I’ve always kind of had a strained relationship with my body. I was The Fat Kid in School™ — mercilessly teased, always picked last for physical activities, gym class was the bane of my existence. I am fully accepting of the fact that I was the exaggerated picture of fat kid-ness growing up. Over the years, between the teasing and the passive aggressive criticism from “loved ones” along the way, I — perhaps unsurprisingly — developed quite the complex about my body. The conditioning fueled an array of disorders and bad habits: body dysmorphia, binge eating, orthorexia, fad dieting, compulsive exercising. I chased after the elusive weight loss for about 28 years. It was tiresome. Once I realized my value was not reflected in a pant size or a number on the scale, life became much easier to live. I’ve spent the last six years rebelling against the baggage I had collected for almost 30. Embracing who I am. Celebrating what I can do. Giving the middle finger to society’s beauty standards with both hands (which were also filled with cake, symbolically). I ate what I wanted, and didn’t sweat the rest. Now, at all of 34-years old, I find myself centering, balancing the scales (pun intended, I think?). I know that food is fuel, and have learned that some fuels are more optimal for my health and well-being than others. So in a move to reverse the effects of type-2 diabetes — which I’ve had, a little over ten years now — I recently enrolled in a ketogenic diet program that is built specifically for those who are pre- or type-2 diabetic. The program is monitored by physicians, metabolic specialists, dietitians. They call it a “medical intervention.” Which I feel like is a little overdramatic, but maybe it’s me. A significant part of me is struggling with this because it kind of feels like an identity crisis all over again. It’s forsaking this rebellious streak I’ve expressed over the years, because I can’t be cavalier with my food choices once I begin. Like, at all! This might very well be the strictest diet plan I’ve ever applied myself to, ironically enough. I also am not entirely confident I’ll be able to abide by such a rigid structure for very long, if I’m being honest. But I’ll give it my best, surely. (It helps that I can eat butter as a snack. Come on now.)
Syke. It ain’t happenin’, fam. Apologies for the lapse in judgment, and we now return to your regularly scheduled programming.