A few weeks ago, I stepped on the scale hopeful, and stepped off so frustrated.
After three weeks of moderation, portion control, low-saturated fat, good monounsaturated fats, lean proteins, vegetables, fruits, no alcohol, and almost no dairy and no sugar, the darn thing had inched forward anyway.
It’s been a lifelong struggle for me.
I was a teenager during the arrival of the fat-free craze, which seemed to position itself as the answer for everything, but instead led me down a road of addiction to refined sugars and sweets. Since then, I feel like I’ve attempted almost every diet known. Cabbage soup diet, Atkins, South Beach, Slim Fast, gluten-free, Weight Watchers, you name it. Right before our wedding, I finally got things under control with regular two-a-days at the gym, which I loved, but let’s face it: that’s a lot harder to do as a mom of three than as a single gal.
I’m aware of the fact that nothing good comes easy, and that I’m just one of those people who is going to have to work at it—REALLY HARD.
So right after I stepped off that scale, I took stock of what I was eating, and assessed that I’d never tried cutting out meat. And over a brown rice bean bowl at Chipotle the next day, I announced to my husband David that I was going to be a vegetarian for a while.
Now, listen. I’m from Oklahoma, land of cattle and football. No one “cuts out meat”. I expected him to look at me like I was crazy, which he did. But only for a half a second, before he switched to being fully supportive.
A few days later, this is what our kitchen counter looked like:
I’m now on week three of fully plant-based eating, and you know what? I feel amazing. I still have no idea if this will help the scale long term at all, but I feel more confident just taking responsibility for what I’m putting in my mouth.
But I think that’s a good thing.