Butter, Bacon, and a Mental Breakdown: Our first week on Keto.

‘Who woulda thunk?’

Me, who obsessively tracks my weight, works out (probably more) religiously (than I follow Jesus,) and repeatedly ends their day with the well-known ‘I’ll start tomorrow,’ doing the Keto diet and actually liking it.

I’m sure everyone else around us doesn’t ‘like it.’ After all, a couple days in Ketosis has turned us into certified Larry David’s. Nothing is funny anymore, everything drives us crazy, and our once belly-deep jokes have turned into passive-aggressive remarks, leaving us both jaded and yet hungry for more—Yup, it’s settled. Keto has turned us into raging madmen.

But almost ten pounds down in less than a week? I tried to lose those ten pounds for ten months and hadn’t achieved it.

After staying with my mom for a few days, and extending our stay due to snow storms and power outages (leaving us locked out of the garage like a final warning from the carb gods), I can confidently say we were ready for this. If I could paint a picture for you, imagine Franky and I laughing hysterically at three o’clock in the morning, taking our ‘before’ pictures… which were really just visual proof of how bloated you get after four days of cake and carbohydrates. But, ‘Happy Birthday, Papy and Kayla!’

Between us, it was worth it.

Those four days drove me to the very edge of a cliff—well, a decision anyways. It made me see how easy it is to stuff some cake down the ol’ goblet and live (with utter lucidity) to regret it.

I can’t believe I’m saying this Live on… Substack, but, one of those nights, in my sister’s childhood bedroom (now converted into our beloved guestroom) we looked up to the ceiling while, I kid you not, I prayed to God, ‘Jesus… we have found ourselves at a fork in the road.’

If that doesn’t paint a picture for you, I don’t know what will.

But, over the following days, I grew closer and closer to making the final choice to start the keto diet. And, here we are, ready to announce it to the world. And I totally invite you to clap.

About a year ago, my partner and I (loosely) did the keto diet. By loosely, I mean, he lost fifty pounds and I couldn’t give up sugar in my tea and banana bread. He looked incredible. Everyone was shocked at his transformation and I, well… I justified. Since then, he hasn’t budged and I got to my record highest.

It’s ironic what people will say when you find yourself at your lowest point, or should I say highest weight. ‘Well, you have more muscle than most people,” or “It looks good on you,” and my personal favorite, “It’s okay, you have a booty!” But when I would catch a glimpse of myself in a photo and my leg took up three quarters of the frame—and, let’s not forget those back-against-a-corner conversations people have when they tell you it’s time to lose weight… Well, not enough sucking in the mirror will fool you into living like this another day.

One thing the keto diet has taught me so far is how brainwashed we are into thinking we’re eating healthy. Rest assured, you’re not as ‘healthy’ as you think. And if you have a little ‘treat’ once a day, I can confidently tell you that you’re not as good an eater as you preach.

What one week, yes, I said it—one week—has taught me is that almost everybody has justified a processed, carb-loaded, sugar-coma-inducing ‘treat’ once a day. And it’s not until you eliminate virtually every… joy… in your life that you know what healthy eating looks like.

And don’t worry, I’ve accounted for the ‘balanced’ lifestyle. But balanced isn’t disciplined, and I learned that the hard way.

On the day after we got back from visiting my family, we started. Within hours, we viscerally felt the sugar and carbs withdrawing from our bodies. And moody? A total understatement.

It’s not until you remove those Coca-Cola’s at dinner time, or those revered chips, cookies, pasta, and BREAD! That you know ANYTHING about dieting.

And, trust me, I get it. The term ‘diet’ has such a bad aftertaste (no pun intended.) But sometimes, it’s all there is to radically turn your life around until you build the discipline to truly grasp the meaning of ‘moderation.’ Like, no, unfortunately, a dessert every day is not ‘once in a blue moon.’ And, sorry, chips and a good ol’ glass of wine in front of the TV are not moderate! But above all, it’s not until you literally cannot touch those things for 40 days that you inherently understand just how often we justify a bad diet… While it pains me to say this, not even 10,000 steps a day can justify bad dietary choices.

I think the fastest lesson we learned is that when the goal is greater than the craving, the results will finally happen. And, not a moment sooner.

I’ve probably experienced every dietary fad and fantasy. I’ve walked the deep, dark hole of eating disorders and health obsessions. I’ve been anorexic, bulimic, underweight, overweight, and merely every shade in between. I’ve done cardio, weight-lifting, pilates, yoga, barre classes, aquafit, walking, sprinting, climbing, rowing… If it promised weight loss, I’ve likely done it. But everything boiled down to the fact that my cravings were greater than the calling—my journey was more centered around restriction and indulgence, none of which have satisfied the real craving: to eat healthy, stay consistent, look good, and feel better.

But a week ago, today, I finally opted for something off the menu: change.

Let’s be honest, for most people, food represents the same thing: you over-indulge then feel guilty about it—do everything you can to reverse the ick, and find yourself doing it all over again. Heck, I’m even guilty of buying a diet book at twenty-seven years old! I really thought, Women, Food, and God had healed my body dysmorphia and made me conscious of my eating tendencies… But, let’s be real, that was twenty pounds ago.

Another thing I’ve come to learn in this short period of time is that—like many, dare I say, addictions—food, diet, body image, and health are a ‘when you’re ready, you’ll change’ ordeal. It wasn’t until I got to a point of praying about it that I realized I had eaten myself into some serious sh*t. I was finally ready to break out of the cycle of eat and repeat, just like when I kicked my weed addiction (sober almost two years now, btw.)

You can lead a horse to vegetables, but you can’t force it to eat…

Since starting keto and going through the worst of it, I’ve understood that, this time, it’s not about psychological restrictions but dietary boundaries. I was tired of promising myself I’d never eat spaghetti and cake again. I overcooked the excuse that ‘tomorrow’ things will change. So, when we set out to do keto, I knew we were finally ready.

Admittedly, the first couple days were the hardest. I remembered when we sobered up, those first few days were full of sweat, tears, and cleaning cupboards. Now… It’s kind of the same thing.

I never thought one could withdraw from carbs and sugar, but we practically went through the five stages of grief over a loaf of bread. We were as miserable and ‘hangry’ as it could get. Plus, when the world around you doesn’t change, you find a new form of misery watching people enjoy the chips and dip that you can’t eat.

But 72-hours later, four pounds down, you start to see the light at the end of the tunnel—or at least the cheese at the end of the omelet.

Hope is golden, my friend, and sprinkled with salt.

Since then, we’ve found joy in the process, cooking with intention, and even adding butter to our coffees. It’s really quite luxurious watching the numbers get lower and the ketone sticks getting darker. Alas, we’re finally feeding ourselves, not just the void. I can speak for myself when I say that food has gotten bemoaningly good—the fat on our steaks melts like the fat around my waistline. Midnight snacks look more Pinterest-worthy, too. Cottage cheese, cucumbers, and a couple blueberries. I feel… superior?

Jokes aside, mornings feel like waking up at a coastal resort now—choosing what to eat with intention and elegance, rather than mindlessly cramming it down the ol' hatch. I may have even kicked my ‘Steeped Tea Double-Double’ addiction which had gotten me through every morning of the last four months. At last, I am a new woman. Drinking coffee black or with cream, no sugar. Opting for cucumber over carbs. And basking in the succulent juices of a chicken breast, steak, or lamb chop. I even like peppermint tea, BLACK!

Once you get over the hump of FOMO and make it a lifestyle, you’ll see just how much time, joy, and life force you get back. Where I spent hours a day on matters of the stomach, I now spend my time on things that truly nourish me… Like writing this exposé, planning for the future, and finally retiring my ‘just in case I gain weight again’ jeans. Sorry, Size 10, it’s been real.

As the numbers on the scale descend like my weight spiral last year, I sense under the surface, below the visceral fat, that the obsession to lose weight remains dormant in me. When those thoughts of ‘only one pound today’ resurface—as they inevitably do, I am presented with one last fork in the road. I can continue down the familiar path of self-obsession, chronic dysmorphia, and never being good enough. Or I can choose a new… fork—the kind that doesn't stab at my self-worth and develops a healthy mindset around weight loss.

I chose to use this as a chance to finally lay the mental bingeing and purging to rest—like closing the chapter on an old, worn-out cookbook that never truly satisfied. Some recipes aren’t worth remaking. Some need to be left in the past, so something new—something truly satiating—can finally take their place.

As I savor this piece of cheese, I feel good with this article. Its aim was to address the deeper layers of the cake, not just the frosting and cherry on top. And I think I did just that—chef’s kiss!

And with my final words, I’d like to dedicate this piece to Loretta, the woman whose testimony with eating disorders altered the course of my journey. Where I may have repeated the cycle of crash diets and self-sabotage, she offered me a slice of wisdom far more nourishing than any meal plan. Her lived experience pulled back the curtain on the real cost of obsession, reminding me that health isn’t about what we cut out—it’s about rewriting the narrative, not just the menu.

Bon Appetit, my friends!

Xx

Sarah Elle