But I still wish I could lose weight.

You already know that you’re beautiful, amazing, powerful, and worthy of love and respect—regardless of your weight.

You already know this. It’s what you tell your daughters and nieces. It’s what you tell yourself. It’s what you post on Instagram.

You already know that your value as a human being has nothing to do with your clothing size.

You already know that happiness is an inside job. Feeling happy is all about the words you say to yourself, the thoughts inside your head, not the number on the scale.

You already know this is true.

And yet… even so… sometimes… okay, maybe a lot of the time… secretly...

You still wish you could lose weight.

And then maybe you feel like a hypocrite. Here you are, supposedly so wise and evolved, this badass feminist, and yet... If you...

The Five Whys

Clients often tell me, “I want to lose weight.”

Sometimes they’re surprised when I ask, “OK, but why?”

I invite my clients to do an exercise called the Five Whys. You make a statement. Then you ask yourself, “Why?” You keep asking “Why?” at least five times… until you’ve gotten to the root, the deep source, the crux of the whole situation.

It might go like this:

Why do you want to lose weight?

So l can look better in my clothes.

Why do you want to look better in your clothes?  

Because then I will feel better.

Why will you feel better?  

Because I will be more confident.

Why does confidence matter to you?  

If I’m confident, people will give me more respect.  

Why do you want people to respect you?  

When I feel respected, I am happy.
Then I’d ask my client, “Is there a way for you to...

                           Afraid to be left alone with food?

“Here we go again.”

It was usually night time when I’d feel that all-too-familiar pull.

Like an invisible cord pulling me out of bed and into the kitchen. I’d open the fridge, the freezer, the cupboards. Hungry. Empty. Searching.

Sometimes I was physically hungry. Oftentimes, though, I wasn’t hungry for food. I was hungry for something else—comfort, entertainment, pleasure, connection, love. Food would temporarily meet those needs. Well, sort of.

I felt like food had power over me. Food felt like a threat. An enemy.

“Why do I keep doing this?”

I couldn’t figure it out.

Many years later, now, I understand that the reason I felt out of control with food was because I was always trying to restrict myself. I’d “stick to my eating plan” (which was rigid and unsatisfying) during the...

It's just food.

Many times, clients have said to me…

“Andrea, last night I was feeling so bored and I did it AGAIN. I went into my kitchen and started snacking on all kinds of stuff even though I was still totally full from dinner. Ugggh. I’ve been so bad.”

… or something along those lines.

My client feels so disgusted with herself, so ashamed that she turned to food to cope with some uncomfortable emotions. She feels awful about it.

Here’s what I say in response…

OK, so you ate something. You ate something to soothe yourself, to release some stress, to cope with challenging emotions. You did that.

So what?

All things considered, is that really such a horrible crime?

I mean, consider all the things you COULD have done instead. If you feel anger, pain, anxiety, loneliness, heartache, sorrow, grief, loneliness, boredom, guilt, rage, envy, hopelessness,...

How can I take the best care of myself today?

One of my all-time favorite questions—a question I try to ask myself daily, and a question I encourage my clients to ask themselves, too—is this one:

“How can I take the best care of myself today?”

It’s a far cry from what I used to ask myself during my disordered eating days, which was usually more like, “If I eat XYZ, will this help me maintain my current weight or make me fat?”

Back in those days—when I used to believe that “thin is good and special” and “fat is bad and unacceptable”—I didn’t feel very good about myself. I would swing between two extremes: meticulously restricting my food and then binge eating and feeling out of control. I thought I was pursuing “health,” but my behavior was far from healthy.  

After a great deal of...

My thighs are too big.

One night, I snuggled into bed to read a bedtime story to my daughters.  My youngest daughter and I were waiting for her sister. I noticed she was using her fists to lightly pound her thighs.  

I asked her, “Does that feel good?”

She said, “No, I don’t like my legs.”

After I asked why, she said, “Because they’re too big.”

My chest tightened. I had to take a deep breath. As a mom, hearing those words from your child’s mouth is heartbreaking—especially at such a young age.

I had my legs stretched next to hers and said, “Well, does that mean my legs are too big?” Obviously my adult legs—next to hers—are much bigger!

She giggled and said, “Noooooo!”

We had a chat. I explained to her that people come in all different shapes and sizes and there’s nothing...

Here's why you keep obsessing about food.

Do you feel like you’re constantly preoccupied with food?

Continually thinking about it. Wishing it was time for your next meal. Yearning for it. Planning it. But also, worrying about it. (“Am I eating the right things? Too much? Too little? Am I messing this up? Am I going to gain weight?!”)

During yoga class, are dinner plans swirling through your mind?

During a vacation, is ninety percent of your itinerary based around “where we’re going to eat”?

If you made a list of your top ten favorite, most pleasurable experiences, would most of them be food-related?

If you’re frequently obsessing about food, there’s a reason why this is happening. Most likely, it’s happening because you’ve been dieting, restricting, or depriving yourself in some way or another.

Maybe you’ve been...

                               
Am I reading your mind?

At least once a week, I’ll say something and one of my clients will say, “Whoa. It’s like you’re reading my mind.”

I’m not actually a mind-reader. But I do know what it feels like to struggle—desperately—with food, with my weight, and with my body.

I remember all the thoughts that used to run through my mind—vicious, cruel thoughts about myself.

I remember what I used to say to myself during especially bleak moments when I felt out of control with food.

I remember. So I say those words aloud to my clients and ask, “Is this what it’s like for you? Is this the type of thought you’re saying to yourself?” And most of the time, yup, it’s just like that. The same pain—in a different body.

Let’s try it out.

Read the following statements. Do you recognize any of these...

My daughter's secret stash.

One night, I found out my youngest daughter had a secret stash.  

No, it wasn’t drugs or alcohol or anything illicit.

It was Halloween candy.  

I was reading a bedtime story to one of my sons—and my oldest daughter, Julia, came into the room. Gesturing towards her little sister’s bedroom, Julia blurted out…

“She’s eating chocolate, mom!!!”

What?!? I was upset. But not for the reasons you might think.

I wasn’t upset with my daughter for secretly eating chocolate in her room. I was upset with myself. Why? Because I had created an environment where my daughter thought she had to “sneak around” to get what she wanted to eat, an environment where certain foods were “shameful” or “forbidden” or made you “bad.” And that was never my intention.

What...

One word can make all the difference

During college, I was that nerdy girl who had a variety pack of different colored pens to take notes—plus highlighters, manila folders, the whole nine yards. I loved to learn—and I wasn’t afraid to raise my hand and ask questions.

When my now-husband first told his friends we were dating, they were like, “Andrea? You mean that girl with all those pens who always sits in the front row?” During one of our first dates, we went to my favorite place (the library) and he bought me a romantic gift (gum and notecards for studying). Yup, I was a total dork—and proud of it.

It was easy to ask my professors lots of good questions—but when it came to asking myself questions, sometimes, I struggled.  

If I was frustrated with myself—or grappling with a problem—I would ask myself a question...