As a slightly chubby 9-year-old, I swam on my local team, and
regularly won blue ribbons.

 

 

Despite my swimming ability, one morning the swim coach singled
me out to do exercises in front of the team, because he thought
I was fat.

 

The kids teased me, calling me "tank," and I was humiliated
beyond belief.

 

After practice that day, I waited until the swim coach went
into the snack bar, and I followed him.

 

 

While he waited for his cheeseburger, I loudly ordered five
candy bars. Then, I sat and ate them defiantly, while I scowled
at the coach, daring him to say anything.

 

 

While that incident had a horrible effect on my self esteem, it
also did something more insidious. It stirred up fear in me --
fear that I would have to give up my beloved treats. And the
feeling of deprivation took root.

 

 

My coach wasn't the only one concerned about my weight. My
mother was worried, too. She put me on my first diet soon
after I turned 10.

 

 

While I was deprived of the foods I loved, my sister was
allowed to eat Scooter Pies and other treats in front of me.

 

I really envied her and felt profoundly ugly, unworthy, and
deprived.

 

 

I tell this story, because that little deprived girl still
lives in me. And for many years I let her make my food choices.

 

 

I didn't want this little girl in me to hurt anymore, but
until recently the only way I knew to soothe her sadness and
rage was to feed her whatever she wanted.

 

 

When I became morbidly obese, that little girl was in full
control of me, and her food and lifestyle choices were
obviously detrimental to my health.

 

After my weight loss surgery, I knew I would have to get
control of that girl, or I would not succeed.

 

 

Saying no to that little girl is not easy, even now. But,
I know that to let her control my food choices is crazy. I
remind myself all the time that children don't know how to
set their own limits and cannot parent themselves.

 

So, I have created an image of an adult in my head, who talks
to that little child and keeps her in check. It works for me.

And it might work for you.

 

Here are some other tips to help you learn to say no to
yourself (and your own wounded inner child).

 

1) Understand the connection to your past. Spend 15 minutes
identifying a few experiences from your childhood that shaped
how you behave with food today. Get a clear picture in your
mind of the little child you were.

 

Then, get out some crayons and draw a picture of the little
child in you who is defiant and hurting -- and hungry.
 
2) Reassure your inner child. Visualize a conversation with
your inner child. Let her know you are going to take care of
her now by setting loving limits, instead of by overfeeding
her to keep her quiet.

 

In your visualization, hold her hand, chuckle warmly at her
objections, and feel the power of knowing you won't let her
hurt herself through destructive eating.

 

3) Start small. Saying no to yourself is a habit you will need
to develop. So, start saying no to yourself with small things.

Maybe say no to staying up late, or to adding a dollop of sour
cream to your chili. Even saying no to a larger quantity, by
measuring your portions with a food scale, is a great start.

 

Practice having the adult in you reassure your inner child.
That inner dialog is critical to changing your thinking --
and ending overeating.

 

Some of you may think these suggestions are silly. Maybe they
are. But the reality is if you are overeating, your current
strategies are not working.

 

 

Sometimes doing something different -- even making a crayon
drawing -- will give you a new perspective and new motivation.

 

Don't let that inner child be in charge of your life. Develop
your adult persona. Your adult self will steer you away from
self destructive behavior, like ordering five candy bars. Your
adult self can set a loving limit and say NO!