An Open Letter To My Metabolism

by Joelle Wisler
Originally Published: 

Dear Metabolism,

How are you? I miss you. We used to be so close, back when I was 20 and could eat an entire Totino’s party pizza for lunch and then wear a bikini the very same day. I could do other things too, like eat an actual cheeseburger — with cheese and bread and everything — and then do 10 push-ups, and you’d show up eager and ready to work it all off. Those were good days, those bikini days. I miss those days.

I think we need to talk, because I’ve begun to feel like this relationship has become a little one-sided. For example, I have been eating frickin’ green smoothies for breakfast for a week now. Do you know what a green smoothie looks like? It looks a little bit like baby poop mixed with that green vomit I saw once after eating too many jello shots. I eat the shake, and then I do some sit-ups just to get you going, and then…nothing. Things on my body are still jiggly, and it needs to stop.

Admit it, you’ve become lazy. You don’t write or call or allow me to eat cake without it landing on my ass. It’s not cool. I like cake, Metabolism, so don’t you think that you could just work a little harder on the cake? I can totally give up drinking beer for Sunday football, and we’ll talk about last Friday night when I was left alone with the ice cream if we could just come to a compromise on the cake situation.

I also want to discuss all the things I’ve been doing right to get our relationship back on track, but you haven’t seemed to notice. I’ve been exercising more, eating small, frequent meals — all the things you said would make you happier. But every morning, I get up and look at the scale and then try to put on my pants and you’ve failed me again. You’ve failed me, Metabolism. The scale knows it. My skinny jeans know it. I know it.

I need you to step it up a bit. Take those goddamn 12 almonds I ate at 10 o’clock in the morning and do your voodoo magic or whatever it is you do, and have those almonds start rubbing the lumps off. I actually ate a celery stick yesterday. Do you know how awful that was for me? I needed to put three heaping spoonfuls of peanut butter on it just to make it palatable. But peanut butter is protein, so I’m good, right? Right? Because I feel like I’ve lost sight of what will make you happy these days. Is it high protein, low fat, no carbs, or all three? I’ll do whatever it is you need.

You’ve just been so secretive and, I have to tell you, I’m really getting sick of you spending so much more time with my husband. That dude can eat and drink whatever he wants, and if he gains a few pounds, he’s like, “Oh, I guess I’ll have to stop eating lunch for five seconds.” And then you show up and he looks fine again. NOT COOL.

I know, I know. I haven’t been entirely honest and I did go a little wolverine-mode on those nachos last night. And, I get it, the what-constitutes-a-glass-of-wine concept needs to be revisited. Oh, and there was that study that came out saying that chocolate helps to give you a boost, but maybe shoving chocolate chips into my face by the bucketful while I’m PMSing is probably going a bit too far. But still. You used to be so perky and ready to go, and now it’s like you don’t even like me anymore. I miss us.

So, here’s what we’ll do. I promise to not bring anymore Doritos home and then act like I’m on spring break every night with the tequila, and maybe you can promise that I can eat an occasional piece of cake without it manifesting into a FUPA.

I’m willing to work on our relationship, the least you can do is show up every once in awhile.

Lots of love and hope,

Moms Everywhere


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