Oh ja...

Stripped naked, we’re always beautiful. And our man will love us just the same. And our friends could care less. And we really can be just as happy. I mean, really, nothing really changes when we get a little plumper.
Okay, that’s almost true.
There’s that moment when you see a photo of yourself and you suddenly feel like you’re about to pass out.
Or there’s the jeans that don’t quite button and you pretend to forget them in some dark corner of your closet.
And there’s that quiet discomfort. It’s hard to explain, but those few extra pounds… You wear them.
I really tried to stay cool, and the people around me have always tried hard enough to say the famous, “but you look great!” to my face, but really, inside, I wasn’t feeling that cool. I was just so profoundly annoyed with it all. I knew I had to do something about it but I had no idea where to start.

The thing is that I’m just as bad at dieting as I am with exercise. I have the will of an oyster and I plus I love going out to eat and having a glass of wine, and never once do I actually give a second thought about what kind of food (Japanese? Mexican? Mexicaaaaaaan!!!) I chose to eat. And plus I’m constantly traveling. It’s hard to find a balance. Add to all that the fact that past your thirties, pounds stick to you like never before.
Something weird happened. I started thinking about that constantly.
What I had eaten and what I shouldn’t eat, what I was going to eat in the next hour compared with what I had eaten the hour before, and what I should be eating, this instead of that, or that instead of this. All the time.
What a interesting use of my brain, don’t you think ?!!! Totally self-centered – at an intellectual level close to zero.
And the more and more I thought about it, the more I just put whatever in my mouth.
Like if I weren’t hungry at all, still, I’d pack away a box of Oreos all while thinking how terrible it was and how I really shouldn’t finish them. And then… the guilt sets in.
And I developed this most terrible thing that the Americans have given a perfect name to because it’s just so true: self-loathing. It’s when guilt, through some vicious cycle, transforms itself into an utter hatred of the self. You spend all day telling yourself how bad you are.
It’s horrible!!! Because when you’re caught up in this craziness, it effects everything. You spend all day putting yourself down and not only is it useless and completely egotistical, but on top of that, believe me, you’re not a happy person.
And you know I hate taking myself too seriously… I didn’t recognize myself at all.
Then one day, finally – about two months into my little free fall into delirium – I had a moment of clarity. A voice inside me said :
“So, tell me, is this little game with yourself gonna last a while?”
You know, it’s like when we decide to quit the job that is killing us, to cut ties from that toxic relationship we’re in or move out of the apartment we hate. I finally had enough perspective to see that this just wasn’t working. I was obsessed.

Garance Doré (garancedore.fr)