I am 75 days into my eating plan, motoring along for the
most part, down 34+ pounds.
Why, then, do people feel they have to “help” me? My DH (“Dear” or “Damned” Husband, depending
on the usage) is the worst offender.
Example A: We are at
the birthday party of a close family friend.
DH announces to all present that I am on a “severely restricted diet”
and therefore cannot have cake. Now,
mind you, I had not said anything about eating or not eating cake (and I even
helped cut and serve it). It, of course,
caused a lot of unwelcome glances and chatter.
You know “the look” – when someone hears you, the fat chick, are on a
diet and they look you up and down super closely (judging how much the diet is needed? How much the diet has worked or not worked?). I *hate* “the look”. I again reminded DH that *I* can handle my
eating situations without his intervention. He said he was only
trying to “help”. His help does not help
me.
Example B: Then, when out to eat at a barbeque place this weekend, I am
ordering a salad and he butts in to tell the server that I cannot have the
onion straws in the salad. I knew they
were there, I knew the calorie load, I had not yet decided to eat them or not,
but I had already requested them on the side in case I did not want to eat
them. Really, truly I am a grown person
who can manage what goes in her mouth without his “assistance”. He now rambles on about diet and the nutrition of food as if
he is a paragon of virtue and font of diet knowledge. He is neither. And, my eating plan is in no way about him; it is about me. When I said that I do not need his help, he erupted and has not talked to me since.
I *hate* being food policed.
And I *refuse* to let DH (and, just for the record, it is *not* "Dear" today) derail my success. I am doing this for *me*.
