I’m sitting at the kitchen table, the laptop open in front of me, halfway through a blog post titled “An Effective Diet.” It’s just past 7 a.m., the sunlight creeping through the blinds, and I’ve been thinking about the meal plan I started last week.
The scale hasn’t moved much, but the diet book insists these first days are about resetting, not results. I reach for my coffee, but the taste seems hollow, and I realize I’m not even hungry yet. Something feels off, like I’m waiting for a sign that this will actually work—something I can’t quite explain.
This moment matters more than it should because I’m tied up in this diet more than I want to admit. It’s not just about the weight or the health promises; it’s about proving to myself I can stick to something when so many other things in my life feel uncertain or out of control.
I watch my partner, Alex, move through the kitchen, breezing past the strict portions and calorie counts I’ve written out, eating with a natural ease I envy.
“You’re overthinking this,” Alex says, a hint of concern in their voice.
That small difference, how casually Alex eats without the shadow of calculation, unsettles me.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
