The term “diet” has always made me feel like I was trying to squeeze my curves into a mold that was never designed for me. I was never meant to weigh 100 pounds, wear a size two, or survive solely on salads. Throughout the years, as I embraced love and welcomed children into my life, the weight I carried transformed from the joyful “happy fat” of love and motherhood into something more burdensome. I started to despise the reflection staring back at me; my thighs felt too big, my belly too soft, and my behind too prominent. The negative thoughts I harbored pushed me to chase one diet after another.
Growing up, my family gathered for hearty Sunday dinners, lovingly prepared by my Southern grandparents. Each meal ended with a homemade dessert, typically my grandfather’s cinnamon swirl cake paired with a new flavor of Breyer’s ice cream for us to savor. My bond with food was rooted in love—the love that went into creating meals that nourished not just my body, but also my spirit. Whether the food was healthy or not was secondary to the joy of sharing it with those I loved. For me, eating was a cherished family tradition, and snacks were my comfort.
After giving birth to my twin daughters, I took a maternity break that allowed me to channel my creativity into cooking. I aspired to prepare most of their first solid foods, opting for organic and nutritious options to set a good example. However, I placed undue pressure on myself to succeed in making healthy meals for them, mistakenly believing I needed to follow someone else’s plan to achieve my own weight goals.
I started the Whole30 diet, aiming to shed a few pounds, then the baby weight, and eventually to get below 140 pounds. When I didn’t see any results, I became disheartened and quit before the month was up, ignoring the voice that reminded me I didn’t need a diet.
Next, I discovered the Keto Diet, which promoted high-fat foods to help my body burn fat efficiently. Initially, I found success—losing five pounds felt great, and I tracked my meals diligently. But soon, I craved a slice of cake to celebrate my wife’s birthday. The keto cake I made was a disaster, and I realized it was unfair to compromise on such a special occasion.
As the holidays approached, I loosened my grip on dieting, allowing myself the freedom to indulge because “life is short.” I enjoyed festive meals and desserts without guilt, taking a break from the Keto lifestyle. Eventually, my interest faded as I recognized that the pressure I’d placed on myself to adhere to someone else’s diet wasn’t working. I realized that no plan or accountability partner could offer me the personal liberation I needed. I owed it to myself to redefine my relationship with food.
I began to give myself the permission to savor the homemade bread I had perfected during the previous months. This bread was born from countless attempts to find yeast and flour during supply shortages. Baking became therapeutic—a way to express my creativity without constraints. It cost me less than $5 per baking session, and with just a few ingredients, I discovered the freedom I had been seeking: the right to eat whatever I desired. This journey marked the beginning of my healthier relationship with food, one loaf at a time.
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Summary:
The author reflects on her journey to redefine her relationship with food after years of struggling with diets. Instead of conforming to societal expectations regarding weight and eating habits, she learns to embrace the joy of cooking, particularly homemade bread, as a form of self-therapy and freedom. By allowing herself to enjoy food without guilt, she begins to foster a healthier, more positive connection with what she eats.
Keyphrase: healthier relationship with food
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