Whether you’re cutting out fast food in a bid to lose weight, have decided to go veggo or vegan, or have been told by a medical specialist to cut sugar from your diet, it’s easy to focus on the negative. After all, you can no longer have a source of pleasure. Maybe it’s the salty, soggy fries at Macca’s (McDonald’s for you non-Aussie folk), maybe it’s the gooey Cadbury Creme eggs. Whatever it is, it was something you used to looked forward to and savoured every moment of.
Besides being a bummer, just thinking about the things you now are depraved of might lure you into the temptation of treating yourself again. Just one more time, what could be the harm? But no, it would be a setback. It would delay or even ruin your plans, whatever they may be, so it’s not worth it. You’d likely also feel guilty, or even physically bad if your health depends on it.
So how do you adjust to that? How do you stick to it? There are multiple strategies, all of which I’ll touch on in other posts. But one powerful one in particular, I learned from my time in high school dealing with hair loss. In the end, I took (and still take) finasteride, and continue to have a full head of hair. But before I made that decision, 17-year-old me had time to freak out and imagine my soon-to-be-balding self. I spoke to older friends I knew had hair loss, as well as doing internet research and reading forums.
Of the men who lose their hair, some cope with it a lot better, even thrive: those who shave it all off. It may be an adjustment, but eventually, they feel more confident and are perceived as sexier, because they have nothing to hide. They turn it into a choice. They own it.
And so, too, shall you own whatever dietary restrictions you’re making. Remember how I said it’s sad that you “can’t” have chips? That’s the language most people seem to adopt in these situations. But you can twist the wording in a way that empowers you. Instead of “I can’t have milkshakes”, say “I don’t have milkshakes”. Seriously, try it right now. Doesn’t that feel better?
It’s not even a lie. You totally can have milkshakes. Whether the doctor told you not to, you have allergies, or your culture forbids it, it’s not physically impossible. You could do it – it would just be a poor choice. It’s more like you “shouldn’t” have milkshakes, but that’s not exactly empowering. Say you “don’t” have whatever junk food to yourself, and say it to friends or people at dinner parties (or milkshake parties) if they ask.
To me, this change in attitude does three things: it makes it easier to make the choice to cut out the food overall, it makes it easier to decline it on the spot when offered, and it makes it feel less like a deprivation.
Saying it makes the overall choice easier is an understatement. If you say “I can’t eat x”, you haven’t even made a choice at all. Your actions will reveal your “choice”, which may include sneaking whatever sin-worthy snack every so often. But “I don’t” makes it a choice. It’s a commitment which, even if only in subtle ways, you’ll be more motivated to live up to. That’s because we naturally like to avoid cognitive dissonance, the unpleasant feeling of holding beliefs that contradict other beliefs, or contradict your actions. Your only other option to avoid dissonance would be to just give up and stop saying you “can’t/shouldn’t/don’t have x” altogether.
Similarly, when you tell someone, whether a stranger you want to impress or a close friend, that you “don’t have pork”, that’s a commitment. An even stronger one, in fact. You could get away with telling Fred that you shouldn’t/aren’t supposed to have pork, but then having some. But try telling him you “don’t eat it” and seeing how he reacts when he catches you eating some. Try that and imagine how you feel when you break that commitment. You do your best to avoid that.
Finally, by owning the choice, you stop focusing on the negative. It’s not a deprivation to decide not to have something, but if you “can’t”, you’re the victim. With the less depressing wording, you can focus on all the wonderful things you could now discover to replace whatever you’re cutting out. That’s one of the other strategies I’ll explore, and demonstrates the importance of enjoying yourself enough for any dietary change to be sustainable, but it all starts here, with your language.
Language is a powerful thing. We often like to think that things happen, and we just use language to describe how we perceive them. In other words, situation -> perception -> language. Often, that’s true. Similarly, situations cause emotions, which cause thoughts and behaviour. But just like power posing can make you feel more confident and smiling can make you feel better, you can take charge and use language to change your perception.
Maybe it feels weird at first. Until a second ago, you weren’t “someone who doesn’t eat sugar”. You’re not even sure you will be, so it feels like you’re mislabeling yourself. At what point does a smoker who just quit become a non-smoker? But by using this language, you’re taking the first step to becoming that person who doesn’t eat sugar. By assigning yourself that label, you live up to it – a classic persuasive technique, except you’re tricking yourself. Whatever dietary or non-dietary bad habits you’re trying to lose, a common motivation is to improve the life of your future self – a very real person that’s too often neglected. But I love this language because it’s like the mid-point, the transition; it’s where you get to define your (near) future self, making your future self both more real, and someone to live up to and grow to become in the process.
Of course, this isn’t foolproof. It won’t guarantee that you never touch fast food again, but it’s a powerful weapon to add to your arsenal, along with a dash of willpower, a sprinkle of good habits, and a generous serving of making the journey enjoyable. I realised this a few years ago when I stayed at a friend’s place until I found my own place in Melbourne. One evening they cooked us all dinner, a heavy feast with a variety of meat- and plant-based meals. One of the hosts looked at me with pity, saying “oh wait, you can’t have this, can you?” as she realised I recently became (mostly – I’ll explain another time) vegan. I replied, “that’s right, I don’t have meat”, and given how delicious the other meals were, I didn’t feel like I missed a thing. I enjoyed what was, not fretting about what may be – something that applies for food as it does for countless other areas of life.
Dear readers, have you had any successes in life from changing your language? Is there anything else we can learn from balding men?