In a new weekly feature, Her.ie newbie Liz is going to share her weight loss journey. She’ll be filling you in on fighting temptation, her willpower struggles with the cocktail menu and taking painfully slow steps towards regular exercise. All in the name of a dress.  _____________________________________ Hanging on the wall at the end of my bed is the constant reminder I plan on shedding nearly two stone this year. I also plan on marking the trials and tribulations of ‘trying to be good’ – the favourite saying we all tout, and quickly replace when a cake is put in front of us.    Week 30: Back to the good old days I’m not one for fad diets. I think I tried my version of the raw diet before, and buckled when I heard you couldn’t put the cheese sauce as a side. Who eats cauliflower straight?! Any diet that tells you cheese is the devil is pretty much a sin in my book. I did start looking back at women in my family though and I made a bit of a realisation. Nobody else had ever had a problem with their weight. My mother was tall and willowy and married in a size 4 wedding dress. My grandmother had assured me she was the height of a fashionista during 1950s Ireland, and we had the photos to prove it. Granny was a knockout. And as for this generation, my sister took after my mother’s frame and well my niece. My niece is two and in perfect proportion, and as an adoring aunt I add that she is just a little heartbreaker. So the buck stops with me. Granted, I had child-bearing hips from the time I was cycling a bike with stabilisers, but it can’t all be down to my body shape. I started thinking about my family and realised none of the women had ever been on a diet. There was never a scales in our family bathroom, and with a lot of Irish families, the two strong female influences on me had known hard work growing up on farms, helping out on land and doing work in the family home. What I’m trying to say is they had healthy appetites. And they ate constantly. Food was always enjoyed at chez McHugh. Even though the family home as I know it is long gone, I still remember that my mum used to set the breakfast place for her and my gran every evening before bed. Two bowls for porridge, two side plates for the thick soda bread, and a butter knife (because you would be murdered trying to sneak a spread onto the kitchen table.) As well as a dinner in the evenings, Sunday was our special roast day. Dad, who had his own business, worked long hours and never really got to eat with us in the evening. My mum who had diabetes, usually needed a meal before we got home from school for her sugar levels. And so Sunday was the day we all sat down around our dining room table. We were served dishes piled high in potatoes, meat and veg, a side of gravy and a slice of some type of tart for dessert (it was Sunday after all!) I remember the first time I told my mum I felt fat. She looked at me with a concern only a mother has. She told me I was beautiful and not to worry. That I didn’t have to be the same size as everyone else. Here’s the thing. I didn’t want to be the same size as everyone else though. I just wanted to look like my sister. Like my friends. It was the year I was making my Confirmation and I remember the dread of having to have my class photo taken. I knew I stood head, shoulders (and width) above the rest of the girls in the class. It actually makes me feel a little sad to realise that I was already conscious of weight, but for all those lines about sticks and stones breaking your bones, well those words can settle in deep somewhere too. Fast forward 14 years, and I love still love food. I still battle with my weight but I started thinking about how my parents, my sister and other women in my family seemed to get on better without a diet. Now I know that personally I need something to keep me on track. A goal to work towards, but I started looking at how they ate. Three meals a day. No take-aways and hardly any processed food. So this week I took my Weight Watchers back to the 1950s style of Irish eating. I bought my vegetables and made a big pot of homemade (point-free) soup. I ate porridge and fruit for breakfast, and dinner consisted of fish or chicken with vegetables and a few potatoes to seal the deal. I also quit my love affair with a cup of tea and a chocolate treat and tried to convince myself cupcakes aren’t delicious (this part of the plan really didn’t work). So one week later, I had my chance to step on the scales. And this week I lost a pound and a half. It’s a start, one that I’m really happy to take and run with. You never know, maybe I’ll have my own cooking diary by the end of this. Ok, we all know that won’t happen, because nobody needs a cheese channel, but watch this space… This week’s stats go a little something like this – Height: 5ft 8 Starting Weight: 174 lbs Current Weight: 157.5 lbs Weight Loss To Date: 16.5 lb Goal: 148 lbs Feeling: Very disheartened The Dress in Question… NOW FITS!!