How I Healed My Relationship with Food
My name is Michelle, and I am a recovering food addict. (Hi, Michelle.) Until a couple years ago, I had a lifelong, unhealthy relationship with food. I’d like to tell you about it, and I hope that by being honest and vulnerable, we can possibly find common ground and better ways to support each other, collectively.
Growing up, I lived in a household where food tended to be scarce. My parents grew up in poverty, and our own 1980s family was still very much lower middle class. We dabbled in poverty, depending on my dad’s ability to work steadily. Sometimes there was enough money for everything we needed, but oftentimes, there wasn’t. Abundance around food wasn’t really a thing. We weren’t the type to invite people over for dinner, or to cook or prepare more than we absolutely needed. We ate simple meals with minimal seasonings and few fresh ingredients. My favorite regular meal was canned Dennison’s chili, served with Ore-Ida “Tater Rounds”. My birthday dinner was venison, mashed potatoes, and corn. (My dad shot the deer himself.)
My mother worked late, and by the time she picked my sister and I up from daycare and brought us home, she was often too tired to cook. This scenario usually ended in her uttering one of our favorite phrases: “What do you want from TacoTime?” Already, a lifelong pattern was forming in my life- I was becoming accustomed to either an empty refrigerator, or a steaming hot bag of deliciously fried fast food.
I began working in the restaurant industry during the summer I turned 14. It was really nice to have even a small amount of financial independence. I bought a pair of comfortable shoes, to wear to work, with my first paycheck. And a fine dining job was a dream for someone with a bare pantry! The employee meals were $1.50, and I could order anything off the menu. When summer ended and I returned to school, I was lucky enough to have a friend who often bought lunch for me, usually at TacoTime’s directly competitor- Taco Bell. (Prepare yourself- there are more than a few fast food tacos in this story.) This situation continued throughout high school, through my parent’s divorce, and through the remainder of my teen years.
College life brought dining halls and meal plans. I could eat whatever I wanted!!! I usually had spaghetti or cold cereal. I can’t recall if they offered a salad bar or not, but I never got involved in it, if they did. To pay for school, I worked constantly. Sometimes in retail, sometimes falling back on waiting tables. The pay was great for someone in my situation, and again, I got fed. Eventually, I was going to school full time, and working full time as a retail manager. I ate literally every single meal out. The small apartments I lived in always had dismal kitchens, and even if they hadn’t, I didn’t have the time or skill to cook.
Even with all of the walking and standing I did, I eventually began to gain weight. I made a decision that was incredibly popular at the time- I joined Weight Watchers! YASSS. I restricted my food intake for the first real time in my life, and watched the weight slide off easily. I ate microwaveable Lean Cuisines and Smart Ones, tiny, frozen meals with extremely questionable ingredients. I drank Diet Coke! So. much. Diet. Coke.
I started graduate school, and the cycle continued. Eat terribly, gain weight, join Weight Watchers, lose weight, go off the diet plan, get fat again, etc. I worked out either obsessively, or not at all. I was eating from the school salad bar this time around, though. As graduation (and a looming wedding date) approached I was looking pretty good, I thought. Sure, I still drank about a gallon of Diet Coke each day, but who didn’t, amirite?! Summer 2008 came and went, and soon I was officially a school psychologist, and officially married. One short month later, I was officially pregnant.
Pregnancy changed my relationship with food, a little. I quit the Diet Coke, mostly quit the McDonalds, and tried to do right by this little being growing inside me. After she was born, and then her brother after her, I was a “different person”. I had to model appropriate eating behavior, after all! I had financial resources now, and I didn’t want my kids to grow up the way I did. Of course, I didn’t really know much about feeding a family, but I did know how to read. I read books and spent hours on websites learning about homemade baby food, toddler finger foods, fun and healthy lunch box treats, and always more, more, more. My kids were well nourished, and I was so proud. But I was also living a problematic double life.
As a parent of young children, I was chronically exhausted. Like many people in this situation, I was also out of balance. I spent literally all of my time trying to be the best parent I could possibly be, trying to prove that I had “made it”, that I could give my kids the perfect little life. Needless to say, this genius plan involved zero self care. I did not exercise, did not spend time alone, did not have hobbies, did not have a skin care routine, and did not know my head from my ass.
Wait, did I say I didn’t have hobbies? My aging brain is beginning to forget! I remember now, though- I did add SLEEPING to the top of my list of “Favorite Things to Do”. Aaaand one other truly rewarding pastime…sneaking out at night to indulge in a secret, torrid affair with McDonald’s. Yup, while sleep deprived and under pressure, I returned to the comfort objects I had grown to rely on in the past, namely, cheeseburgers and Diet Coke. But this time, I was stealthy about it. The kids couldn’t know that I ate this poison! I’d throw the trash away outside, away from the house. I drove with the windows down to get rid of the french fry smell, even in winter! I am not proud to share this with you. (And the kids absolutely did know.)
Do you know what it’s like to have the employee at the drive-thru recognize you? Have you ever joined Weight Watchers for the tenth time, stopped going to the drive thru, only to return several months later and endure the look on that same employee’s face? It’s a combination of, “Hey, I remember you! Good to see you!” and “Oh, you’re back. That’s actually kind of a bummer for you.”
After about TEN MORE YEARS of this destructive eating cycle, I wish I could say I had enough and finally changed. Sure, I wanted to. At the same time, I honestly felt like I didn’t know how, and wasn’t strong enough to overcome my powerful addiction to sugar, salt, and fat. I was fully 60 pounds overweight. There was very little hope in my heart that I could ever be normal. After forty years of fast food tacos? And yet, we both know this blog is titled, “How I Healed My Relationship With Food”. How did I get from Point A, which I’ve just spent a bit of time describing to you, to Point B? Like many truly transformative journeys in our lives, this one began abruptly, and without my consent. I’ll never forget the day Point B popped onto the horizon, even though I didn’t even know it was there.
It was March 13, 2020.
I have to stop writing for today, because those adorable little babies I mentioned are teens and tweens now, and they need the Mom Taxi to show up on time!
To be continued…