DIET DENIAL

With wellness and weight-loss jabs being pushed, admitting to counting calories can feel overwhelming. Helen Coffey looks at how dieting became taboo - and says it shouldn't be

- Helen Coffey

In January, like every “new year, new you” cliche in the book, I started a diet. In the time-honoured tradition immortalised by Bridget Jones and her famous red diary, I stripped off, creaked myself onto the scales, winced at the result, and diligently recorded the numbers in a freshly downloaded weight-loss app.

Keen to finally take my health seriously after a lifetime of alternating between carb-binging and pecking at spartan diet “snacks” that barely resembled food, I fully committed to the plan. My kitchen cupboards were soon stacked with quinoa and chia seeds and “nutritional yeast”, whatever the heck that was; my fridge shelves groaned with cottage cheese and greens and Greek yoghurt. I made every nutritionally balanced meal from scratch, stopped drinking anything other than water and herbal tea, kicked my refined sugar and snacking habits and strove to exercise four times a week. Within a month, I had lost more than a stone, was sleeping like a log and my mental health had never been better.

It wasn’t the first January diet I’d ever embarked upon, but this time around there was one stark difference: the whole endeavour was tinged with shame. Being “on a diet” felt like my dirty little secret, something sordid to “admit to” rather than being a cause for positivity. Although I knew my reasons were sound – overweight, alcohol dependent and eating processed crap 80 per cent of the time, I wanted more than anything to simply take care of my body for a change – I found myself proffering caveats, apologies and excuses any time I had to come out of the diet closet.

“I’m really just doing it for my health!” I’d say, madly overcompensating with cringe-making enthusiasm. “You don’t need to worry, I’m not going to get fixated! I’ve got a healthy relationship with my body! I love my body! Ha ha ha!!!”