The Weight

Food was my first love, but it was a relationship that had to change

- By LANETTE WHITESIDE Snowball, Arkansas

I loved trick-or-treating when I was a kid, coming home with a haul of sugary, gooey candy. I’d dump out my loot on the kitchen table and gaze at it as if I'd struck gold. Maybe it was a burst of sweet nostalgia on Halloween night 2022 that prompted me to glance in the rearview mirror and say brightly (maybe too brightly), “Caleb, give Nanny one of those popcorn balls.”

A sudden silence filled the car. My daughter, Natalie; my daughter-in-law, Tiffany; and my grandkids Caleb, 7, and Kaylee, 2, had been trick-or-treating at friends’ houses, our church and finally the town square. The kids’ bags were full, and we were headed home.

Finally, Natalie spoke. “Are you sure you want to do that, Mom?”

“It’s just for tonight. Don’t worry,” I said, trying to sound casual. “A popcorn ball won’t kill me. Caleb?” My grandson handed over the treat.

It had been a long time since I’d indulged myself like this. I'd heard a note of urgency in my voice. But everyone had been having such a good time gathering goodies. I didn’t like feeling left out. I deserved to have fun, didn’t I? After all, I'd managed to lose 344 pounds from my highest weight of 489 using WeightWatchers. I was a success story. A miracle. WeightWatchers had even made me a group leader.

I tried to eat the popcorn ball as casually as I could, sticky as the sugary glaze was. No big deal. Later, I found myself raiding the kids’ bags. Just a miniature Butterfinger. A fun-size Snickers. A Milky Way. After that, I lost track.

The next morning, the bathroom scale told the tale. I was up a couple pounds. I felt horrible. What would I tell my WeightWatchers group? I panicked. I must correct this. I must restrict all sweets and carbs. It felt more like punishment than a plan.