The memoir I’m working on, HOLDING ON AND LETTING GO: A MOTHER’S STORY, is about how wrecked I was when my oldest daughter went off to college.  It’s the exploration of my relationship with my daughter and why I continued to hold on to the past and discover why it was so difficult to let her go.  My interview with Dilloway allowed me to ask about her relationship with her mother, and how this novel enlightened that relationship.  As Dilloway says, “ this novel is a conversation with my mother I never got to have.”  Dilloway’s mother passed away when Margaret was twenty.  Dilloway, a stay-at-home mother of three who lives with her family in Hawaii, says this book “gave me a chance to rewrite her [her mother's] life with the happy ending she wished for and wanted so badly for me.”

Margaret Dilloway, Author

You said your novel is a continuation of a conversation you wished you could have had with your mom.  What would the gist of the conversation?

Just a conversation that says, “Hey, this is where I’m coming from, I understand where you’re coming from, and I love you unconditionally.  I’m sorry I was hard on you.”  Something like that.

After writing the novel, do you see your mother differently?  If so, in what ways?  If not, why not?

I had been thinking of her and her background for some time, recording her stories and so forth.  But the book allowed me the luxury to really think deeply about our differences and commonalities. I really FELT how she had felt, coming here [to the United States from Japan].  It’s like the difference between hearing a news story filled with facts, and a novel filled with emotional truth.

What’s something you wish you would have held on to?

The thought that my mother really just wanted me to be happy, whatever that meant to me.

What’s something you would have wished you let go of a long time ago?

I wish I would have let go the visceral recollection of every harsh word and action.

What’s the best and worst parenting advice you’d ever gotten?

My paternal grandmother told me, “I did everything wrong. Don’t do ANYTHING like me.”  That was probably the most interesting piece of advice I got.

The best: “Let your kids be who they are, and enjoy them.”

The worst: “Don’t let your baby eat with his hands, because it’s too messy.”

Do you believe in the labels of good mom and bad mom?  What makes a good mom?  Bad mom? (The Bloggess has a blog about good mom, bad mom and how her and her writing partner don’t believe in these labels.)

Sure, you can be a bad mom.  A bad mom is neglectful of her child’s emotional or physical needs. A good mom provides food, shelter, and teaches character traits such as empathy and responsibility.

I sure don’t think women should be hung up on labels.  I wouldn’t call someone a “bad mother” because she works or doesn’t work, or brings store-bought cupcakes or doesn’t push their kid to excel in every single area.  The primary goal of parenting is to raise independent good citizens.  I think everyone should do the best they can, and as long as they’re providing these very basic necessities, the kid ought to be fine.

What’s the difference between raising boys and girls?

I don’t think there’s much of a difference.  You teach them the same moral values, and you are respectful of their individual temperaments.

This is your first novel.  What’s the best part of having a novel published? What’s the most surprising part?  What single piece of advice would you give to a writer hoping to get published?

The best part is having your work acknowledged and getting some “street cred” for being a writer.

Most surprising: How long the process took.  The novel didn’t get published for two years after I signed the contract, and there was a lot of editing work, too. Rest assured, it’s not the same for every single novel.

Advice: Read and write a lot, and keep trying.

You’re writing a new novel, what’s it about?

It’s called “The Cupcake Queen” and is about a cupcake baker whose dead husband is haunting her.  It takes place in Hawaii and Julian, California, both of which are really haunted places.  There are tons of ghost stories in Hawaii, and I wanted to take advantage of my new location.  Also, I like cupcakes.

What conversation would you like to have with your mother?

Yesterday the Rolling Stones came on the radio singing, “Brown Sugar”. And I thought of Mick Jagger and the rest of the Rolling Stones who are still touring and making music and they’re in their sixties.  Name a woman rocker who is doing the same.

“I think it’s because we don’t accept women growing old, getting fat, or getting lines on our faces,” I told David.

“What are you talking about? ” David asked.  “It’s because the Rolling Stones were more famous than any other woman singer or band. There up there with Beatles and The Who.  And there are more men in rock ‘n roll than women.”

Okay, maybe.  But then what about a band like Heart who rocked in the seventies and eighties.  Ann Wilson, who struggled with weight all her life, starved herself in the seventies because of the pressure to be thin.  When she started to gain weight, this became the focus instead of her powerful voice. Nancy Wilson, Ann’s sister, became the cute one.  Are we making these comparisons between Mick Jagger and Keith Richards?  I mean both of them look like caricatures of their former selves with their deep, grooved lines in their faces, but they’re still selling out stadiums and people talk to them about their music and not the way they look.

In the “Huffington Post” last week there was an article about the controversy  regarding the writer Jonathan Franzen, who has been receiving star treatment from the literary community for his latest family saga, Freedom. Franzen was on the cover of “Time” and the “NY Times” did a book review praising him for his work. Why aren’t best selling authors like  Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Weiner, who both write about families, get the same kind of accolades?  As women writers we are categorized into “chick lit,” “mommy lit”, “hen lit”, etc.  Where are these categories when it comes to male authors?  Weiner points out the only time the playing field is leveled is when women authors are writing in genres, like mystery and horror, that men will read.  Why is that?

Am I outraged about all this?  Yes.  But I’m sad, too.  I’m sad that Heidi Montag from “The Hills” had ten plastic surgeries, including G cup breasts and a nose job at the age of twenty-two, a mere year older than my oldest daughter.  I’m sad pop music is full of examples of young women who are looked at for the weight on the scale (Remember the flack Jessica Simpson got from gaining weight?) or how seductive and sexy they can be (Think Lady Gaga’s, “Alejandro.”).

We are more than this.

We are CEOs of Fortune 500 companies like PepsiCo, WellPoint, and Xerox.

We are  world leaders of such countries as India, Germany and Australia.

We are Nobel Prize winners in chemistry, physiology and literature.

We are more than bodies.

What do you think?

Yesterday while getting ready for work, I watched a segment about websites showing young women how to starve themselves.  As one of the recovering anorexics who was being interviewed said, “These websites are assisted suicide for people like me.”  Anorexia has one of the highest suicide rates of any mental illness.  Eating disorders, like anorexia, affect mostly young women who are usually the oldest in their families, are smart and high achievers and who are trying to achieve perfectionism by controlling their bodies.

Last night at the gym, I listened to two gorgeous “middle of their lives” women talk about how they wouldn’t be caught dead in  bathing suits while doing anything besides lying on their backs.  Then they proceeded to point out all their flaws, including their butts, thighs, and stomachs.

This morning I went and got weighed. I was up causing me to be depressed.  I’ve been working out, tracking points.  Then I started thinking about Anna Nicole Smith (God rest her soul. What pain she must have been in.), all those young women who have been lured by those sites giving tips on how to starve themselves, and my friends lamenting about their thighs.  I have been every one of these women.  Okay, I haven’t sashayed across a stage while asking millions of people, “Like my body?”  But I have been desperate for people to notice me and it seemed important to be thin in order for this to happen.  I haven’t subscribed to any of those websites promoting eating disorders but I have starved myself for many years in order to be perfect.  And I’m embarrassed to say how much time I’ve wasted on “if only I had a six pack” and “if only my breasts were perky.”

Yeah, I gained weight today, my breasts aren’t what they used to be and I don’t have a six pack, but I’m blessed with the body I have.  I’ve given birth to three healthy and beautiful children, and breastfed every one of them.  This ol’ body can deadlift two hundred pounds, do chest-to-bar pull ups and clapping push ups.  I’ve come a long way from the girl who thought if she was thin, then everything was right with the world.  But I continue to work on being grateful for all the things I have. I’m a work in progress.

One thing is clear. Like my body?  Yes.  Yes, I do.

Have you had body image problems?

Jack's kindergarten photo

For David.

It’s that time of year again.  School begins.  Jack starts second grade tomorrow.  I won’t say the obvious.  Okay, I can’t help it.  Where did the summer go?  Where does time go?  Second grade?  I remember dropping him off for kindergarten two years ago.  I didn’t want to let go of his hand.  I was scared to let go, but not in the way you might think after reading this blog.  Jack had trouble with impulse control.   For instance, when he was in preschool he threw wooden blocks at his preschool teachers and other kids.

So was I surprised when we got the call from the principal during the first week of kindergarten saying Jack was in her office for being one of some boys who flushed paper towels down the toilet?  Yes.  Yes, I was. And I was surprised the next week, too, when Jack found himself in the principal’s office again.

“Boys will be boys, Michelle,” the principal said.  “They’re learning to control themselves.”  Control?  I’d been dogged by the “c” word all my life and now Jack was learning how to negotiate this, too.

Kindergarten was a tough year for David, Jack and me.  On those days, I’d go to school to pick up Jack and pray all the way there he didn’t get a pink slip,  he had kept his hands to himself and he didn’t have to pick up trash during lunch rather than playing because he’d gotten in trouble. On those days when David picked him up, I prayed I’d get a call from David saying Jack had a great day.

I know now that getting in trouble wasn’t easy on Jack either. Bless his heart.  We were all trying to find a way to make it better.

The first three months of first grade didn’t go much better.  One day when Jack had gotten yet another note home, I cried right there in the middle of the hall.

“Mama, don’t cry,” Jack said.  “I’ll do better.  I promise.”  And he did.

To my friends, Kim and Kimberly, to the principal and all the other moms of sons who told me, “This too shall pass.”  To his first grade teachers who told Jack everyday he was destined for greatness, I say thank you.

Jack is the funniest boy I know.  He’s smart. He told his sisters today, “I have a thought every second into my conscious.”  This summer he got an award at camp for “demonstrating daily the lifelong values of caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility.”  When one of his sisters got a speeding ticket, he offered the money in his piggy bank to help pay for the ticket.  Jack teaches us every day about heart, spontaneity, and having fun. He is my mirror. I see how he struggles with anxiety, worrying and fitting in, all those things I struggle with, too.

On the last day of first grade Jack said, “That was the best nine months of my life.”

We smiled at each other.  “I’m glad to hear it.”

Then he got serious.  “But is okay if I get sent to the principal’s office in the first couple of days of second grade.  You know I’m going to have a whole summer to forget what they taught me during first grade, and I might slip.  I’m just saying…”

And I’m just saying let the fun begin!

Here is “To Sir With Love” because it reminds me of the first day of school.  What has your child or a teacher taught you?

“… and DeLillo … of course … Joyce,” Braff added to make himself feel better. Although Braff felt ridiculous at the time to admit to his guilty reading pleasure, he now stands behind what John Irving has done for writers in terms of craft, characters and story.

This got me  thinking about my guilty pleasures both writing and otherwise.  Here’s my list (You’re welcome, Melia Lore.) of some of my guilty pleasures:

1. Marshmallows-Straight out of the bag big fluffy sugary marshmallows. A marshmallow’s ingredient list includes Corn Syrup, Sugar, Dextrose, Modified Corn Starch, Water, Gelatin, Tetrasodium Pyrophosphate (Whipping Aid), Artificial Flavor, Artificial Color (Blue 1).  This is why I don’t read the ingredient list  and why it’s a guilty pleasure since I know these little chemical bundle of joys could cause some serious internal damage.  Teeth be damned.
2. Claim Jumper’s Ice Cream Sandwich-Nestled between two giant chocolate chip Heath Bar cookies is three cups of vanilla bean ice cream.  On top of this masterpiece is both hot fudge and caramel syrup.  Until now, I’ve never considered the calories or the Weight Watcher points of this guilty pleasure, and it turns out there’s a reason.  The two cookies alone are about 1500 calories.  Yikes.  I want you to know I’m not totally gross.  I share this indulgence.  But now I’m questioning the sanity of using this cookie concoction to celebrate my weight loss accomplishments.
3. People Magazine-This magazine is all about mind-numbing, candy brain lovin’, good times.  Heavy on the photos and light on the text.  Here’s another confession, I read the New Yorker for the cartoons.  I’ve been known to laugh hysterically in the doctor’s office while my kids look at me as if I’ve gone mad (or more mad than usual).  But seriously, who has time to read the New Yorker articles?  I don’t.  Or should I say, I don’t make the time.  But I see this as no different than those men who claim to “read” Playboy. Come on, really?  The articles?
4. Pop music-I love catchy, uncomplicated music.  I love songs by Jason Mraz and Dave Matthews, and oh, yeah country music, without the twang and the sappier the story the better.  Jazz and classical music are a little too complicated for my brain.
5. Give me romantic comedies, mind fluff, any day over dark, dark, dark movies.  I’ve never seen “Sophie’s Choice,” although I read the book, because visually I couldn’t stand to watch her choice.
6. I have read Carver, Faulkner, Hemingway, and other literary giants.  But can I tell you something?  I love a good story.  And as a working mom with three kids and now three dogs, I need stories that leap from the pages and grab me by the throat.  I need stories I can read at the end of the day, for fifteen minutes before my eyelids become so heavy I have to put the book down.  The next night I need to be able to pick up the book, and start reading where I left off without missing a beat.  I can’t read dense prose that has more than three hundred pages.  Right now I’m enjoying reading “Diary of a Wimpy Kid” and “The Adventures of Captain Underpants” with Jack.  These are funny stories and they have pictures.  Come on. Who’s with me?

There are reasons for guilty pleasures.  For me, it’s about comfort, fun, levity, escape, denial. These are all ways I lighten up. Maybe one day when life is a little lighter and less hectic, I will turn to “Moby Dick” while sipping my herbal tea and nibbling on my organic home grown oranges and apples.  In the background there will be something jazzy playing on the stereo.  But until then, here’s to marshmallows and Jason Mraz.

What’s your guilty pleasure?

“What are you longing at dear friend?”

Fleet, my writer friend, asked me this after reading my last post on my fear of goodbyes and my need to hold on to people and the past.  He went on to say he’d heard all writing comes from longing.

Really?

Albert Einstein said, “Feeling and longing are the motive forces behind all human endeavor and human creations.”

Really?

I delve further and find there have been many artists who have created, written, painted, or sung about this prolonged yearning that cannot be fulfilled.

Matthew Arnold, an English poet, wrote:

Longing

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth,
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say, My love why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Fleet was on to something. What was I longing at?  What were those unfulfilled desires and yearnings I couldn’t stop writing about?

I long for things to stay the same.  I long for the past but not back to my childhood but a time when Molly and Kelly were children so I can do it right.  I want to always believe in God, in Buddha, in a higher power. I yearn to know there is more to this life than this.  I want peace.  Yes, I want world peace.  I want people to have full bellies and lives and be loved and give love.  But I’m also talking about peace of mind, my peace of mind.  If I don’t have peace, can I truly wish peace for other people?  Can I? I want a quiet mind and soul.  I want contentment, to be satisfied.

Really?

Fleet asked me, “What are you longing at dear friend? Then he said, “Write it.”  Maybe that’s it; maybe I write so in that moment on the page things will stay the same. Maybe I write to make things right or to figure out how and why life went wrong and then to try not to do it the same way again.  I yearn for answers. I hope by writing about the past there will be these answers and peace.  I write to understand myself and the world better.  Saul Bellow, a novelist, wrote, “There is an immense, painful longing for a broader, more flexible, fuller, more coherent, more comprehensive account of what we human beings are, who we are and what this life is for.”  Yes. Yes.  Yes.  And while I yearn for peace, I’m not so sure I’d be satisfied with contentment.  I’m not so sure I’d want to stop my longing to write and to find the right words, to live a deeper and fuller life.  In fact, I know this to be true.

I’ll leave you with Radiohead’s “Creep,” a song about longing and belonging.

What do you long for?

COMMENT OF THE DAY: BigLittleWolf says, “For me, sometimes writing is about longing. Sometimes, it is about learning. Often, it is about going somewhere else in my mind. A place that is safer, simpler, and where nothing hurts.”

This is the season of goodbyes.  Last night Molly and Kelly went to their respective going away parties.  Molly went to say goodbye to Jonathan who was going back for his senior year in college; Kelly was saying arrivederci to Taylor who would be going for her first year in college. I think Molly feels this is all part of life, and that next summer she’ll see Jonathan again.  “No biggie, Mom.”  For Kelly, since this is her first experience with saying goodbye to friends going off to school and she’s staying  home for college, there is more uncertainty, maybe more sadness. I feel for her.  Over the last month as kids are going back to school, Kelly’s friends who were juniors last year and now seniors in high school, Kelly is feeling the loss of not being a child anymore.  I know this loss.  Molly and Kelly have both now graduated from high school, no longer little girls. 

By now you probably realize I have an issue with goodbyes.  For the love of Pete, I wrote a whole memoir about Molly leaving for college three years ago.  To say I was wrecked Molly was moving six hundred miles away from home, from me, is an understatement.  After writing the memoir, I realize the reasons I felt abandoned.  We had a strong bond and by Molly moving away I felt that bond would no longer be.  Out of sight, out of mind.  I felt our relationship would be forever altered and she would no longer need me.

Molly will be moving out again to go to college.  She’s been home for a year and half.  When she moved back home, she slipped right back into the fold.  I became her mother again, cooking for her and the family, sitting across the table and hearing about her day. When she moves, I will miss her smell of the beach, clean hair and men’s deodorant.  I will miss her, “Ah, Maws.”  I will miss seeing her smiling face and even her grumpy one. 

I’m learning to accept change.  I have learned to say goodbye.  There have been some wonderful teachers.  Rhonda’s mom, Chucky, had such grace in her acceptance of dying from cancer.  She was filled with such spirit and peace. Chucky made every one, including me, feel that her passing wasn’t goodbye but until we meet again.

I may be getting better at goodbyes, but I’ll leave you with “Hello.”

How do you let go?

Years later therapy turned to having us write a letter to our younger selves. The idea is that we can use this exercise to be gentler when speaking to ourselves at a younger age.  Let’s face it, as adults we are taught to be in control and take ownership for our actions.  At the risk of wearing a diaper to go back to that innocent time, I will write a letter to myself at age  seven and to my three children.

Dear Me (and Molly, Kelly and Jack if you’re reading this),

I’m writing to you to let you know everything is cool.  You don’t know this yet but you’ll marry a great person and have three (or one, or five, or none with just cats) awesome children.  I know you’re too busy counting calories and worrying about what people think of you, but here’s what you don’t know (This list is for you, Melia Lore.):

1. This too shall pass and don’t sweat the small stuff.  There are reasons for cliches.  When enough people say them, they become truth.  But I want you to know that any of the crap you think is so monumental will pass.  Broken relationships, friendships gone awry, and fights with your parents will pass.  All this stuff will become insignificant.  Ultimately what really matters will rise to the top.
2. Don’t take yourself so seriously.  Look around.  Your friends are more worried about themselves and tracking toilet paper from the bathroom than they are about you doing it.  “Lighten up, Francis.”  Don’t worry be happy. 

3. FDR said, “There is nothing to fear but fear itself.”  You, my friend, have made a life of fearing everything from earthquakes to airplanes.  Ultimately, you will know this has to do with control and your utter lack of it.  Know there will be many days that pass where you won’t fear the earth shaking and airplanes falling from the sky.  Please remember these times.  Remember joy!

4. You will eventually love and accept (and even like) your parents.  You will come to understand them as human and believe what your dad has said all along, “We did the best job we could.”  You buy this because this is how you end up parenting. 

5. Eat, Pray, Love.  You missed the bus, ship, and plane on this one.  Another woman (Elizabeth Gilbert) will write this blasted memoir and sell a bazillion copies and be on the NY Best Seller List for 158 weeks and have a Hollywood movie starring Julia Roberts made.  Once you let go of your bitterness (yeah, right), you realize the importance of  honoring food and relishing the ritual and comfort of eating, and believing and relying on a higher power and to love, love, love. 

I want you to know you are doing a remarkable of living life and have three wonderful, healthy and joyful children, fantastic parents and friends, and a husband to prove it.

Love,  Me

PS-Please don’t ever wear a diaper no matter how shitty life gets.

What would you tell your younger self?

QUOTE OF THE DAY: Big Little Wolf says, “What would I tell my younger self? To listen to those inner voices. They always know best.Or at the very least, to see more clearly, looking in the mirror.”

Here are some of the highlights from Halpern’s dad:

“That woman was sexy. . . . Out of your league? Son, let women figure out why they won’t screw you. Don’t do it for them.”

“Engagement rings are pointless. Indians gave cows…Oh sorry, congrats on proposing. We good now? Can I finish my Indian story?”

“YOU, a published writer?..Internet don’t count. Any asshole can throw shit up on there.”

“You seen my cell phone?…What’s it look like? Like two horses fucking. It’s a phone, son. It looks like a phone.”

“I didn’t say you were ugly. I said your girlfriend is better looking than you, and standing next to her, you look ugly.”

“Son, no one gives a shit about all the things your cell phone does. You didn’t invent it, you just bought it. Anybody can do that.”

“A scar ain’t 13 god damned stitches. I’ll introduce you to men with REAL scars, then we’ll all laugh at your fucking 13 stitches together.”

For two years, I’ve been posting comments on FaceBook from my son. While Jack’s not as ”eloquent”  as Halpern’s dad, Jack does have insight beyond his seven years on this planet. Below are just a few of the highlights from  $h*! Jack says:

On women’s fashion and decorum..I was taking Jack to school and we were late.  I grabbed his hand to run to his kindergarten class.  He gave me a once over and said, “You look like you just rolled out of bed.  Did you brush your hair?”  I shook my head no.  “Did you brush your teeth?”  I shook my head no.  “Tell me you’re at least wearing a bra.”  How does a five-year-old know that wearing a bra is the bar to being presentable in public or not.

On judging people…“I really like Mike.”  Mike is his aunt’s boyfriend. “He’s really nice to me.  And he smiles a lot.” 

“Yeah,” I said. “ It seems like Mike has a big heart.” 

“I bet he has a big pancreas, too.” 

“Honey, the heart thing was a joke.”

“Yeah, Mom, I knew what you meant.”

On living your life…“Mom, I hate that people work for money and not fun.”

I said, “Boy, I understand that.”

“I bet you in Africa they really need jobs,” Jack said.  ”And I bet they’re not very funny but very serious.”

On silence…“Do you think you could die if you didn’t speak?” Jack asked.

“No, there are plenty of people who don’t talk like monks, priests and others who have taken a vow of silence.”

 ”Did Buddha speak?”

“Yeah, but he also had long periods where I’m sure he didn’t,” I said.  “I can’t imagine not talking. I like to talk.”

 ”No kidding.”

On teacher appreciation..Jack was wracking his brain about what to put in a letter to his teacher for Teacher Appreciation Week.

“I really don’t appreciate her,” he said.

I said, “How about a subject she’s taught you?”

“Well, I do like to write stories like you.”

“Okay, how about ‘I love to wr–’”

 ”Whoa, Whoa,” Jack said.  ”That’s a little weird saying “love” to a teacher. I’ll do it, but I’m letting you know I’m signing it: Sincerely, Jack.

On women…I’d been the SPRITES’, a mother-daughter philanthropic organization, co-president.

Jack asked, “How was it being the SPRITES’ president?”

“It was good.  But I only have another month and then it’s over.”

“Then you’ll be the President of the World?” Jack asked.

“Oh, no,” I said.  “I won’t be the President of the World or the President of the United States.”

“You know I don’t know any woman who has been President of the United States, and that’s sad.”

On names…”Mom, you know how people look like their names?”

“Give me an example,” I said.

“You know my name is Jack. I look like a Jack. You’re mama. You look like a mama. But your real name is Michelle. You don’t look like a Michelle.”

“Who do I look like?”

“Without the hair, Steve.”

What’s words of wisdom have you’ve gotten from the mouth of babes?

COMMENT OF THE DAY: Mrs. G says, “I love Justin Halpern!! I write letters to my mother that sum up some of her life’s philosophies. It helps get me through the day!”

Travel Channel stole my idea for “Man v. Food“.  I came up with the idea of pitting myself against food over thirty years ago. Okay, I’ll admit I’m not a man (NEWS FLASH!) and my battle with food isn’t compelling television but nonetheless I’ve been living Adam Richman’s, the host of the show, life for over three decades. 

Since the age of thirteen, I’ve wrestled food to the ground until it gives.  I’ve eaten a bowl of Cream of Wheat with raisins and brown sugar as my only meal for years.  I’ve counted calories, read cookbooks like they were novels, and watched those around me enjoy food while I gnawed hungrily on carrots. 

 Growing up in chaos, food (and ultimately my weight) was the only thing I thought I could control.  I’m ignoring you tacos with sour cream and guacomole.  I don’t see you carrot cake with real cream cheese frosting. You mean nothing to me sourdough bread with butter.  When the chaos of puberty kicked in, hormones roared and warred, my control over food went into overdrive. 

My battle isn’t unique.  Many women have a hate-hate relationship with food.  And it’s not surprising I’m a registered dietitian since research shows the majority of dietitians have disordered eating.  We are no different than therapists who sort out their childhoods while counseling others.  We are no different than dentists with bad teeth or heart surgeons who smoke.

Over the years, I’ve tried to become more Zen in my attitude and approach when it comes to food.  I have tried to appreciate food for the energy and health it provides.  I have tried to sit silently (that means no TV or distractions) with my small portions of Greek yogurt, cup of blueberries, sprinkle of granola and thank the universe for my sustanance.  I have tried to become more French (French Women Don’t Get Fat) in my appreciation for food.  Oui! Oui! 

While I have come a long way, baby, from counting every single calorie and eating a bowl of porridge for the day, I will never, ever, ever appreciate the show that is “Man v. Food.”  The gluttony, the decadence, the volume of food Adam Richman devours is nauseating.  I’m glad I’m not the only person to feel this way.  David, who has a love-love relationship with food, finds the show hard to watch as well. 

I may not ever be Buddha in my food sensibilities, but I won’t be Adam Richman either. 

How do you feel about food?  “Man v. Food?”