It’s been a funny few weeks, not least because, even after New Year’s Eve had been and gone, the Jewish community still had an oily smidge of Chanukah left to celebrate. So while everyone else binned the last few mince pies and signed up for half a dozen triathlons, some of us were still heroically scoffing doughnuts and latkes in the name of religious observance.

But eventually we had to pack up our menorahs, step on the scales and assess the festive damage. Because for all of us – Jewish and non-Jewish alike – January requires some long, hard thinking about the year to come. Coming after all the twinkly splurging in December, diet is often a big part.

I’ve had a problem with my size since I was young. As a teenager my weight went up and down like a very sad yo-yo, and by the time I got to uni (having swallowed every blintz and strudel in north London) I looked like a big, blond fishball. For years – too many – all that surplus bulk profoundly affected my physical and emotional wellbeing. I’d overeat, diet madly, then gorge again. When I started as a barrister it began to come off (I was, quite literally, working my tuches off) but it still fluctuated.

Eventually, a while back – with exercise and focus – I managed to reach and maintain a healthy weight but I’m always in a dialogue with myself (and my fridge) about mindfulness and consumption.

Of course it’s not necessarily about how you look.  Some of the most beautiful individuals don’t fit the absurdly unattainable shapes peddled by advertisers (just look at the utterly gorgeous Lizzo). It’s about feeling and being well.

But these days it can seem difficult to have honest conversations around food and health, especially when, in some quarters, there’s militant resistance to the very idea of saying anything negative about being overweight.

Now, just to be absolutely clear, I consider fat-shaming, or indeed any form of discrimination based on size, to be wrong. It’s a vile practice that serves no purpose other than to make people more miserable. I also entirely recognise that there are a variety of factors that lead to people becoming overweight, from illness to genetics to a lack of resources.

But all that doesn’t mean we should shy away from saying that being overweight can be bad for you. We know that it can cause any number of illnesses, including diabetes, heart disease and some cancers. One of the many terrible lessons we learned during the pandemic was that obesity was a significant co-morbidity with Covid. Knowing all that, I struggle with the school of thought that says it’s morally wrong to advocate for losing a few pounds or that pointing out the upsides constitutes some form of “oppression”.

What matters is that it’s done with compassion, common sense and empathy. It’s not about shaming, it’s about focusing on what it takes to live well. I believe we need to make food – good cooking, good nutrition, good habits – part of our education at home and in our communities (and, where that’s not possible, in our schools). As Jews, with food at the heart of our faith and celebration, it’s incredibly important.

With that in mind, here are little three tips from me that might help achieve the healthiest shape for you.

One, embrace the following mantra: “No nosh after nine”. I guarantee you’ll feel amazing. Yes you’ll lose that exquisite little endorphin thwack (the one that comes from a tiny something before bed). But in its place you’ll feel miles better, not just because you won’t have the extra calories in the morning but also you get a gratifying throb of self-control.

Two, if you’re able, 30 minutes of daily exercise is the purest heaven. A walk, a gym class, jazzercise, whatever. In lives full of things we can never finish, there’s a mini-tsunami of joy when you can cross one discrete thing off a list. Utter bliss.

Three, remember every day: you’re not doing it for other people. Taking charge of your body is the ultimate gift you can give to yourself.

It’s hard, I know, but believe me, it’s always worth it. With that, I will drag my gaze from that bag of bagels and instead, lace up my trainers and have a chilly little jog. In the long run, I know which option will really leave me genuinely satisfied.