Once I fully made up my mind to quit the Carnivore Diet, I called my friend Bruce. I wasn’t looking for advice. I wasn’t seeking validation. I was losing my mind.
I felt like I was abandoning everything I had worked so hard for over the past six years. I was freaked out that I’d gain weight, lose my “abs”, get fat again, get brain fog, have headaches and on…and on…and on.
I was walking away from a lifestyle in which I had complete control. Or at least from a way of eating where I had complete control.
Control is my got to. It’s easy if I eliminate everything pleasurable and narrow my choices to a few nonnegotiable rules.
It worked for me for a long time – nearly 6 years.
Then it stopped.
I started by asking Bruce to walk me through what he eats in a typical day.
Bruce didn’t know where this conversion was going, but he obliged me with a painstakingly detailed description of his food selections, his reasoning behind them, his meal prep etc.
While listening to Bruce, I thought, “I had no idea how much a foodie Bruce is. It’s kind of cool. I like how passionate he is about food quality, his local butcher shop, the Italian market where he buys imported pasta, his thoughtfulness regarding ingredient quality and the precision of his cooking”.
It made me think about how I used to be when my wife was alive.
I was thoughtful about where I shopped, ingredient quality, recipes, and cooking techniques. I loved making food for my wife and myself. I especially loved making dinners that were creative, delicious and special events that rounded out our days or weeks.
Since this call with Bruce I’ve fondly reminisced about dinners I prepared like pounded chicken breasts with sherry cream sauce, roasted potatoes with rosemary, and angel hair topped with vodka tomato sauce. We’d crack open a bottle of wine to drink in the kitchen while I cooked and my wife sat at the counter as we listened to music and shared stories about our day. We’d toast a French baguette in oven and prepare elegant salads with baby greens, avocados, salty olives, rich cheeses and phenomenal dressings. My wife would help me with the finishing touches as we’d plate the food then move to the dining room to eat over candlelight. My wife’s big smile and shining eyes as we sat across from each other eating, laughing and enjoying each other’s company made my whole world seem brighter. During these meals, it felt like everything was right and would be OK.
Other nights, we would make simpler meals or order takeout to eat together on the couch while we watched VHS movies from the local video store, light a fire i the fireplace and snuggle under a blanket with our dogs.
We’d talk, laugh, and totally immerse ourselves in each other and our meals.
It was absolutely wonderful.
On date nights, our curiosity drove us to explore different neighborhoods to discover restaurants that served exquisite Italian, delectable French, good Chinese and exotic Mediterranean meals. Plus, of course, my personal go to’s: Mexican and standard American bar food.
When she died, this all died too.
No wonder I’ve missed it.
Until my call with Bruce and the epiphany it revealed, I had not realized that my deliberate choice of following the carnivore diet (and the other extreme, rigid lifestyle choices I have practiced since my wife died including frugality, minimalism, simplicity, isolation, efficiency, fitness) all contributed to the same thing:
Stuff my sadness deep inside so it doesn’t break me.
This isn’t a new practice for me. I’ve done it most of my life. It helped me survive.
When I told Bruce I was quitting carnivore and shared my fears, the thoughts bouncing around inside my head, my shame, what food used to mean and how I felt I was “losing my shit”, he said something profound.
“You’re going through a grieving process as part of letting go of eating Carnivore. This year it’s been 20 years since the day Liz died and 8 years since Ellen died. I think grief stays with us permanently in a physical, visceral way forever. Your body knows, even when your conscious mind doesn’t acknowledge it.”
He said the injuries that drove me to change my extreme fitness regimen and the food related problems I’d been having was my body sending me signals that something was wrong.
He said, “Thank God you made changes before incurring irreversible damage.”
I called Bruce because I was losing my mind. I expected a sympathetic ear from a kind man and dear friend who I know is a good listener.
I got that and much more.
Just when I really needed it.