What not to say to someone who has lost weight

I can't show my current knitting projects (explanation coming soon, I promise), but I can talk. And I can type. And I can perform a community service by giving unasked-for advice (that IS a community service, right? Right?).

So, here goes. First of all, I am fat.

I was not a thin child, and I've been fat all of my adult life, despite yo-yo dieting, which I formally gave up in my 30' s (I'm 55 now). Since the last diet disaster (well the diet wasn't a disaster, I lost 75 lbs and ran 6 miles a day. But I couldn't keep the weight off), I stopped trying to lose weight, and accepted myself as I was. That worked out fine- my family wasn't worried (beyond general health concerns) and no one ever gave me that *you have such a pretty face, if only* crap (I would have bitten anyone foolhardy enough to say that). I come from a long line of large folk, and we love to eat and don't love to move around. Fat was pretty much inevitable. I accepted it, shrugged, wore size 24 jeans, and ate chocolate chip cookie dough for breakfast.

I was perfectly happy living that way.

And then on September 15, my husband was diagnosed with diabetes. I had just come home from my knitting group and a trip to Mega-Mart where I'd bought several packages of Reeses Peanut Butter Pumpkins (2 of which I ate on the 43 mile drive home), when I got the news.

A bit of backstory: I met my husband when we were both 18, and we married shortly thereafter, and for 37 years, we've been best friends. I rather like him, and I'd like him to stick around for awhile longer, with his feet and eyesight intact. There was no history of diabetes anywhere in his family (or mine, come to think of it), so the diagnosis was something of a shock to both of us. But we decided, that very afternoon, that very instant, to change. And we did it.

And by change, I mean change everything. We bought books, we studied recipes, we asked questions, and started the process of turning our lives around.

It wasn't easy- my addiction of choice (or maybe not choice, since it was an addiction) was constant eating- grazing all day long. A bowl of popcorn here (with butter, of course), a handful of tootsie rolls there, second and third helpings at meals. Cutting back on food was horrible at first. It took me easily a month to learn to distinguish when I was actually hungry and when I just wanted to eat (which was all the time).

My husband had less of a struggle (he was not fat, and wasn't a grazer, though he loved his huge bowls of sherbet at lunch) and his job has always been strenuous. But he didn't do cardio excrcises, and he likes his chips and dislikes diet pop, so it wasn't easy for him either. I joined Curves (an organization I recommend highly), and he bought a treadmill, and we both learned to sweat. And to count carbs. And to test blood sugar regularly. And to get by with less. Far less. And amazingly enough, to be satisfied with less. And we've come to understand that this is just the first stage of the rest of our lives- he's not going to become un-diabetic. This change is permanent because it has to be permanent.

And now, almost 4 months later, we've adjusted to the new life and are doing well (okay, I really wanted fudge at Christmas, but I did resist, and the urge to make it has gone away. Almost). My husband is managing his diabetes with diet and exercize, and we're both healthier than we've been in a very long time. He is 33 lbs lighter, and there are 34lbs less of me to love and I just bought a pair of size 14 jeans (from C.J. Banks, which means they're really 16 or a little bigger, but by damn, the tag says *14*).

Which brings me to the point of this post. When you see someone who has recently lost a visibly large amount of weight, do not, under any circumstances, say to that person, "Wow, they said you looked good, but I didn't believe it was possible."

That's a good way to get bit.