Category: Intuitive eating

My appointment with doctor Z. is in three days. And of course, it’s slightly chaotic when it comes to the exercises I was supposed to do for the past two weeks.

As a matter of fact, it’s chaotic when it comes to writing down my impressions. Because otherwise, I’m Madam Jourdain[1] of Zermatage, sort of.   For the record, I was supposed to experiment a big hunger, a medium hunger and a small hunger and draw conclusions. In fact, without really doing it on purpose, I’ve been drawn to knowing the three situations over the days. One day, a big hunger as a consequence of a very small breakfast and a lunch taken at 16h, thanks to news emergency which couldn’t wait. Another day, a medium hunger (lunch taken at 14h) and finally, a small hunger (a snack taken two hours after a light lunch).

No one will be surprised, in terms of price/quality ratio, the medium hunger was the most satisfying. What I mean is annoyances of a medium hunger are bearable (gurgling belly, light weakness) and the meal pleasure is real. Satiety comes relatively quickly and hunger signals disappear while you’re at it.

The big hunger is more complicated to manage. First of all, personally, after a while I get dizzy, sick and it’s hard for me to concentrate. Spread the word, I would have coped only half a day in the maquis and I have no future as hunger striker. Most of all, when I start my meal, I don’t really know what I want anymore, I eat from necessity more than pleasure and struggle to feel full. As for the impression of weakness, it lasts long after the meal, as if my body couldn’t restart the engine.

The small hunger, I admit I struggled to identify it, so I did as the doctor advised, namely I’ve eaten my lunch, normally, and I had a dessert two hours later. Yeah, so so, not very convincing let’s say I didn’t really appreciate the lemon tart in question since I’m now so used, for the past month, to allowing myself this kind of pleasure only on an empty stomach and when complaining of hunger.

I don’t know if these teachings are in the right direction, but I guess they are since, in my opinion, with food as with anything else, sobriety is good. Basically, waiting for hunger, yes, starving, no.

However the new age breathing exercises before the meals are a total failure, I never find the time. Helmut eats right before us, then we have to prevent her from having diner again with the rest of the family, after asking the twins twelve time to set the table, I’m finally stuck doing it myself and all this between  19h45 – time when I arrive – and 20h17 or so.

In short, relaxation, I couldn’t find a way to squeeze it in. Furthermore, just try to close your eyes to follow your breathing when you’re the happy owner of a fourteen months child very keen on taking advantage of the smallest inattention moment to a) dash to the stairs which she can climb up but not down, b) rework the living room electricity circuit, c) set the table on behalf of her older siblings, d) eat the hand sanitizer which is supposed to protect us from flue, e) reboot our Internet router.

Here you go, since I’ve started this therapy, I’ve lost a bit more than four kilos while eating a croissant in the morning and dessert at lunch. Better, during a party on Saturday evening, I didn’t get any urge towards roasted almonds and managed to eat only two gougeres – when my friend’s Audrey’s gougeres rock big time. Even better – yes it’s possible – I left without tasting the dessert nor giving a hard time to pistachios.

OK, when it comes to champagne I slightly drifted.

Sometimes, on Wednesday afternoons I have cravings. Sometimes, on Saturdays too. I feel that the battle is not won, serenity is only half settled in my plate. But let’s say I feel I’m on the right track. For now.

Edit: nothing to do with the subject but NEP – alias Nulle en Pseudos –‘s baby was born on Thursday. It’s weird because we don’t know each other in real life but I’m sincerely, truly sincerely happy for you, dear dear NEP. The best part? For the next season of Pop Star, you’ll be able to drink beers with us  Welcome on board, little Dou…

Friday was my third visit to Dr. Z.

Zermati for close friends.

For a start, I arrived without my notebook in which I was supposed to write down my impressions after my four days of half fasting.

You can say I accidently did it on purpose, except that, pardon me, but I had done my home work.

Luckily, this good doctor Z., not only doesn’t weight you every two weeks but also is not the kind who moans at you if you’ve forgotten his notebook. New gold star.

Anyway, I thus voiced my observations. They were the following

On the first day, I heroically held for two hours without my daily breakfast. Not without being very very scared to die. Then I had two croissants, aware that the second one was too much. However, I then waiting until 16h, until I was hungry again, to eat a tiny little gougère and a Madeleine. In the evening, a soup and straight to bed, around 22h.

Ok, I’m being told in my earpiece that I’ve lost about a hundred readers, my food diary being interesting only for me.

In short, without going into details, on the following days I postponed a bit more the time of my first meal and I settled for smaller snacks. I had confirmation that indeed when you are hungry, you don’t put on weight, as I didn’t deny myself what I wanted. I’ve also understood that you might as well not start your food day with a glass of wine, even less with people you barely know, it sucks.

I’ve also noticed that you stuff yourself less when you eat with the munchies, I couldn’t explain it, maybe simply because you physically feel satiety effects, because you were aware of being hungry.

Another teaching: I can live with half the calories intake I usually have.

Most of all, and it seems doctor Z considers it’s the most important, I enjoyed eating. I mean a pleasure not spoiled by culpability.

Conclusion, when you are hungry, you don’t blame yourself for eating. Thus you don’t put on weight.

After this short assessment, I still asked the doctor Z. “Tell me”, so I said looking like I’m no fool. “It’s all fun and games but I know myself. Right now, I manage to contain myself. No urges and when I get some I control myself. What will happen in one month? Or two? When all this will not be new anymore? Because I’m champion at stopping diaries after 10 days, keeping resolutions for one month only and sorting documents until I buy an archive box. In short isn’t your method too behavior based? (Meaning, when do we talk about my mother and how all this is her fault?)*”

Then, the doctor looked at me, not really duped, suspecting I barely know what behavior based methods are and someone must have prompted me this question.

And he replied, that indeed it’s only the beginning of the trip. To understand the urges, you must first identify them. To identify them, you must know when they come. And to know when they come, you must be able to differentiate from moment when you are really hungry. And thus, working on the concept of hunger is a start. But don’t panic, we’ll work on my emotions. I will not avoid it, even so.

When the word “emotion” is spoken, bam, it stings my eyes again.

It sounds promising.

Then, we went on to a new exercise, slightly new age. We will learn how to breathe, so he told me. And there he is, putting on my ear a sort of plier connected to a wire plugged to a computer.

Believe me or no, I and my big mouth – mainly in the corridor, the big mouth – I didn’t ask what it was for, I supposed I was enabling him to read my thoughts or something.

He asked me to close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. To make it simple, I would say it looked terribly like a relaxation exercise, the ones who have gone through child birth preparation or practiced yoga will know what I mean.  As usual during this kind of ritual, he asked me to choose an enjoyable image while concentration of my breathing.

Then, huge panic, just like every time in such a case. Impossible to stick to only one enjoyable image. A bit like when you see a shooting start and you have some many wishes to make you end up not choosing and thus, phew, the star is already dead since thirty millions years and you are still hesitating  between winning the lottery, finding the love of your life or finding a vaccine against AIDS.

In short, finding my enjoyable image kept me busy. Initially I was in a calm sea in Corsica, then on a ski lift above immaculate slopes, then in my lover’s arms. And finally, I settled for Helmut’s face when she came out of my belly.

And bam, stingy eyes.

Right when the exercise is over.

“Are you OK ?” he asked with the voice of an health professional who can see you’re not so good.

“Perfect, it’s just the light burning my eyes”. Liar.

Hard work is needed around emotions, definitely.

Right, I’m going to cut it short because I’m beating records with this article, basically, this exercise of “full awareness”, is used to see how interferences pollute your attention which is supposed to focus on one single object. In that case breathing, but it could have been a pen.

Or maybe a dish with sausages and lentils.

Basically – but it’s not yet very clear for me, I’ll ask for an explanation next time, thank you staircase wit – , I think the idea is to manage to focus on your body and its sensations. Anyway, the instruction is to grant myself with three minutes of “relaxation – breathing” before meals. Let’s see if I manage. He added I could use it during anxiety moments.

Anxiety, anxiety, do I look like anxiety?

That’s it, he then gave me more home work, namely during the next two weeks experimenting a small hunger, a medium hunger and a big hunger. Take note of the impressions, annoyances and sensations during the meal. The goal being to find the “right” hunger, the one that combines small annoyances and satisfactions when you end it.

Because, thus, the goal, Doctor Z repeated, is not to get sick. He also added that a big hunger is often not easy to satisfy. When the moment has passed, it has passed and the body makes up for it.

That’s all folks for today

Edit: At the end of the consultation, I took my courage in my hands and explained I have a blog in which I sometimes talk about him. I added that if he has a problem with it, I would remove his name. He answered he is fine with it, given the time and energy he dedicates to defend his point of view, he isn’t going to deny himself the pleasure. I gave him the address, telling him it’s up to him, as I don’t mind him reading what I write about him, after all it’s the least I can do. He had that qualm to fear it would hold back my spontaneity. I pleaded that I’m talking here about things I would have never considered making the world wide web aware of. Even less my mother. In short, do as you please doctor.

Edit2: I’ve created a “Zermati and me” section so that you can find the articles easily, I don’t know if you were missing it, but in doubt…

Edit3: The enjoyable image I’ve put here is a picture taken clumsily by my kids on the day of our wedding, just before the party started. I like the end of day heat mist and its serenity. I like seeing my parents’ garden decorated for the occasion as best as we could. I like the memory of those perfect flowers, pampered by my mother for weeks so that they bloom exactly on the D day. Here is my enjoyable image, next I will not hesitate.

* Mum, I know it’s not all your fault, it just that a therapy during which you don’t criticize your mother is not really a therapy isn’t it?

I’m in the Thalys to Bruxelles…

Let’s hope my zermating will resist waffle smell in the station…

Flashback: on Friday, I experienced my first day without breakfast. Situation that happens maybe twice year, when I go for blood tests. Or the day after a C-section. If that. Let’s just say I was not overconfident. What if I faint on the way to school? What if my heart gives way? What if I suffer from an orphan disease that causes lower limbs paralysis in case of morning malnourishment?

Ok, now I know the answer to Dr. Zermati’s harmless question: yes, being hungry is scary.

As far as the reason of the fear is concerned, I admit that it is still a grey area. Right, shall I tell you about that crazy morning?

– 6h45: The alarm clock rings, I’m so happy, it’s time for breakfast.

– 6h46: My brain just connected. Actually it’s time to start fasting. I want to die.

– 6h47: Good news is I get an extra fifteen minutes’ sleep. On top of that, “he who sleeps forgets his hunger”, so it’s a good deal.

– 6h49: Am I starting to be hungry?

– 6h50: I will actually get up to check my weight, I feel Wi-Fi connected to my scale this morning, I must have lost one kilo simply by planning to skip a meal. Since slimming down comes from your mind.

– 6h51: Apparently my scale is not aware that slimming down comes from your mind.

– 7h02: What’s awesome with skipping breakfast is that I will enjoy being with my kids for fifteen more minutes. In a mother’s life, it’s no mean feat.

– 7h04: My daughter takes advantage of these fifteen minutes to share her qualms about her outfits. I sense we’ll live a true mother-daughter moment and I completely forget about my hunger. Slimming down does come from your mind!

– 7h05: In front of a packed wardrobe, my lovely daughter explains without a blink that she has nothing to wear. Reason given: you don’t wear skirts anymore in 4th grade. Only jeans. But her only pairs is dirty.

– 7h07: To my knowledge I bought a dozen or so pairs of jeans in the last six months, I kindly object. ‘Kindly’ because it is important to build relationships based on truth with your children. “Yes but only one of them is slim”. For sure, that is an issue I don’t have. All my jeans are slim. Even my harem pants are slim. I’ve made up my mind, I’ll also skip lunch.

– 7h08: I breath from my – empty – belly and suggest three different outfits to my daughter. But really, this bond we’re building is awesome. All this thanks to my dietary move. Honestly food is a waste of time and harms family harmony. I feel like writing a song right now.

– 7h09: None of the outfits I had put together with love pleases my daughter who stays in her panties sighting in front of her cupboard. She gives me a dismayed look at every suggestion. When I ask her, slightly on my nerves, what she would really like to wear so that I don’t waste my extra fifteen minutes playing fashion editor for nothing, she mumbles stuffs I don’t understand. Or maybe hunger made me death.

– 7h11: If I don’t eat sometime within a second I’ll have her swallow her dirty jeans.

– 7h12: I end up chucking out half of her clothes and giving up while explaining that I don’t want to start the day with a fight. I also warn that all skirts, dresses and leggings bought with the fruits of my toil will be, as soon as tomorrow, distributed to little girls who really need them. Carried away by enthusiasm, I also suggest that she changes house and mum if hers is not to her taste.

– 7h13: I’m super impressed, not eating doesn’t affect my self-control.

– 8h00: After forbidding my son to watch TV for the next two months because of crumbs on floor, grounding Rose until her legal age and starting a sex strike against my man without valid reasons for these last two punishments, I left unfazed for work. Not without stuffing my bag with snacks in case of a possible weakness on the way.

– 8h22: I’m extremely surprised, I manage to walk to the bus without collapsing. Could it be that I have reserves? I almost feel good even.

– 8h23: it may be the case that I am producing endorphins like marathon runners.

– 8h25: now for sure I’m slimmer, my body is burning calories like crazy. It makes feel so great that during lunch break I am of to Zara to try a size 10 carrot-pants.

– 8h29: I am right in the middle of a transcendental experience. In my opinion fast causes a chemical reaction in my brain. It’s as if I were floating on an ocean of happiness. I could conquer the world, without one single muffin. I am wondering if all that inside confidence isn’t a bit dangerous.

– 8h34: I feel sick. It must be a sign sent by my body. Luckily I am listening to it, poor thing. Now, it is a major situation. I might have a little snack. Especially, if you consider that I usually have breakfast at 6h45, you can say that I resisted a good lot. Willpower is everything…

– 8h35: Or maybe it is gastroenteritis.

– 8h37: Or maybe my body is getting purified. And I am that close to screw it all with my snack.

– 8h39: I am completely lost. It is hard to get to know hunger.

– 8h40: I put my snack back in my bag. I can hang in there, yes I can.

– 8h41: Maybe I’ll never ever feel like eating anymore.

– 8h43: I feel very close to Gandhi

– 9h00: I get to my office. I am wondering if the fact I am in touch with my inner self – and Gandhi as well – is showing on my face.

– 9h02: “You have flu or what? You look bad” asks the first colleague I come across.

– 9h05: Zermati forgive him, he doesn’t know what he eats.

– 9h10: I start working while eyeing the croissants I just bought for my meal which I’ll have when I’m really hungry.

– 9h13: I took two in case one is not enough but I am so in touch with my inner self that I’ll catch satiety after two bites. I should have taken a mini pastry, plus I hate wasting.

– 9h17: do shivers mean that my body is getting detoxified from food or am I that close from catalepsy?

– 9h23: Respect to all hunger strikers in the world.

– 9h27: I stumble to the toilet, just to double check that gastroenteritis thing in any case. Because of the sweats. And stomach cramps.

– 9h29: I want to eat toilet paper roll. I say it’s the beginning of hunger.

– 9h32: I’ll hold on until 10h, my honor is at stake.

– 9h46: how fast my metabolism must be going. For sure my enzymes must be tucking into my second layer of fat. Prada thigh boots here I come. What an amazing machine human body is when you think about it. You just need to let go and everything come back in order.

– 9h48: My mind is made up, I’ll have only half of a croissant, too bad for wastage. The worst part is that it’s not a matter of willpower, I just totally changed my relationship with food.

– 9h57: Which doesn’t actually mean I’ll let myself die.

– 9h59: Yet, eating only half of a croissant would be almost suicidal. I have kids, come on!

– 10h00: You don’t put on weight when you are hungry.

– 10h10: I am not far from satiety, I can feel it. But, I say, eating the second croissant will confirm it. Plus, I’ll eat again only when I’ll be again very hungry. Maybe it will be around 20h. Or even tomorrow. Come on I won’t be able to hang in there for 48h with only one croissant in the belly, right?

– 10h12: Even Gandhi would have gobbled up that second one.

– 10h14: It’s easy to listen to your body. Bring on the next hunger crisis, damn it!

My second appointment with Dr Zermati was yesterday. I arrived very late after forgetting my food diary, here is a subconsciously deliberate mistake. But in the end, my diary and I, we were there.

I was a bit scared, for I am used to medical reprimands on my meals that are according to me rather modest and healthy but seem to actually be, for every nutritionist, an example of orgy not be followed

You can imagine my surprise when I realised that the only interesting part of the diary for mister Zermati is the one where I describe how I feel before, during and after sex meals.

He didn’t need a long time to conclude: I eat too often without being hungry and battle to stop eating once I start.

Good news, according to him.

Because, so it seems, if we manage to get rid of all the food eaten for whatever reasons except hunger, I will necessarily lose weight.

OK, but how?

Through learning again to feel hungry.

Right, for me honestly, I know very well how it feels to have the munchies. In fact it happens to me often. So, he must have seen on my face that I was slightly skeptical.

Except that when he talks about hunger, it is not exactly what I mean by starving. Let’s say it is a bit the same with everything that implies effort, suffering, stamina. I don’t use the same scale as everyone else. A rather low tolerance threshold, you could kindly say. That is why now, no more messing around, we are talking about being hungry, really hungry.

Let me explain.

For the next four days, I will engage in a little experiment. Namely, skip breakfast, leave to work with a snack of whichever nature (basically I can choose two croissants, biscuits or yogurt drink, it matters little to him) and eat it only when I am really hungry.

“The issue is when I wake up I am famished.”

“Well, you’ll wait a bit anyway. In your mind, how long will it take for you to be VERY hungry?”

Short hesitation, time to realise « ten minutes » is most probably a wrong answer.

« …Hum… one hour? »

Slightly desperate look from the doctor who understands he is facing a tough case (=limit hopeless).

Self-control from that guy who’s seen a few things in his life and answer from a health professional.  “No, you will not be very hungry, it is after three, four hours maybe, that you will really feel it”.

Right, the idea is yet not to faint, so he explained afterwards. But the rough idea is to wait for hunger to be unpleasant and almost painful before having the snack. Why? Because, and that is the interesting part according to me, because when you’re hungry you don’t put on weight.

When you’re hungry you don’t put on weight.

I know I just repeated the same sentence. But it is a bit as if The Mysterious Cities of Gold were revealed to me, you see. All in all, what Dr Zermati says without hesitation, is that what is swallowed when your body complains of hunger can’t be turned into fat since it will be used to fuel the engine.

Even better, he assures that it is easier to feel satiety when you are really hungry.

In short, during four days, I must manage to postpone my first meal in order to start eating only when I’ll need it physically. And go on with the same idea for the rest of the day.

This exercise has a small drawback: I’ll be staggered all the time and might eat a croissant while my colleagues have a steak. At the same time it is only for four days, which will include a week-end. I’ll just have to explain to my kids that all I ever said about obligation to eat at a table and at fixed hours was nonsense. I’ll pay for it, for sure.

But I have to admit that this idea of rebooting my organism, starting from scratch and finally feeding like a newborn (babies scream when they are hungry because their stomach twists and it really hurts), is delighting.

On top of that, no food restriction, because, anyway, you don’t put on weight when you’re hungry (I mentioned it already? Reallyyyyyyyyy?). Nor with a slice of custard tart neither with a plate of green beans. One last thing, even if during these four days I don’t manage to stop when I am full, not a big deal. Because waiting until I starve again to start the next meal will allow me to burn the extra calories.

I know, it sounds almost too good to be true. But in my opinion, it is less cool than I think and I could very well be crying for my breakfast tomorrow at 9AM. And at the end of the day, the goal still is to eat less, I believe that’s why it didn’t work up to now, I mainly focused on the “eat everything” part…

There you go, I hope it’s not too long, I don’t want to bore you with this therapy stuff. So tell me if you want me to continue giving feedback or if we go back to down to earth subject like, for Christ’s sake, the fact that I have cowboy boots AND a leopard print scarf in my wardrobe, which makes me an almost fashionista if I believe the last Elle about accessories. I think I should create a blog, shouldn’t I?

Edit: the picture is of a tiny bakery in Bastia in which I bought the best Fiadone of all times. I wish it was my snack…

To eat more slowly and to focus solely on eating during meals.

These are the two tips – at first sight trivial – with which I left after my one hour consultation with the famous doctor Zermati.

Yes, I know, you could think that with a consultation costing 100 Euros, it is a pricy moderato chewing.
But there hasn’t been only this, obviously. And above all, it was a first appointment, an initial contact, a first touch, may I say…

So how did it go, this last chance Zermati-dating?

First of all, would you believe, I almost didn’t make it in time by dint of staying home, think continuously, like a mantra: “I’m gonna be late, so he’ll refuse to see me”.

Too bad for Mrs. Very Brave, the subway went so fast that at 14h sharp I was in front of the door of the white doctor’s room on de Ponthieu street in the 8th Arrondissement, yes ladies, I confirm, our kilos enrich endocrinologists.

I’ll skip the few minutes wait during which I felt nauseous as if I were going to take the Bac’s French oral again (1). On top of that I’ve skipped Rousseau and, there we go, I draw “Reveries of a Solitary Walker”, thank you life.

And then, just when I was seriously considering running away, here he came, smiling, out of his consulting room.
For those who have not seen him on TV, I would describe him as a middle aged man, not so tall, dark haired with glasses and slim – but this is specific to his job, not sure I would trust an obese nutritionist, I know that’s stupid.

“What brings you here?” he asked once seated in front of me. I thought about Nip-Tuck and its two sexes on legs of plastic surgeons who always ask their patients this ritual question, even when the reason sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Well, I have a whitlow, and I thought, taking into account your fame…”

No, of course, I did not show off and replied very obediently, because I guess it is the beginning of something to actually put into words the reason of the move.

“I would like to put an end to my disastrous relationship with food.”

He seemed slightly surprised that I did not simply say that I wanted to slim down.

I am no fool anymore, see!

From this moment, he asked a whole bunch of questions on my life, from my birth in Toulon in 1971, till today. He took note of my siblings’ names, went through my diets history, and established my weight’s chronology.
It is actually not so harmless an exercise, it strikes a painful nerve, with memories of very lengthy snack times when coming back from school, of night raids in my friends Bea’s cupboards, 45 kilos for 25 years but always in for escabeche(2) tuna at around 3 in the morning.

Bottom-line, between diets that have made me gain weight since teen years and my cursed by bitch Mother Nature metabolism, my “set point” could be around 65 – 70 kilos, or so it seems.

No objections, I said. At this level, I feel balanced and am able to stabilize my weight while eating my fill.
Issue: I am slightly over this set point since Rose’s birth.

Here it is, from now on, we will try to identify the reasons of my cravings, consequences, according to this dear doctor, of challenges dealing with my emotions.

When he said so, it stung my eyes a bit and I think he noticed it.

For the next appointment, in 2 weeks’ time, I have to keep a food diary (too easy, it’s at least my 20th) in which I will have to write down what I felt when eating, with whom and what I was doing during that time.

Keeping in mind that one should do nothing else but eating during meals and that it is an issue for me who doesn’t know how to eat or have a poo without reading everything I have before my eyes, from Frosties’s ingredients to that j***k of Laurent Joffrin’s editorial.

Edit: Yes, our national social security system refunds these consultations and yes I feel a bit guilty to have it pay for “this”. However, a little bird told me that overweight can cause loads of troubles when we get older. So, in the end, it’s not that bad to anticipate, is it?

Edit2: Yes, this is the set of pictures that triggered it all. Paradoxically, I love the joy that emanates from them, because, of course, it was a happy moment. Ironic, isn’t it? …

(1)TN: Bac, short for Baccalauréat, is the French set of exams that students have to pass in order to graduate high school.
(2)TN: Escabeche is a spicy cold marinade. Escabeche tuna is often found in France readymade in tins and commonly stored by households.

I’ve been thinking of it for a while.

In order, perhaps, to get this over with.

“This”?

Diets, in a nutshell.

On this subject, I’ve seen it all. Or not much actually. Dozens of kilos lost along the years, replaced by other gained dozens. With, at the end of the day, gains on the scale and loss in terms of the actual goal.

When I say I have seen it all, I think that except gastric band, I have covered everything, from appetite suppressant, which has been forbidden afterwards, to low fat yogurt diet, including protein shakes, pineapple therapy or detoxifying drinks which make your pee admittedly red but not greasy at all.

Since I was 15, I have met a whole range of nutritionists, from the well-established quack who owns holiday homes financed with his commissions on instant banana pancake mix sachets sales to the embittered and castrating old bag who measured my “waterlogged” leg with her sadistic look every week. There was also the one who told me darkly – even though I wasn’t aiming that high – that my model career was hopeless and the equally indelicate 50-something who reminded me that there were no fat people in Auschwitz.

Moreover, I have experienced several scales, some seemed to be for livestock and others so sophisticated that they give your weight off course – with systematically one or two extra kilos – and your body fat percentage too. Information I wish I never knew, ever.

In short, even if every time I have been monitored by these cellulite doctors I indeed lost weight, none enabled me to succeed with the notorious ordeal of STABILISATION period.

For the past few years, with the help of this blog, of me being a mum and of my man’s love, I thought I reached wisdom, which enabled me to accept this not so dramatic after all set point.

Nevertheless, the notorious set point tends to take liberties. Fluctuate, even. It doesn’t go through crisis.
And while watching pictures of me wearing a swimsuit on the beach, taken by my poor photographer of a husband, I saw a woman who vaguely looked like me. A woman I would have looked at feeling satisfied not to resemble her, if I didn’t have to recognize it was me indeed.

I think it is the most difficult part when you’re fat. Inside, you’re not fatter than your size 12 friends. You know you have a hard time zipping your jeans. You can feel the weight when climbing a slope.

But you cannot SEE yourself.

Or not that often. For avoiding strategies have been well polished for years. No full-length mirror at home, your camera always strapped to yourself so that no one can immortalize you, fixed scale so that real numbers are never displayed. Looking away at every shop front.

And then, one day, browsing through beach holidays pictures or in a fitting room, you bang into, not the shop front, but this avoided for too long image.

For me the crash happened yesterday. No-one died but internal bruises.

And a slightly silly decision.

I will go to see doctor Zermatti. A Zorro for kilos.

To tell the truth, after finding the phone number in the Yellow Pages, I thought it was going to be complicated and that the appointment would be in March 2011. Which sounded reasonable a delay. During all this time I could let myself go since I was going to take charge of all this soon. Soon, but later than sooner.

Except that, bang, I “take advantage of a cancellation”, that’s what the PA told me. And this afternoon, at 14h, I will meet the man who represents a lifeline for me.

Let’s make things clear, I have no illusions, if someone on earth could enable women to lose weight without pain or diet, he would have sent Obama to the Tupperware salesman category.

But the PA uttered the word yesterday: therapy.

And even if during all those years I have carefully buried this solution under tones of eaten food, I very well know that it most certainly is a necessary step towards a bit more self-confidence.

Bottom-line, I will tell you how it goes.