Hello! Welcome to another Saturday Swapit where readers are invited to share their experiences, good or bad, in the diet stakes and offer any tips or recipes to keep boredom at bay and resolve intact.
To join in, write a post on your blog and pingback to this one, then leave a link to your own in the comments so that people can read it.
Last week, I threw in the question to list five ways you can serve chicken.
Mine are roast, salad, curry, sweet and sour, and a chicken and mushroom pie/quiche.
I am not, nor do I claim to be, a professional dietician or nutritionist. Anyone who wants or needs to lose serious weight should consult a medical professional or GP. This is not a diet programme.
Last time, our topics were comfort eating and the dreaded plateau. A great response to that and thanks to the following:
Carol Anne came back with this but is getting right back onto plan in the hope of losing those extra pounds.
Paula joined us too and has some good ideas, and Diana at writerravenclaw
also added her input.
Melanie suggested a topic of self image, and I for one despise the tick lists and charts with a passion. I bet I’m not alone in that so I’m picking up on that for today.
Self image can be devastating, especially if you are the brunt of jokes, ridicule or put downs. I can’t remember being a fat kid and the few photos I have of me as a child would not suggest it, but I do remember overhearing this comment about me when I was 10.
‘Does she ever stop eating?’
All I’d done was go back to the buffet table at a wedding after clearing my plate and taken a few small cocktail sized sausage rolls.
It wasn’t until Grammar School though that I was introduced to the paranoia of diets, weight issues, low self esteem and no confidence thanks to one particular gym teacher.
I left school at 16 weighing just over ten stones in weight, which SHE considered unacceptable and never let me forget it. At five feet seven inches in height, I was not exactly fat, but I wasn’t slim either.
I lost a lot of weight when I was 17 and so wished that bitch of a teacher could see me!
I was walking about three miles a day to and from bus stops as we were living with my grandfather at the time. It was not a good year .
What followed was what I can only describe as abuse to my body with fad diets, starvation tactics, and substituting cigarettes and chewing gum for food. I was lucky I didn’t develop an eating disorder though my body was well and truly screwed.
By the time I was twenty, I had flabby bits everywhere, and when I was first married, the husband was shorter and lighter than I was, could eat anything and not put on an ounce, and I felt an embarrassment to him, especially at firm functions when he never introduced me to his colleagues or bosses.
I tried to dress according to my shape, no horizontal stripes, dark colours, nothing too fitted, but I felt uncomfortable and ugly, hating my body and the way I looked.
Being on The Pill didn’t help and the pounds piled on. In the end, I was ashamed to undress in front of him, would hide under baggy sweaters and shapeless dresses, and the bathroom door was always locked when I had a bath. The physical side of our marriage was always in the dark as I felt like a whale.
I tried a variety of diets, including the micro diet, liquid diet, traffic light diet and even the Mars Bar diet to name just a few. I lost a bit, but it all went back on with a few more pounds and I sank into depression only to be told to ‘do something about it then’.
Ex partner just wanted a bed fellow, mother to his kids, housekeeper and a bottomless bank account. I fell for it hook, line and sinker but Pride kept me from walking out after a few months when his drinking became apparent. I felt committed to his kids who’d already had a raw deal with their Mum walking out, so I stayed.
His put downs were often cruel. I have to admit even with two dogs, I didn’t walk as much as I do now. I was so damn tired holding down a job, looking after the family and trying to make ends meet.
Fostering was the making of me though, and I began to take a bigger interest in food and the meals I prepared. I can’t say the weight fell off me, but I did lose some, though he still went on about it.
The biggest problem I had was how other people saw me, or how they wanted me to be. I wanted to feel ‘worthy’ of being loved, and to do that I had to fit their criteria. Losing weight was because I’d been told I should, for them, not for me. No-one seemed to accept me as I was, and it was ‘you’d look better twenty pounds lighter’.
The tick lists and weight charts at the doctor’s surgery are soul destroying before you start. I haven’t been ten stone since I left school all those years ago, yet some charts say I should be. I like this one which puts me in the moderately overweight bracket:It’s all so different now. Hubby has seen me thin (ish) and obese but loves me any way.
He says I ‘tart up’ pretty well and is never ashamed to be seen with me. People here see Me, not some overweight blob trying to lose a few pounds and getting depressed about it. They tell me I’m good company and a good friend.
It’s hard work keeping those extra pounds off to stay within my target parameters and yeah, I would like to lose a few more but it’s not the be all and end all of my life.
My clothes fit, even those from ten or fifteen years ago, and the coats I have are big anyway so that I can wear heavy jumpers or a body warmer under it when it’s really cold. It’s quite nice actually coming indoors looking like Mr Blobby and by the time I’ve taken my coats off, I’ve shed about ten inches all round!
Foodie question this week:
Can you list five ways of using onions or if you don’t like onions, eggs?
Over to you…………………..