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Why Am I the Only One Eating Cake?
Tuesday, January 10, 2023By Melissa Gould
I celebrated my birthday with some friends recently. This included a light spread of mixed nuts, brie and crackers, wine, champagne, cake—the usual party fare. I use the term “celebrate” loosely, because three friends abstained from the wine and champagne and opted for a mocktail of cherry juice instead (“It’s supposed to help with sleep!” one proclaimed); two of the others passed up on even a tiny taste of birthday cake because they’ve “given up sugar”; another said she was done eating “anything processed”; and the last of the group chimed in that she has “ditched dairy permanently.”
Huh? I thought. No one is going to eat anything? Isn’t this a party? Didn’t Julia Child supposedly say, “A party without cake is just a meeting.”
Frankly, I was annoyed. Even the friend who brought the expensive wine, and the friend who brought my favorite cake, chose not to indulge. It was my party and I could’ve cried if I wanted to. Instead, I was the only one who ate the cake…and the cheese…and sipped the champagne. The only one. This was not exactly the party I was hoping for (even if the cake was admittedly delicious).
I spend a lot of time thinking about food. When I go to bed, I dream of the coffee I’ll drink in the morning, which mug I might use, and whether I’ll froth the milk. I wake up wondering if I want almond-butter toast or oatmeal with dried cranberries for breakfast. As I’m enjoying one meal, I’m usually thinking about the next. I’m certain (and quite grateful) that I don’t have an eating disorder, or body dysmorphia. I am just a lifelong lover of food.
That’s not to say I’ve never grumbled, cried, and shrieked over my various weights and sizes. I have. Of course I have! Yet somehow, somehow, maybe even miraculously, I’ve also come to accept that my clothes will sometimes fit a little looser, and sometimes a little tighter. Every now and then, I’ve even had to buy some new clothes. Not always happily, not always easily, but I accept that I am human, and my changing body is part of the human condition.
The other side of the story is this: most of my friends and I—intelligent and curious seekers of all different varieties—are in a constant state of dialogue about our menopausal symptoms: sleeplessness, restlessness, the state of our periods (or lack thereof), our moods, our sex drives. It’s endless.
We share information culled from various doctors and specialists, most of them found on TikTok or Instagram, supported by an article or study found online. We’re all eager to exchange what we’ve learned, what might help, and which products and supplements might alleviate everything from hot flashes to dry vaginas.
No one is going to eat anything? Isn’t this a party? Didn’t Julia Child supposedly say, “A party without cake is just a meeting.”
As I ruminated about my party, and the idea of self-deprivation and abstaining from things we once enjoyed, I couldn’t help but think, Why? Why do we do this to ourselves? Of course, there are a variety of reasons, like health issues and addiction, that cause people to live more careful, ascetic lifestyles. Obviously, I take no issue with that. I also understand that avoiding certain foods and alcohol may alleviate the symptoms of menopause. I’m all for that, too!
However, I can’t help but feel an underlying sense of indignance that women feel the need to deprive ourselves of anything at all. Haven’t we earned as much cake as we want at our age? Can’t I have a birthday party, at least once in my life, where everyone in attendance gives themselves permission to eat the cake?
I certainly don’t believe in suffering, and maybe this is an over-simplification, but I feel like I’d suffer more by giving up the foods I love. When I brought this up to one of my best friends, she convinced me that at my quasi-birthday party, we did all enjoy ourselves. Me, the food, the cake, the bubbly, everything. The others, even though I have a hard time understanding it, also enjoyed the food (or lack thereof) that they chose to eat. They were selective about their intake, but had a great time nonetheless.
In middle age, all of this continues to be a conundrum: food, indulgence, deprivation, pleasure. I will likely discuss and dissect these issues for the rest of my life, dutifully sharing all of my thoughts with my daughter, who, at 22, is attuned to society’s constant barrage of contradictory messages about diet, exercise, and the eternal quest for youth. Even at her age, this is maddening. Perhaps that’s why, at my age, I have simply decided to eat the cake. And enjoy every bite.
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Melissa Gould’s memoir, Widowish, is an Amazon bestseller, an Amazon Editor’s Pick for Best Memoir, a Goodreads Top Book of 2021, and has been named one of the best grief books of all time. Her essays have been published in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post, the Hollywood Reporter, Buzzfeed, and more. Find Melissa at www.widowish.com and on Instagram @MelissaGould_Author.