I’ve been fasting for almost seven days now. Before you jump to “Holy shit!” know that it’s far less glamorous and dramatic than it seems. The “Lemonade Diet,” as it’s often called, is a “cleanse” where you still get your necessary vitamins and nutrients (everything you need from lemons—who knew?) yet abstain from food. The concoction, made of fresh lemon juice, maple syrup and cayenne pepper, is actually pretty tasty and to be honest, I find myself hardly missing food at all. Except in the moments where I’m really hungry. But even when I’m hungry I don’t really want to eat. Weird, huh?
I can imagine that to many of you, this sounds outlandish for a number of reasons. First, there’s the: “Oh my God! That can’t be healthy,” but I assure you, I’m doing just fine, and as I mentioned above, I’m getting all my daily nutrients. Second there’s the, “She’s going to waste away to nothing!” yet, here I am, doing all of the walking, talking, living, and breathing I did before this began—and I’ve still got plenty of “meat on my bones.” So go ahead and toss the idea that my entire well being and livelihood could deteriorate in a matter of seven days, out the window. (I must say however, that it really makes you question that idea about us “needing” to eat a certain amount of meals per day. I wonder who came up with that idea, Kraft? PepsiCo? Proctor & Gamble? Some other big-name-corporate giant? But I digress.) Third, there’s the “Wow, she must be starving.” And I must say this is the oddest element of all—I’m not. Like really, I’m not. Sure, I get stomach growls. But not nearly as many as you’d assume, and there’s no pain, no cramps, no lightheadedness, no nothing. It’s rare that I even have desires for actual, chewable-type food. Which leads me to the fourth: “Wow, she must have a ton of discipline,” which is a crock of shit. I love to eat and don’t have much discipline with it at all. Or at least I didn’t think I did. So I must say that my ability to stomach this fast—pun intended—is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.
That said, I’m enjoying it for a number of reasons. I’m learning a lot about myself, my spirit, my will; I’m also taking notice of how we organize our lives around food and meals, the ways we think about “needs,” “wants,” and “willpower.” As a grad student in Sociology, I’m constantly observing social life and studying the ways in which we organize ourselves and create identities—but this experience has me looking at issues about “food” and “health” in ways I hadn’t before. And while that part is interesting, what I’m really enjoying is that this experience is all about me. And we don’t do all-about-me’s very much in our society, because most of us are too often concerned about me in the context of everyone else. (And if you’re now thinking, “Speak for yourself, I don’t care what other people think,” shut up and stop fooling yourself.)
So I’m learning about me in a way I’d not yet experienced. More than anything, I had no idea I could keep this up for so long. I think part of me had been brainwashed by the idea that we “need to eat” a lot more than we actually do, so I assumed I’d crumble the moment I had a big hunger pang. But it turns out, this isn’t so difficult—or rather, it’s not hard in the ways I thought it would be. While most people do the Lemonade Diet for 10 days (though it can be done for up to 30 or 40), I assumed I’d go for three or four. And prior to that, I didn’t even realize I was going to do this fast at all. My friend Liz and I had talked about it some after the holidays, but we didn’t plan it out. Our talks developed because we had been eating and drinking a lot in December and January (as we do here in the good ol’ USofA), and when those months finally passed, I just felt so heavy. And I don’t say that because I had gained a few pounds, but I felt heavy in “spirit.” I was just full. When the holidays were over, I noticed I was eating meals just because something tasted good, or there was this idea that I was supposed to eat—but I wasn’t really hungry. So, about two weeks ago on a Monday night, I was with a group of people who had just ordered pizza and thought, “Nah, I don’t want any.” And even though it smelled good and I was a little hungry, it felt good to not eat it. So the next day I thought, “Mmm, some fruit would be good.” I ate grapes all day and drank lots of water. The next day, I had some apple slices and a couple of almonds. The day after that I had some more grapes. And then the next. About five or six days of this passed, and I was feeling great. So last Sunday, I woke up and decided, “I’ll try the Lemonade Diet, just to see…” and that’s how it all began.
I can’t help but offer a few disclaimers about all of this: I’m not one of these women who constantly obsess about her weight, body size, and diet, though I’ve worked hard to not be one of those women (I’ve had to “unlearn” much of my “female” programming to let go of these obsessions). I practice yoga regularly and am fairly in touch with my body, and like to think that I’m in decent shape. I’ve never been crazy skinny, but I’ve never been severely overweight. That said, I’m not exempt from being a product of my culture and social world. So I admit to feeling an odd contradiction between loving the way I’m feeling right now, which includes an intense heightening of the senses, a lighter and brighter energy, a freer spirit, more restful sleeps at night—and the reality that I am also enjoying my shrinking waistline. I know that when I go back to food, my waistline will come back with it. And I don’t love that part as much (though I’m certainly not going to keep fasting for it). So yes, I admit it: I’m a woman in the US, I’m a product of my culture, and feminist or not, I am enjoying my temporary smaller waist. So there. I said it.
And that part is tough for this woman-centered-personal-and-political feminist. I don’t want to perpetuate—or participate in—the reality that women feel more confident and empowered when their bodies are small or shrinking. Yet at the same time, I’d be lying if I ignored the actuality of my social location, and to suggest otherwise would be totally hypocritical. Yet, I don’t want to lose sight of the fact that this is far more empowering in ways that have nothing to do with beauty ideals or pants’ sizes. Taking care of me by listening to what my body was asking me to do feels pretty amazing.
And it turns out I am more disciplined than I thought. But it’s got little to do with eating, and more to do with giving myself permission to sit on the outer edges of this incredibly socially-oriented world. I’ve found a way to let go—to let go of routines, dinners, nights out, glasses of wine or cups of coffee with friends. Rather than give into social demands, I’ve found that the discipline I have has nothing to do with food and everything to do with my ability to put me first, even if it means “missing something.” None of us want to miss the best party, a date, or a good lunch, so we often give in even when we know we should probably stay home and take time for ourselves. For those of us who still enjoy a little popularity and want to be part of the in-crowd (oh, admit it—you know you do), there’s a big lesson to be learned in backing off and spending sometime with just yourself. It’s scary of course, because you know that when you do it, you’ll probably find some deeply embedded loneliness and fear, which can really shake up your world. But when you decide to do it—when you take the leap and let go, it can be transformative and life altering.
Through this process, in addition to a few pounds, I’m shedding some pretty intense emotion, ridding myself of anxieties and fear I didn’t realize I’d been carrying around. I’m learning how to pay attention. Rather than give into the temptation of distractions, I’m learning to balance my spiritual self with this worldly, complicated, confusing, and glorious life. It’s so easy to distract ourselves from spiritual or emotional strains that we hardly ever realize we’re doing it. But stepping back and quieting down reveals the secrets of our strength and intuition—letting go can help us trust our instincts which is far more valuable than just allowing them to exist. So that’s what this is really about. It’s the all-about-me moment. It’s about letting go of…well, all of it. It’s about empowering myself through myself, and becoming healthier and stronger from within instead of reaching to something or someone else to do it for me. It’s about trusting myself over the FDA “food pyramid” and the Western biomedical model of health; it’s about knowing I can stand on my own; it’s about knowing we’ll always “miss things”; it’s about knowing that my shrinking waistline really doesn’t matter.
Rarely does the time come when I hear my body say, “I’m full, please give me a break,” and I listen. I chose to listen to my body and spirit, and it’s intense and amazing. I have slept better in the past three nights than I probably have in years. My sense of smell has easily doubled. My sight is clearer and brighter than it’s been in a long time. My spirit is literally lighter. So what does lemonade have to do with spirituality and feminist politics? Maybe everything. It could be argued that a woman tending to her own desire, will, needs, body, and spirit is a far greater political act than any other she could make.
Oh, and did I mention it tastes good? I love this shit!
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