I was eight when I went on my first diet.
I distinctly remember hating the rolls on my stomach that inevitably happened whenever I sat down. I wanted to get rid of them. And so I stopped eating bread, and stopped eating cake, and started pretending that I really loved lettuce.
Since then, I’ve spent years trying out different diets. I attempted the eight-hour diet (where you only eat between the hours of 11am and 7pm). I’ve been on a no-sugar diet. I’ve tried the Fast Diet. Also, there may or may not have been a day in high school where I dabbled with the water-in-chilli diet (where you add a chilli to water… and just drink that… all day… every day. It sucked.).
Just as an FYI, you should know that this post is sponsored by Medibank. But all opinions expressed by the author are 100% authentic and written in their own words.
For far too many years, I was genuinely convinced that I would be happier if I just lost a couple of extra kilos. I would reach some kind of level of unprecedented self-enlightenment if my thighs were just that little bit skinnier. If my stomach looked just that little bit flatter when standing side-on.
What I didn’t know was that I was making myself absolutely miserable by putting myself through various stages of food deprivation. Rather than thinking about changing my lifestyle to be a healthier one, I would simply tell myself that I would never again eat anything that was ‘unhealthy’ in my head. Read: anything but vegetables, a bit of meat and a bit of fruit.
Inevitably, I’d slip up. I’d go to the movies and eat a big bucket of popcorn and a choc-top and hate myself for it. I’d go along to Max Brenner with my friends and order the biggest thing on the menu and then feel guilty with every bite. It was ridiculous – and yet it kept happening.