissant, bought in the best bakery in the world, it has received several gold medals for its pastries. I eat them with an unspoiled pleasure, a twenty years moratorium on puff pastry, it leaves marks.

Every morning, thus, I defy the laws of healthy eating, the ones that have been instilled in children for generations.

Every morning, I notice on my scale that you can very well have a pain au chocolat without gaining a gram. Better, you can have this treat and slim down. A lot. Because doctor Zermati warned me a few months ago against the risks, for my personal balance, of featuring my weight loss, I won’t give exact figures. But what I can say is that this method suits me better than all tested until now.

I don’t know what it will be like in one year, I don’t know what life has in store for me, the only certainty to tell the truth is that I don’t demonize a piece of Milka at the end of a meal anymore, that I sometimes crack on onion and sour cream Pringles, that I buy myself, on Wednesday, a slice of custard tart. And that all this doesn’t make me feel guilty. I also know that I eat less, being full much quicker, that when I’m feeling down, when nothing else than a treat is tempting me, I sit down and give in to the urge, focusing on the comfort it brings me.

I also know that on other days, when kids are not there, I turn on the TV and decide to eat while watching it, just like before, I find myself swallowing without tasting, without counting, filling myself like a goose I’d want to force feed. I then have this awful anxiety that ‘it’ starts all over again, that old habits come back insidiously, that all the way I’ve gone ends up on a dead end.

Then I remember doctor Z’s words, on weight loss not being an end in itself, on the fact that my life won’t change completely if I were to put on weight again. I remember that it’s this terror that could ruin me, this disgust of myself.

Then the next day, I wait for hunger. When it comes, I hear what has become my principle: ”what you eat with hunger doesn’t make you put on weight”. And I ask for a croissant at the bakery.

That’s where I am today, not totally detached, rather chilled but not ready to give up on this wellbeing, which I enjoy every day, because here is my only disagreement with doctor Z, at least for now: being slimmer does make me feel lighter. I know he wouldn’t be delighted if I were to tell him face to face, I know why too. But, I wonder if doctor Z already had his thighs rubbing each other so bad under a skirt they bled. I’m almost sure he hasn’t. It’s probably why he assures so strongly that putting on weight again wouldn’t be so bad.

To be continued, all in all…

Do you remember that ad for a bank in which a guy was calling his financial adviser twenty times so that he would repeat the amount of credit on the guy’s account, just to get revenge for years of harassment about his overdraft?

I loved that ad.

Especially as, at that time, I was in the phase hide your head in the sand and filter calls from your bank.

Last week, I felt like doing a remake of that ad. With Philippe, the ski equipment rental guy.

And ask him every day to have me try on one of his pair of ski shoes. Come on man, these ones there, bring them on? Huh yeah, I can close them too. And you won’t believe it my foot is IRRIGATED. Bring on the red ones while we’re at it? Same, as comfortable as sleepers! And what about those ones which look narrow, he? Well, not that much, boy, you could fit two other in there, let me laugh, you don’t mind my Philou if I stay a bit more, do you? I’d like to try on one or two other pairs, just like that, for the enjoyment of it.

In short, you get me, my week has been ENLIGHTENED by the simple fact that I could fit into ski shoes without risking an amputation of some of my toes.

Now dare telling me that losing weight is about respecting society norms. Those who think this have NEVER known how humiliating it is to choose a size 7 pair when your actual size is 5 just to get an extra 3 millimeters on the last hook. Neither to have to tell your weight – slightly minimized – to the ski rental guy in front an astounded crowed (= my children who had never managed until then to obtain the damn number).

In short, I won’t bullshit you, having lost weight has simplified my everyday life. And not only a little bit. I know I’m not younger, not necessarily prettier, I didn’t turn into a sex on leg for all that. But not a day goes by without the thought that ‘this’ I couldn’t have done it so easily a few months ago.

‘This’?

– Put on that slightly out of fashion ‘flare’ pair of jeans, size 10 from Gap, which was sleeping in my closet since 2004.

– Run up the stairs at the Opera metro station without having the impression to have lost someone on the way. My left knee, as it happens.

– Tie the strap on these delicious Salomés bought an arm and a leg only for the pleasure of… tying the strap.

– Put on a belt my mother forgot at my place. Until now I could at best use it as a necklace.

– Have a bath without the fear of getting stuck (yes, it happened to me, thank you soap, my saviour)

– Sit on a fence to eat my sandwich without thinking in the back of my head that it could give way.

– Planning to sit on the Churros’ laps, just like that, without getting cramps trying to make myself lighter (one of my big regrets from teenage hood, all my friends were sitting on each other’s laps, it might have happened to me once or twice but usually people sat on MY LAPS.)

– Sidle in a row of seats in a cinema without hearing people breathe heavily or moan.

– Almost not hear these obsessive voices that shout « fatty » when I try to enter a crowded metro.

– Pass a group of guy with my head up high and be surprised not to feel my tummy getting tight. Not walk faster and be astounded they didn’t even notice me.

I know very well all these are insignificant. I also know that some are the fruits of an ill imagination.

I know as well that I give it too much credit. And it’s indeed the proof that I’m still half way through the river, torn between the fear of gaining weight again and being aware that this is what will ruin me. But here you go, here and now, I have the feeling of being miraculously in equilibrium…

Edit: It became a tradition, a ‘blogger like’ picture, because I’m worth it, am I not? Ok, I look like I’m pooping. Or that I need to. Come on, I’m leaving you with a few pictures from my holidays…