As promised, I’m here with a review of David Kessler’s The End of Overeating [sic---i.e., this book ain't gonna end it].
Kessler’s theory, presented with plenty of studies* to back it up, is that sugar, fat, and salt are addictive substances, particularly when grouped together. Because they’re addictive, they cause many people to eat beyond satiety, and then to become trapped in a conditioned cycle of overeating.
*I’m in no position to judge the validity of the science, of course. Kessler’s the former head of the FDA and is respected for his role in challenging the tobacco industry. I don’t know how deeply he looked into the studies he cites.
Kessler is particularly good on the nefarious role that food companies, chain restaurants, and fast food restaurants play in creating “hyper-palatable” food, products and dishes comprising layers of sugar, salt, and fat in combination, over which many Americans have become powerless.
So far, so good. I’ve found all three of those substances to be mood-altering and potentially (or actually) addictive—as refined sugar is my drug of choice, I’ve gone off it before and am considering going off it again—and Kessler’s research is convincing. The problem with TEoO is everything that comes later. Allow me to elaborate:
Kessler goes a long way to portray sugar, fat, and salt as addictive substances, comparing them to drugs and alcohol and pointing toward programs like AA and NA as viable means of recovery. Why, then, no mention of OA (Overeaters Anonymous)? It’s a glaring elision. There must be a reason, but . . . what?
Predictably, based on his essential beliefs about overeating, Kessler recommends removing sugar, salt, and fat from the diet.* Alongside this (drastic) change in behavior, he recommends classic Cognitive Behavioral Therapy techniques like demonizing the hyper-palatable foods (and the companies who make them), plus placing yourself in a community of people who will do the same.
*Astonishingly, he says that the addicted overeater can add them back in eventually, in small doses. Um . . . isn’t the point of the addiction model that you can’t have just one?
Some problems here.
First, Kessler seems to feel that shaming is a worthy technique—i.e., it’s good to feel ashamed of eating hyper-palatable food, because then you’ll eat less of it. Even without the benefit of science, I think most of us know that shame doesn’t work. After all, who is shamed in our culture more than fat people? And yet obesity, as we hear pretty much daily, is on the rise. And even if shame were to work, I’d hardly recommend it as a tool for healthy living.
Second, CBT may be helpful in the short term, but chances are, not many people will be able to drastically change their diets over the long haul, simply by trying to “re-wire” their neural networks to believe that hyper-palatable food is bad. I mean, doesn’t everyone already try to do that? And end up eating that kind of food anyway? Would you tell an alcoholic that she could stop drinking simply by convincing herself that drinking is bad?
In other words, Kessler promises us a radical new way of understanding overeating, and then he gives us classic dieting techniques that have failed for so many people for so long.
Kessler’s attachment to the concept of “control” is telling, betraying a failure to understand addiction. One of the cornerstones of 12-step programs is relinquishing control, using surrender as a spiritual tool to live from a place of groundedness and reality instead of distraction and addiction. What Kessler is advising overeaters to do is what 12-steppers might call “white-knuckling it,” clamping down on behavior (and therefore feelings, although he can’t see that) with rules designed to override the mind’s and body’s impulses. Which, long-term, sounds to me like a recipe for a compensatory binge.
David Kessler, meet Geneen Roth. Roth has written a slew of books about compulsive overeating, and what she understands is that there’s a relationship between feelings and eating. She also understands that most people who overeat are out of touch with their internal satiety mechanism. In other words, our bodies tell us when we’re hungry and when we’re full. If we eat only when we’re hungry and stop when we’re full, we’re in good shape, giving our bodies enough and not too much.
But many people eat because food’s in front of them, or it’s time to eat, or they’re feeling upset, or, yes, because they’re addicted to certain foods. (Alternatively, others don’t eat when they’re hungry—they’re dieting, or distracted—and mess up their relationship with satiety that way.) Roth has a great program for getting back in touch with your internal society mechanism. She’s interested in a peaceful relationship with food—not a teeth-gritting horror show where food is the enemy and every meal is a struggle.
I wish Kessler had read a little Roth before he wrote his book. In fact, I wish most Western medical practitioners, who seem to believe that behavior can be modified without deep emotional work despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, would look beyond CBT and start learning about somatic means of healing.
Also missing from Kessler’s book: compassion for people of all sizes, plus a recognition that bodies come in different shapes.
Sigh.
