How my mom instilled in me a lifelong battle for healthy eating.
My unhealthy relationship with food began when I was just eight years old. My every emotion was supplied with cookies, pizza, whatever my little heart desired. My mom would try to support my feelings with tasty yet terrible-for-you treats.
How the recipe for gluttony developed.
I was an oops baby when my mom was 40, and my dad was 43. I had three brothers who were much older and in high school and beyond when I came along. My sister, who is number four, is almost eight years older than me.
Until the fateful spring of my eighth birthday, life was pretty routine. Dad worked, mom took care of the house, my sister and I were in school, and my brothers were grown and out living their own lives.
A week before my birthday, my dad died after suffering a heart attack weeks prior. Then five days later, my youngest brother died. He, too, had heart issues and passed away from heart disease.
Mom was thrust into the role of a working mother. We had a family business, and she took over the reins alongside my oldest brother. Our once routine life was no more.
Our family business was doing well for the next couple of years, and mom worked many hours while my sister was a teenager and living her life. It was the era of microwaves and frozen dinners in which I quickly became an expert in both. To this day, I can still recall what frozen dinner mashed potatoes taste like, not that I particularly want to.
My meals were frozen pizzas, Banquet frozen fried chicken, and tv dinners. Oh, and let’s not forget boil-in-the-bag turkey and gravy, which was now microwavable.
Every week at the store, Mom brought home cookies, cream sticks, ho hos, and whatever other treat she could find for me.
I know my mom loved me immensely, but she was overwhelmed and knew I loved sweets. If she saw a smile on my face, she thought she was doing alright by me, even if just for a few minutes.
The more I became addicted to the sugar, the more she bought for me. She often asked if I wanted cookies or cream sticks at the store. I would pick one, but it was in vain. She always brought home both and a box or two of Ho Ho’s.
Food became a reward for every emotion or action.
As a latch key kid, I had a lot of time on my hands and little interaction with others after school. This contributed to my lack of discipline or instruction into making good choices. The problem was further exacerbated when food was used as a reward or to placate feelings.
Sweets and fatty foods became my reward or solace when I…
- Performed well in school, which, unfortunately for my waistline, was often.
- Didn’t feel good.
- Having a bad day.
- Celebrating a good day.
- While watching t.v.
- A treat for after school, and as a latch key kid, I had free reign on my food.
- Craved comfort when I was home alone.
The scales continued to tip
As the scale went up, my mother refused to admit I was chubby. She would say, “Oh, that’s just baby fat, it will go away when you grow up.”
Well, I am grown up, and the baby fat never went away.
When I became an adult and started my own family, I vowed not to pass on my obsession with food to my children.
Instead, I body shamed my youngest, who was built like me, by trying to get them to eat healthy, even though I still wasn’t doing it myself.
I was so afraid of them becoming dependent on food for validation that I caused them to be insecure about their weight and make poor food choices.
Breaking the cycle of food addiction is a family affair.
My kids are adults in their twenties, and I finally have a grip on my food choices. I wish that it hadn’t taken me so long. One of the hardest things as a parent is when you see your child, no matter how old they are, struggle with something your insecurities caused. Fortunately, they are intelligent and more self-aware than I was at their age and are correcting the bad habits my behaviors caused.
But change isn’t easy. It takes hard work, constant attention to triggers and established behavior patterns and a deep, long look into my relationship with food.
Fortunately for me, I have amazing kids who are role models, demonstrating strength, resistance, and discipline that I hope to emulate. Now I am the child learning from them.
The cycle continues until someone has the courage to stop and say “No, this is not how it is supposed to be.”
It’s time for me to face responsibility for my poor eating habits
My mom faced incredible heartbreak, yet she rose above it, and I always knew I was loved and taken care of. I don’t blame her. We all make mistakes. For many years, I knew I had an unhealthy relationship with food and chose to ignore it. That is on me. And when I passed it on, that was also on me.
Life is about choices and responsibility.
I alone am responsible for my choices. I am responsible for how I raised my children, not just what I said to them but the example I provided.
Part of moving forward is healing from the past. It is necessary that I accept my life, all the good and the bad, and use it to make the correct choices going forward to put me on the best path for my health. By admitting my addiction, understanding it, and accepting it, I am finding strength in my resolve to prioritize my health.
I may be late to the party, but it’s not over yet.
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Previously Published on Medium
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