The First Nutritionist Follow Up

Today's the day I realized I can't actually do this without my nutritionist.

It's my first appointment since the project began. I felt heat run through my body as I entered the waiting area, flushed and nauseous. It has taken me a few years to pay attention to the changes in my body as it enters different social spaces and I'm not always the most adept at it but today, the change was immediate. I thumbed through a magazine (seven articles of clothing, 31 spring looks!), took some deep breaths (that scarf looks stupid as a belt, let's be honest--but as a sarong shirt, fabulous!) and tried to think through my body's reaction.

I know I feel like I've been failing the project. Last night, while flea-bombing my apartment, I hung out with two of my besties, sharing a six-pack and some cheetos and watching their dvr. The night before, I ate an extra bowl of cereal to ward off a binge. I was seeing extra calories everywhere I looked. I had not had a perfect day and since I came back from Chicago and I don't have an excuse. I control my cooking. I control my exercise. I felt like the appointment was a surveillance. I felt like the appointment would be a treatment-style battalion where all of my failures would come to the fore-front. And I think there's still a small part of me that believes, eventually, some day, I will end up back where I started ten years ago.

Of course, it wasn't like that. We sat and talked about the last few months. She was practical. She was compassionate. She said that not having eating disordered behavior is all she wanted from me. That weight maintenance would have been great, too. That losing the weight was only secondary.

I argued with her. I pointed out my physical therapist's concerns.

She pointed out I was over the hardest part. That this idea of beating myself up over a few beers was eating disordered.

We worked with my tendency to move around pieces of my meal plan. Eating Disordered. My feelings of not being able to exercise hard enough. Eating Disordered. The realities of my not being able to afford the foods I need. Not Eating Disordered.

"But what if it doesn't work?"

"It will."

"What if it stops working?"

"Then we'll deal with that."

"What if it's not working now?"

"Let's see."

She pulls out the scale. We talk about my not weighing myself alone anymore. Only in her office.
I kick off my doc martins. My body flushes as I step up. Five pounds down.

"That's not fast enough." I say. "I'm behind my weight goals."

"Get rid of those. The body doesn't work like that." Eating Disordered.