“Did you earn that today?” he’d ask me, as we were tucking into a beef burger smothered in gouda, dripping with sauce. He’d know I hadn’t exercised that day. When I had, he’d say, “You’ll enjoy this pasta much more now because you earned it.” Sometimes we’d have eggs, bacon, cheese and bread for breakfast and he’d counter it with, “Don’t forget to exercise later.”

As I write this, it’s 7 months since I left but I still sometimes hear his manipulation in my head when I eat something ‘sinful’.

I have always been on what’s deemed to be ‘the larger side’. And ever since I can remember, people have made sure I’ve known it. Family, friends – even friends’ mothers (I wish I was joking) – have been happy to comment on my ‘thunder thighs’ or that I would ‘look better’ if I shed a few kilos. I have carried the weight of so many unsolicited opinions on how I look for far too long.

And so – unsurprisingly – seeing myself in the mirror gave me an overwhelming sense of disgust.

Moved by physical and mental health concerns, I got my act together at the beginning of 2019. Losing weight was part of my goal, but it was more about feeling healthy, in body and mind.

After 8 months, I’d made plenty of progress. I'd lost 12 kilograms (around 2 stones), and loved feeling physically and mentally stronger. Every kilo that had vanished when I stood on the scales kept me going. Each outfit that fit and felt better spurred me on.

I was tracking my calories at this point, but I’d got to a stage where I was less strict: I knew my body better, I knew how it reacted to certain kinds of foods, and I was exercising very regularly. I can’t say that I had a very balanced relationship with food before I started taking charge of my health, but since then, I've developed a healthy rapport with it.

Late last year, I landed in a relationship. While outwardly championing my efforts to become healthier, this man simultaneously made me feel unsure about the decisions I was making.

I’d taken ownership of my body over the past 9 months. I’d wrestled it free from the people who’d jabbed at it with hurtful comments.

I’d reclaimed it.
Mine.
Victory.

But soon after I’d met him, it felt like a different scuffle for ownership began – this time with him.

“Why are you only exercising 5 times a week?” he’d ask. “Because that was the goal I set myself,” I’d reply. He didn’t like that and I began to wonder whether I’d set myself a soft goal.

“Why aren’t you pushing yourself harder?” he’d ask. “Because I’m pushing myself hard enough,” I’d reply. He didn’t agree and I began to wonder whether I could push myself harder.

Once, after an argument along those lines, he turned his back to me and muttered, “I am surrounded by mediocrity.”

And later, “You can’t stop once you hit your goal weight. You must have new goals!” he’d shout. If I’d stayed with him, I wonder if his insistence on this would have slowly edged out what I wanted for myself so that ‘my’ goals became his goals. His goals for me.

Soon enough, I discovered he had been cheating on me. With multiple women. So many I’ve lost count, in fact. Another discovery followed: most of the other women were curvy or plus-size. Certainly, he was controlling when it came to my fitness – but quite paradoxically, he did seem to love curves. Was he dissatisfied with me because I’d lost *too much* weight since we met? Was I not curvy enough anymore?

Of course, his cheating and manipulation had very little to do with me or my size. It had to do with his desire to be in control. But still, my obsession with ‘earning’ food remained long after I threw him out of my life.

In the weeks after I left, I was being very deliberate about what I was (and wasn’t) putting in my body, and the strenuous exercise I was forcing it to do – it felt like he was still ruling over it with spiteful questions about whether it ‘deserved’ to be nourished. I went hungry on some nights because the nagging in my head said I hadn’t ‘earned’ my calories.

Now, I still hear the words, “Did you earn that today?” every now and then, but I am learning to ignore it.

I’m almost 2 years into my fitness journey and I’ve sustainably lost 22 kilos (3 and a half stones) and I’m training for my first official half marathon. I feel better about myself.

I’m reclaiming my body once again and relearning that nobody else should ever get to decide how, or when, or with what, I nourish it.