Once, when I was nine years old, my older sisterthen 15invited me to her room. This in itself was an honor and a privilege, but today there was something even better: Kira was about to embark on a disciplined but rewarding diet of fat-free foods, and she wanted to know if I would join her. We would be partners! We would support each other, encourage each other,lose weighttogether! There would be challenges, of course, but together, we would succeed.
The first step, Kira explained, was to eliminate existing temptations, such as the great stock of Halloween candy currently occupying a corner of my bedroom closet. It wouldnt do to try to ignore it, or to save a small selection for later, or even to enjoy one final fun-size Milky Way. The candy must go.
I complied without hesitation. I did not pause to consider the fact that this was by far the largest supply of treats I had ever amassed. I did not linger on the memory of shuffling through the streets of suburban Portland for hours, dressed as a housewife in slippers and robe, in the rain. I did not immediately recall growing steadily colder and more miserable as I followed my brother Gabe from door to door in his relentless and dogged pursuit of a full pillowcase, or the descent into hypothermia, or lying in bed later that night, shivering uncontrollably while my mother buried me under a heap of blankets.
I didnt think of any of that. I toted my stash to the garage, breathed in the sweet confusion of all its artificial scents one last time, and emptied my pillowcase into the trash.
In family lore, that day is remembered as the time Gabe got caught digging through the garbage for Emilys candy, but in my personal history, it also marked the beginning of a long and inglorious legacy of dieting. Im embarrassed enough of this history that I might actually have managed to forget it, except that much of it is written down in a diary I somehow still have.
The diary begins in seventh grade, two years after my first adventure in dieting. In one entry from that year, I make a pact with myself to lose 15 pounds in three weeks. A few days later, I confess that I need some motivation to help shed the pounds and hope that being around my best friend will help:We were carrying eachother(sic)around on our backs and she is so much lighter than me! I felt so bad and fat and slobby maybe Ill be able to stay away from everything that tastes good now.
Of course, like most people, I always reallylikedeverything that tastes good. Once, around first grade, I spent the night at my friend Kathleens house and woke to the smell of bacon. When I sat down at the kitchen table, Kathleens mom put a full plate of glistening, curling red-gold strips in front of me. Soon, Kathleens older sister came in and asked, Wheres the bacon? The mom looked from the empty plate to me to her daughter, who said, She ateallthe bacon?
I was not, in other words, a naturally talented dieter. But after a few dozen false starts in the middle school years, I discovered a trick that made it easy to stay away from everything that tastes good. All I had to do was remember four words:
Food is the Enemy.
As an adult who hopes to someday raise children of my own, the fact that I learned this trick from my momwho is an extraordinary human being and an amazing motherterrifies me. She had not intended to instill in me a fear, animosity, and distrust of food. She told me, in her characteristically open and honest way, about her own struggle with anorexiahow refusing to eat had been a prolonged act of teenage defiance and rebellion; how it had given her the feeling of agency and the illusion of control.
More:
My lifelong diet
