'I Drastically Changed My New Year's Resolutions—the Results Were Amazing'

Approximately one in 10 Americans—including myself—have at some point struggled with disordered eating. Despite the ubiquity of the problem, the subject is not really considered polite dinner conversation. New Year's resolution weight loss talk, on the other hand, will be commonplace throughout most of January and beyond.

The talk surrounding New Year's resolutions is filled with anti-fat bias. When I log into social media, I am bombarded with coaches running weight loss contests. My Instagram feed is filled with "before"s and "after"s. So much health and fitness marketing hinges upon the notion that an improved person is a smaller person.

This marketing bothers me so much that I have personally edited it out of my life by filtering my advertisement preferences on social media—something I recommend to anyone who feels triggered by the diet ads that bombard us at the beginning of the year.

Our mental health is particularly vulnerable whenever we are on social media. We often log on whenever we are lonely or bored. Friends and influencers alike post filtered highlight reels. And, unfortunately, social media content often promotes disordered eating behaviors—like body checking and food logging—as healthy.

Setting compassionate New Year's resolutions

I've found that if I make body-centered resolutions, the healthiest ones for me focus on how I feel, rather than how I look.

For instance, the best New Year's resolution I ever made was to exercise less. Or, more specifically, after struggling for years with compensatory exercise, I resolved to listen to my body's cues. I made this resolution about a decade ago at the suggestion of my husband.

Exercise had become something that contracted, rather than expanded, my life. I RSVPed "no" to parties that I actually wanted to attend because I didn't want to sacrifice the time in the gym. I felt anxiety whenever an unplanned event would pop up because then I would need to re-arrange my workout schedule. I dealt with chronic hip and shin pain, but I couldn't let myself rest to recover—I was so set on achieving my arbitrary goals.

So, that New Year, I resolved to make a change. For me, this meant no more counting. Rather than clocking mileage for a run, I focused on nature. I appreciated the beauty of the wooded trail, the crunch of fallen leaves beneath my sneakers, and the smell of dew in the early morning air.

This practice of looking outside made me feel small—in the best way. Tuning into nature allowed me to remember that, in the scope of such grandeur, the size of my body was far from the most important thing.

When working out, I resolved to stop when I wanted. Sometimes I pushed myself. But on days I was tired? I cut it short. I walked. I stopped. I listened to my body. My motivation for movement shifted from compulsion to compassion.

I also tried to open my perspective about what "counted" as exercise. I thought about the types of movement I found joy in during childhood. For me, that was playing basketball and jumping rope.

These activities felt strange to engage in during adulthood. But I ignored that feeling of weirdness to tap into the delight I'd known long ago, the pleasure of simply being in my body. I started playing pick-up basketball at the park and at the rec center with my husband. Sometimes I skipped rope for a workout—making sure to listen to the music I enjoyed from my childhood, too, to truly tap into the nostalgia of the experience.

This New Year's resolution made me so much happier, and I kept it up for years. I was exercising less, and less formally, but I felt stronger, I nursed fewer injuries, and the rest of my life—my friendships, my marriage, my job—became more important than my workout routine.

About a year later, I resolved to apply this intuitive mindset to food, too. I wanted to try to eat not based upon a clock or calorie counts, but upon my own hunger and fullness cues. I focused not on cutting foods out, but on adding foods in. I knew that I would feel better if I ate more plants—but I framed it in a positive way. I resolved to eat more vegetables rather than eat fewer cupcakes. This approach felt both kind and sustainable.

How my attitude to New Years' resolutions has changed

This year, I don't have any resolutions at all. I don't believe that it's bad to desire change, but I am suspicious of the idea that the optimization of the self is something worth constantly pursuing. Even some of my good and healthy goals—more reading, more water, more time outside—take me away from my present reality.

My son, for instance, loves the game hide and seek. He wants to play it with me almost every evening—during times that I could be cleaning, or reaching a particular number of books read, or logging hours outside. Still, I want to be with my son, enjoying the activities that he loves and not just what I believe is best for us to do.

To be present with him—and in my life—I'm trying to learn how to turn my achieving brain off. This is really hard for me; I want so many things. But most importantly, I want to be here – fully, completely, presently here.

Anna Rollins is a writer and faculty member in the English department at Marshall University. She lives in Huntington, West Virginia with her husband and two young sons.

All views expressed in this article are the author's own.

Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? Email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com