Safe, Happy, and Healthy

As I mentioned at the end of my last post, I’ve been thinking a lot recently about what the concept of “health” means and who gets to set that definition. I’m well aware that my version of health, which involves near-daily exercise comprised mainly of cardio and intuitive eating that incorporates both veggies and desserts, is not the only way to be healthy. But are there certain practices that are always unhealthy, just inherently so regardless of context? We know that typically “healthy” practices, such as calorie control or exercise, can become unhealthy in excess—but how do we know where to draw that line? Who decides what health means, and is a doctor’s definition always the right one? How important is mental health in this discussion? These are the types of questions that I’ve been pondering and will continue to explore here. I’m not going to try to answer them definitively, but I do want to foster discussion about these topics.

 Although I think about health and fitness and eating often, I started focusing on this particular issue of defining the idea of “health” more clearly a couple weeks ago. For a while now, I’ve been committed to my intuitive eating practices, and I eat dessert and veggies and chicken and cereal and cheese and all kinds of different things depending on what my body wants on any given day. Doing this has made me so much more confident and comfortable with myself and has helped me break away from the detrimental relationship with food that had previously plagued much of my teenage years. Considering my own personal progress in this area, I began to wonder: is there any diet involving restrictive food practices that can be seen as healthy?

 I see how this question initially seems obvious. Yeah, of course if you cut out dessert or limit carbs you may see some changes in your body, especially if appropriately combined with exercise. But then, if you feel the need to restrict dessert or carbs, doesn’t that highlight an inherently unhealthy line of thinking in terms of mental health in which you perceive your worth as tied to the food that you eat and the way that your body looks? Further, can restricting food like that really make you happy? I understand that it’s a balance of priorities: if you want to, say, drop a size in jeans and that’s your highest priority, then maybe it will make you happier to accomplish that goal without eating carbs than to eat carbs and not change your body. But still, I keep coming back to this question of mental health. If you can’t eat foods that you enjoy, if your self-worth is so connected to your size and shape that you feel the need to restrict what you eat—can that possibly be good?

 I had an interesting conversation with my boyfriend Dave about this last week, and it really made me think. Dave is someone who I’ve always considered pretty much a model of health. He was a competitive distance runner in high school, and now he excels at rowing in college. He loves going to the gym, whether it’s for lifting or for cardio; he’s just one of those amazingly athletic people who thrives in pretty much any active situation. I always admire this about him, especially since I’m a little bit lacking in the athleticism [see: hand-eye coordination] department. Further, Dave is really committed to looking fit. As a twenty-one-year-old man with a naturally leaner build, Dave works hard to put on muscle and keep it on, and for him, a big part of this is eating in a way that we might consider prototypically “healthy” and definitely restrictive. I’ve spent many a lunch hour sitting across from Dave as he eats the same variety of things: rice, grilled chicken, veggies, more protein. He doesn’t have a huge sweet tooth, although he does love ice cream, and he doesn’t eat much dessert—that’s more of a special treat for him than it is for me.

 Alright, now that I’ve provided a bunch of information about my favorite person [besides myself], let me get to the point. I’m eating dinner with Dave one night when I wonder aloud about his restrictive diet and why he doesn’t eat dessert, interrupting my own rant about how awesome intuitive eating is. Dave, a rational thinker who can usually out-argue me, points out that my eating habits are actually not that “healthy” in terms of what foods are good for my body itself, and notes how important health fitness are to him. Okay, fair point. But it illuminates an area of further intrigue for me: Dave and I seem to be working with different definitions of health. In order to discover and stick with the diet that he follows now, Dave saw a nutritionist while in high school who helped him learn which foods to eat to build muscle and remain a competitive athlete as he desired. This nutritionist, like many in the health field, has a certain definition of health that trumps most others and centers around what is physiologically beneficial to the body: getting all of the necessary vitamins and minerals and eating a balanced diet without too much sugar or fats—you don’t want high cholesterol or clogged arteries or diabetes. It’s true, none of us want those things, and we see and often listen to our doctors’ advice because they are professionals who know a lot about the body and can provide this definition of health, which we in turn can take or leave.

 Dave, it seems, for the most part accepts this doctoral definition. For my part, I would rather leave it behind. I understand that there are obviously extreme cases and dire situations in which doctors’ advice about food should be paramount. However, when I go to the doctor and they tell me that my BMI is in the overweight zone and that I should snack less—honestly I just don’t need that negativity. That said, I am still glad that I have a doctor that I go see and listen to her health spiel every year, because I do want to be informed [I’m not saying never listen to your doctor, people]. In my view, the problem is that the doctor’s definition of an ideally healthy diet for any given person is based on quantitative data, numbers and statistics and test results. Obviously these provide very valuable information, but they neglect the qualitative side of things: what foods make you happy, your mental health.

 For me, being healthy means combining these two things, the qualitative and quantitative assessments of my health. Because I hear my doctor’s advice, I know that I should make sure to get enough iron by eating leafy greens and can benefit from the Vitamin C content of fruit. I understand that eating half a dozen donuts per day without ever exercising will probably be detrimental to my physiological health and my desire to remain active and mobile into my old age. At the same time, I have to listen to the quantitative cues coming from my mind and body. When I restrict food and have many rules about what I can and cannot eat, I feel stressed in situations where I don’t have access to nutritional labels and I feel sad and angry at myself if I do end up eating something on the “no” list. When I have a less structured relationship with food and let my body eat things that I want, I can enjoy a bowl of ice cream [even if it’s not what the doctor ordered!] and I can go out to restaurants with my friends without worrying about caloric consumption. That makes me happy. Sure, I could probably follow a strict diet from my doctor that would be more balanced than the one that I currently practice, and that might have beneficial physical effects, but I have experienced how detrimental it is mentally.

 Once again, I’m talking about my own version of health. But the exact ratio of quantitative to qualitative input into one’s health can be so different from person to person. Let’s go back to my example of Dave. It just so happens that for him, adhering more closely to the prototypically healthy diet suggested by a doctor is better for his mental health. He likes that kind of structure, he says that eating things he knows are good for his body and will help him achieve the results he wants makes him feel good. He isn’t mentally bothered by what I would term his restrictive relationship with food—he likes what he eats for the most part and he feels that his mental health would be more negatively impacted by his athletic performance lessening with a change in diet than it is impacted by having a specified food regimen.

 I suppose my point here is that there are a ton of different definitions of health. That said, I think there are two key factors that must exist to term a diet or lifestyle healthy. First, safety. This is so important! If what you’re doing to be “healthy” isn’t safe for you (e.g. consuming food at too great a calorie deficit, over-exercising to the point of injury, feeling lightheaded because you’re not eating enough, eating so much that you’re at risk of diabetes, losing mobility because of lack of exercise), then it isn’t healthy at all, and we can’t keep terming some of these practices so. Second, your diet and lifestyle should make you happy. I think this is the more complex part, because it can be difficult to understand others’ perspectives on this criteria. My intuitive eating makes me happy because I get to eat the foods I want and not feel guilty about it. Dave’s more regimented diet makes him happy because his body feels fueled and powerful and athletic by that type of nutritional intake. And we’re just two points on a massive spectrum. I think I’ve probably simplified the concept of health a little bit, and I’m sure this definition of both safe and happy is up for debate. However, for the purpose of this post and general reference I think it’s a useful concept.

The most important part, of course, is that the “safety” criteria—aligned somewhat with the quantitative or doctoral definition of health—is more fixed than the “happy” one, which is closely associated with the qualitative side of things. What makes someone happy differs from person to person, but there are some general safety considerations that we all need to follow.

 I hope that if you take something away from this article, it’s that there are many ways to be healthy as long as you’re prioritizing your happiness and safety. Just because a friend chooses to practice health differently than you do doesn’t mean that your way is lesser, and vice versa. Be understanding of others’ health choices, but also be aware of your own and consider both important tenets of health equally when you’re thinking about the subjects. If you’re not happy and/or you’re not safe, is it really worth it?