I Used to Track Hit Songs. Before Calories Came Along.

Yesterday, I was reflecting on how when I was a kid, New Year’s Eve meant lying for hours on the brown shag carpet in our family room in front of our large stereo credenza.  

Every year, I would excitedly attempt to write down every song on our local radio station’s countdown of the top 100 songs of the year. 

This was the early 80s, so a list wasn’t available online. I had to create my own.

I tried to stay glued to the radio as much as possible so I could track each song when it was announced and played. I remember anxiously scrambling back to my spot after a bathroom break to ensure I didn’t miss anything. 

I kept those lists for a few years so I could reflect on the hit songs and what was going on in my life at that time, like favorite outfits, crushes, roller-skating parties and sleepovers.

Tracking My Body
Sadly, as I grew older, my list-making changed from recording fun things like popular songs to meticulously tracking calories, good and bad foods consumed, workout days, miles ran, the number on the scale—all the things diet culture tells us we need to vigilantly monitor to achieve our ideal body.

While tracking these things often gave me a sense of accomplishment when I did the “right” thing, they also caused tremendous distress, anxiety and guilt when I didn’t. 

My tracking kept me overly preoccupied with my eating, exercise and body. 

And, it consumed a ton of my time, energy and headspace. (It was especially time-consuming as apps didn’t exist back then to simplify the process; much of my tracking was done on paper and eventually on spreadsheets.)

Disordered and Disconnected
If you have a history of dieting, you are likely quite familiar with tracking things like pounds, calories, points, carbs, macros, workouts, steps, hours between meals, etc. 

And, maybe like me, you eventually started to realize what you thought was helpful was actually harmful, that all your tracking was contributing to an unsatisfying and disordered relationship with food, exercise and your body and preventing you from living a full and fulfilling life.

Once I stopped tracking, I began to see how much it had disconnected me from my body. 

Eating decisions were often made based on what I was allowed to have according to my food tracking rather than what my body needed or wanted. 

Exercise decisions were often made based on what workout I had recorded the day prior or how much I ate the night before not on what my body needed or wanted in that moment. 

If I Did Track…
I don’t track anything these days but if I did, I hope it would be all the ways I treat my body with love, respect, care and tenderness and all the things I do to expand my life rather than shrink it. 

But far more importantly, if I did track anything, I'd like it to be all the meaningful things I hope I'm doing to enrich the lives of others, alleviate suffering and make the world a better place. 

My Resolution Went Awry

A few decades ago, I started the new year resolving to lose weight once and for all. 

After years of attempting to reach my ideal size, I was more determined than ever to drop some pounds and keep them off for good. 

My initial strategy was to ramp up my exercise and make different food choices, like eating more vegetables and fewer sweets. Seemed reasonable enough.

After losing a few pounds, people started complimenting me on my smaller size (“You look so good!”) and my eating decisions (“You’re so good!”). Their praise felt really good—and it motivated me to pull the reins in tighter. 

Downward Spiral
What seemed like a healthy resolution quickly spiraled into a disordered relationship with food and exercise. 

My list of food and exercise rules grew. I cut out more and more foods and ran more and more miles. 

I meticulously counted calories in and out (on paper and spreadsheets—apps weren't a thing back then).

Soon, my entire life was consumed by my desire to control my weight. I thought about food and my body constantly.

I neglected my relationships, my job, my social life—basically anything that threatened my desire for control. 

I stopped going to lunch with coworkers because I didn’t want to eat off plan. 

I would no longer go out on Saturday nights as I feared drinking “empty calories,” plus I had to get up early to work out. 

If I did go to a party, I was never fully present as I was preoccupied with all the forbidden foods I wanted to eat but wouldn’t let myself have.

I was chronically late to work because I just had to run one more mile before going into the office.

I underate during the day then overate at night. I freaked out if I ate “badly” and compensated by eating less and exercising more. 

And, naturally, since I was food policing myself, I often food policed other people’s food choices (“Do you know how many grams of sugar are in that?!”). 

I constantly checked my body and kept moving the goalposts. I’d reach my target weight and then aim for a lower number. It was never enough. 

What I was trying to control ended up controlling me. 

Disordered Eating Gateway
Although I’ve shared parts of my story before, I wanted to bring it up again as it’s so very tempting and understandable to go on a diet in the new year, especially since we’re bombarded with seductive success-story ads and everyone around us seems to be dieting.

While I've been anti-diet for some years now due to everything I've learned both personally and professionally, I completely believe in body autonomy including the right to diet. 

I also feel it's important to know what weight-loss companies and advocates will never tell you, namely the numerous ways dieting can harm you physically and physiologically. 

And they will certainly never warn you that for many people, dieting is a gateway to disordered eating, and for some, to actual eating disorders.

When you reflect on your dieting history, in what ways has dieting harmed you?

What I Do When I'm Not Digging the Skin I'm In

Even though I’ve been on my body acceptance journey for many years now, I still have days when I’m not digging the skin I’m in.

In the past, a challenging body day would easily turn into weeks, if not months. Like a dark cloud, it would loom over me contaminating my every action and interaction.

I’d hide from the world. Push away my partner. And go into fix-it mode—that is, create a plan for changing my body.

Inevitably, my plans always backfired. They weren’t sustainable or pleasurable. They led to rollercoaster weight fluctuations and a disordered relationship with food and exercise. And they only made me loathe my body more.

My Most Powerful Tool
These days, I have an extensive tool kit for navigating a challenging body day with greater ease, from doubling down on weight-neutral self-care to observing my thoughts without getting hooked by them.

One of my most powerful tools is remembering that I came into this world loving my body and that I was taught—without my consent—to see it as flawed (and fixable!) by our pervasive diet culture.

As writer and activist Lindy West says:

“Fight to remember that you are living inside of a cruel, toxic system, and when you hate yourself for gaining five pounds it’s because a billion-dollar industry conditioned you to feel that way for profit.”

Reclaiming My Power
When negative feelings toward my body creep in, I remind myself that I can reclaim my power by understanding that my body is neutral and the only reason I feel bad about it is because I have been programmed to do so from a very young age.

I no longer blame myself for failing to shrink myself. Instead, I blame the systems of oppression that want me to believe my body is a problem to solve.

I now give the middle finger to our insidious diet culture that relentlessly tries to convince me that if I just played my cards right, I’d finally have a flat stomach, cellulite-free thighs and a small, perky butt—and thus finally be worthy, acceptable, happy and healthy.

I no longer stand for this oppressive BS.

I see clearly now that it’s our weight-stigmatizing culture that needs to change, not my body—or yours.

*I highly recommend checking out Lindy West's show, Shrill, the Hulu comedy adapted from her memoir. It's about a struggling young journalist, played by the fabulous Aidy Bryant, who is determined to change her life without changing her body.