I’m a total piggy-wig, in the same way as someone who hasn’t touched a drink in 25 years would still call themselves an alcoholic.
I love delicious calorific food (fancy cheeses, homemade cakes, proper Venetian-type hot chocolate, gorgeous bread, buttered pasta), and would happily eat all the live-long day. However, I don’t eat about 85% of the things I want to eat, because I want to stay a size 10. 😩
I eat small portions of healthy (nice healthy not
miserable healthy) food, cook from scratch since DH had a major health diagnosis, and generally don’t eat breakfast. It’s continually dispiriting to realise how very, very little you need to eat in your late forties just to stay the same weight.
I do still eat some of the things I love, in small quantities, but they represent a tiny fraction of the banquet I could quite easily woof down every day.
When people say I’m lucky to be so slim, I smile wryly and think if they only knew that there’s a cigarette-paper’s-worth of resolve between me and morbid obesity.
To be clear, I’m not saying the converse is true, and would never speculate as the reasons why someone struggles with weight. I just know that I personally am slim due to eternal vigilance and mostly denying myself the food I want.