What Happens When a Funny Lady Tries to “Eat Clean”

There comes a moment in every woman’s life when she looks in the mirror, looks at the jeans she has been avoiding, and decides, with the confidence of someone who has learned absolutely nothing from previous attempts:

“This is it. I’m going to start eating clean.”

Not tomorrow.

Not Monday.

Not after the holidays.

Today.

I had reached that magical point on a Tuesday afternoon, right after eating a muffin for breakfast and half a bag of chips for lunch.

I stood in my kitchen, looked at the evidence surrounding me, and made a decision.

I was going to become one of those healthy people.

You know the type.

They drink green smoothies.

They put lemon in their water.

They casually say things like, “My body really responds well to quinoa.”

I wanted to be that woman.

I wanted to wake up refreshed, drink something green, stretch in sunlight, and eat almonds while looking thoughtfully into the distance.

Instead, I had crumbs in my bra.

But change was coming.

Day One: The Grocery Store Fantasy

My first step was obvious.

I went grocery shopping.

This was where I made my second mistake.

I entered the supermarket with a list.

A serious list.

Chicken.

Vegetables.

Fruit.

Greek yogurt.

Eggs.

Avocados.

Whole grains.

Nuts.

I felt powerful.

I walked past the bakery without stopping.

The bakery section practically screamed my name.

“Come back,” whispered the croissants.

“No,” I said.

“We miss you.”

“I’m eating clean now.”

A woman nearby looked at me.

I pretended she hadn't heard me talking to pastries.

I continued shopping.

Then I discovered the healthy-food aisle.

Have you ever noticed that the healthier something is, the more aggressively it advertises itself?

“ORGANIC!”

“NON-GMO!”

“PLANT-BASED!”

“ALL NATURAL!”

“SUPERFOOD!”

I picked up a tiny bag of granola.

$11.99.

Eleven dollars and ninety-nine cents.

For something that looked like birdseed.

I put it back.

I may be committed to wellness, but I am not committed to financial ruin.

Eventually, I spent approximately three times what I normally spend on groceries.

When I got home, my refrigerator looked like it belonged to a yoga instructor.

I felt proud.

For about six minutes.

Breakfast: The Green Smoothie Incident

The next morning, I woke up determined.

I was going to make a green smoothie.

I had spinach.

Banana.

Almond milk.

Chia seeds.

Frozen berries.

I threw everything into the blender.

I pressed the button.

The blender roared.

The kitchen shook.

My dog left the room.

Five minutes later, I poured the mixture into a glass.

It was green.

Not a beautiful green.

More of a “swamp water after a suspicious chemical spill” green.

I took a sip.

My face immediately rejected it.

My taste buds filed a formal complaint.

I swallowed.

“This is healthy,” I reminded myself.

My body responded:

Healthy for whom?

I added honey.

Then more banana.

Then peanut butter.

Then a little cinnamon.

Eventually, the smoothie became delicious.

Unfortunately, it also became approximately 900 calories.

Still, technically, it was green.

That counts.

The Mid-Morning Hunger

At 10:17 a.m., I was hungry.

Not mildly hungry.

Not “I could have a snack” hungry.

I was the kind of hungry where you begin considering whether decorative objects are edible.

I opened the refrigerator.

I saw cucumbers.

I closed the refrigerator.

I opened it again.

Maybe the cucumbers had changed.

They had not.

I ate one.

It tasted like water with an attitude problem.

Then I remembered the Greek yogurt.

I opened it.

It was plain.

Completely plain.

No sugar.

No flavor.

No joy.

I added berries.

Still no joy.

I added honey.

Better.

I added granola.

Now I was eating dessert.

Apparently, “eating clean” is less about avoiding unhealthy food and more about gradually adding healthy ingredients to unhealthy food until you can lie to yourself convincingly.

Lunch: The Salad That Became a Crime Scene

For lunch, I made a salad.

A beautiful salad.

Spinach.

Tomatoes.

Cucumber.

Carrots.

Grilled chicken.

Avocado.

I even made homemade dressing.

I sat down feeling incredibly virtuous.

Then I looked at it.

It was enormous.

There was enough spinach on that plate to cover a football field.

I took a bite.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

I felt like a rabbit at a business meeting.

After ten minutes, I was still eating.

After twenty minutes, the salad had barely changed.

I began to resent lettuce.

“Why are you still here?” I asked.

The lettuce offered no response.

Eventually, I finished.

I was proud.

Then I was hungry again.

Apparently, vegetables have a secret.

They disappear from your stomach approximately seven minutes after consumption.

The Afternoon Crisis

By three o'clock, I had become emotionally unstable.

I was working at my desk when I saw a chocolate bar sitting in the kitchen.

It wasn't even mine.

It belonged to my family.

But in that moment, I felt a deep spiritual connection to it.

I walked toward it.

I picked it up.

I read the wrapper.

I put it down.

I walked away.

I returned.

I picked it up again.

“This is ridiculous,” I said.

The chocolate bar remained silent.

I broke off one tiny piece.

Just one.

Then another.

Then another.

At some point, I realized I was holding an empty wrapper.

I stared at it.

“I've been betrayed.”

By myself.

Dinner and the Rise of Cauliflower

That evening, I decided to make cauliflower rice.

This is one of the greatest scams ever perpetrated on hungry people.

Someone looked at a cauliflower and said:

“You know what this needs to become?

Rice.”

No.

It doesn't.

Cauliflower has many wonderful qualities.

It is a vegetable.

It is nutritious.

It is shaped like a cloud.

But it is not rice.

I chopped it.

I cooked it.

I seasoned it.

I stared at it.

It stared back.

I took a bite.

It tasted like cauliflower that had been told it was rice and was deeply insecure about the situation.

I ate it anyway.

Because I was committed.

Then I added soy sauce.

Then hot sauce.

Then cheese.

Then I remembered the entire point was to eat clean.

At that point, my cauliflower had become a cheese-covered identity crisis.

The Restaurant Challenge

Three days into my new lifestyle, my friends invited me to dinner.

This was where things became complicated.

Restaurants are dangerous places for people trying to eat clean.

The menu contains words like:

“crispy.”

“creamy.”

“loaded.”

“smothered.”

“fried.”

“caramelized.”

And my personal weakness:

“served with fries.”

I opened the menu.

I was determined.

“I'll have the grilled chicken salad.”

The waiter asked, “Would you like dressing?”

“On the side.”

I was proud of myself.

“Croutons?”

“No.”

“Cheese?”

“No.”

“Avocado?”

I hesitated.

“Yes.”

I'm not a monster.

Then my friend ordered fries.

I watched them arrive.

Golden.

Crispy.

Perfect.

They smelled like happiness.

I ate one.

Then another.

Then I whispered, “I'm just having a few.”

Twenty minutes later, I was eating fries like I had been stranded at sea.

My clean-eating journey had encountered its first major iceberg.

The Weekend

By Saturday, I had learned an important truth:

Eating clean is much easier when you don't have a social life.

Unfortunately, I have friends.

And friends enjoy things.

Like brunch.

At brunch, someone ordered pancakes.

I ordered eggs.

The pancakes arrived covered in berries and syrup.

I stared.

They stared back.

I ate my eggs.

Then I ate one pancake.

Then two.

Eventually, someone said, “Didn't you say you were eating clean?”

“Yes.”

They looked at my plate.

I looked at my plate.

“This is clean,” I said.

There was syrup on my elbow.

What “Eating Clean” Actually Taught Me

After a week, I realized I had been approaching the whole thing incorrectly.

I had treated eating clean like a punishment.

No sugar.

No carbs.

No treats.

No fun.

No joy.

Just chicken breasts and vegetables until death do us part.

But healthy eating doesn't have to mean becoming a person who gets excited about celery.

It can mean eating more vegetables without pretending pizza is morally wrong.

It can mean cooking at home more often.

It can mean drinking water instead of something with enough sugar to preserve a dinosaur.

It can mean enjoying dessert without eating the entire dessert because you think you're never allowed to have it again.

Most importantly, it can mean finding a balance.

Because I have finally accepted something about myself:

I am never going to be the woman who says, “I don't really like cake.”

I like cake.

I respect cake.

I believe cake has a place in a balanced lifestyle.

Preferably somewhere near my plate.

The New Me

Today, I still try to eat healthier.

I eat vegetables.

I drink more water.

I make sensible meals.

I occasionally eat quinoa.

I even have a blender that doesn't frighten my dog anymore.

But I have also stopped pretending that every meal needs to look like it was prepared by a wellness influencer named Willow.

Sometimes I eat salad.

Sometimes I eat pasta.

Sometimes I eat chocolate.

And sometimes, I eat cauliflower rice while wondering why I didn't just make actual rice.

I've learned that healthy living isn't about being perfect.

It's about making better choices most of the time while leaving room for the occasional bad decision.

Because life is short.

And if I'm going to spend it eating kale, someone needs to explain why kale costs more than lettuce.

So yes, I tried to “eat clean.”

I survived.

I learned some things.

I bought chia seeds that may outlive me.

And somewhere in my pantry sits a bag of expensive organic granola that I refuse to throw away because I paid twelve dollars for it.

Will I eat it?

Eventually.

Probably.

But only after I add chocolate chips.

Because apparently, my version of clean eating comes with a little dirt.

And honestly?

I'm okay with that.