Be Not Afraid (of Cake)

A moment of joy—and no fear—in every bite of cake.

There's nothing like a late-morning YouTube break to make you—cringe. 

Mostly if I need a mental break I watch funny videos of talking parrots or Bernese Mountain Dogs doing Bernese Mountain Dog things. Decorating videos are up there, too. And I’ve had a soft spot for interviews where celebrities eat hot wings, although that may have jumped the shark for me.

Today between tasks I ran across a video that caught my eye: The 5 Steps that Transformed My Body & My Life After 55. I thought, "I can give 10 minutes to this and see if I can learn anything." It was an attractive woman who definitely did not look 75 years old, so maybe there was something to what she had to say. That, and the fact that she had 58,000 followers, made me think she might be onto something. So I clicked.

As she laid the groundwork for what she was about to share, I'll admit I was intrigued. She said she went from a size 12/14 at age 62 to a size 2/4 at age 75. Impressive. Tell me more. 

Her first tip was about fear. At first, I thought she was saying that she overcame fear—fear of change, fear of aging, fear of failure. That would’ve made sense. But no—what she actually meant was that she used fear as motivation. Fear was the driver. Fear of getting fat. Fear of looking old. Fear of what would happen if she didn’t do something drastic. The red flags started popping up because fear is what I want less of in my life. After all, Jesus (and Pope St. John Paul II) said, "Be not afraid."  

The next “life-changing” step she shared—the one that supposedly transformed her body and life after 55—was going on the Atkins diet. And right then and there, my friends, I stopped the video. 

There isn't anything inherently wrong with a low-carb lifestyle. In fact, I was that person for YEARS of my life. But for me where I am now, it represents the kind of lifestyle where everything is constantly monitored, restricted, or optimized. I found that this type of eating plan turned what I ate and drank into metrics, not a meal. 

The more I thought about my (pretty strong) reaction to just two out of the five steps in this woman's video, I realized something. When fear is the fuel, everything becomes a threat. What happens if she gains a few pounds? What happens if her plan stops working? 

When fear is holding things together, it gets to decide when they fall apart. And it always will — because fear is never satisfied.

I don’t want to live like that. Not anymore. I’ve done that life. I’ve counted, tracked, bargained, and started over on Mondays.

I don’t have five steps for transformation.

But I do have a few things I’ve learned — unnumbered, unoptimized, and completely human.

Starting with this:

Cake is Not the Enemy

Me then: "I'm sorry, I can't have a bite of your child's first birthday cake—I'm on Atkins." 

Me now: "Great, that leaves more for me."

How many celebrations did I miss out on by putting cake (flour, sugar, eggs, maybe a splash of vanilla) into the "bad for you" category? That’s the trap the fear-first mentality pulled me into. The fear that one piece of cake would ruin everything. The fear that taking a bite meant I was weak or lacked self-control.

These days, things are different. Not perfect, not always effortless — just different. I eat in a way that feels good, during and after. No regret, no shame, no guilt.

I still make adjustments. I have days when I wonder if I’m doing it right. But fear no longer runs my meal planning. It doesn’t get to tell me what I can eat, when I can eat it, what I can enjoy, or what I can celebrate.

Now that carbs are not my enemy, I’ve got a lot more freedom — not just in what I eat, but how I feel when I eat it. Funny enough, sometimes it's just the freedom to look at the entire menu without any shame because it's all literally on the table. 

I Would Serve This to Someone I Love

One day recently I was having a bit of a tough day. I'm not really sure what was happening, but as I went in to make myself lunch I was just feeling low. I thought I'd try something new and, with the help of ChatGPT came up with a little recipe for curried tuna salad with dates and walnuts. I made a plate with the tuna salad, a couple of Wasa crackers, and a little sprig of grapes. I sat down to eat and I just stared at this meal I had made myself, and although it was nothing special, I thought: I would serve this to someone I love. 

And for the first time, maybe ever, I thought, "oh, that's me." 

When I bowed my head to say Grace, I was truly thankful. For the sweetness of the dates, the salty brininess of the tuna, the savory depth of the curry powder, and the texture of the walnuts, all piled onto a crunchy cracker, followed by the cold, snappy pop of the grapes.

Not every lunch is like that. Not by a long shot. But when I look at even what Bob and I call a "fill the hole" meal as something God has provided for my good, for my nourishment, it can't help but change the way I look at what is on the plate.

This shift—from seeing food as good or bad to seeing it as nourishment and joy—means the table is no longer a battleground. At the end of the day, it’s food. It’s not a test. It’s not a threat. It’s a gift.

I Want More Than a Smaller Me

As my relationship with food has been changing, so has something else—how I look at exercise and activity. 

I swung between extremes—punishing my body to "make up for" eating, or doing nothing at all because what was the point if nothing ever changed? The cycle was maddening. Restrict, but regret. Don't restrict, then repent. I couldn't win either way.

But slowly, quietly, something began to shift. As my mind softened toward food, God was also softening my view of my body. The fear-first way of living had made my body another battleground. 

Earlier this year I was in the hospital a couple of times, and those days were a kind of turning point for me on this. When I was able (and the bed alarm was off), I was up and walkng. Not fast walking, not fitness walking, not "paying for my calories" walking, but just taking my body for slow walks because it was a gentle way to work toward healing. And those were little baby steps toward knowing that my body is sacred. Not a threat to be conquered. Not an enemy to be defeated. A gift. 

As I did heal I kept doing what I had always been doing, taking Stein for walks, and going on "family walks" with Bob and Stein. But gradually I just started adding things in. A few mobility exercises at night (because I want to stay strong), some fitness ball work (because I want to stay flexible and stable), and some "flows" based on calisthenics (because sometimes if I sit for a few hours at my desk I need to get up and move around). I even started doing some silly Wii fit games (because I want to laugh my butt off every time I get hit in the head with a soccer cleat). 

I wasn't designing a fitness program. I didn't want that. I don't want that. And it wasn't about getting smaller. I don't want a smaller me, I want to go into the next part of my life awake, strong, free, and joyful.

But here’s the part I didn’t expect: it’s working. Not like a before-and-after photo. Not like a crash plan or a cleanse. But my body is changing—getting stronger, steadier. I’ve lost some weight, yes, but more than that, I’ve gained awareness. I can tell when I’m tired. I know when I need protein. I can feel when movement would help. And none of that came from fear. It came from listening, from being gentle, from letting God speak into the space I used to fill with shame.

I don’t have five steps. I don’t have a trick or a system or a secret. But I can tell you this, and it's exactly what I am telling myself every day now: 

You are not weak for eating. You are not bad for resting. You are not broken because your body is soft or slow or healing.

You are allowed to love what God has made—especially when what He made is you.

Want more honest, sometimes awkward, reflections like this?

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