Feeding with Love - Communion, or Food for the Spirit

[Note: This is the fifth and final part of my series on “Feeding with Love”. Also, my apologies if I have offended anyone with the religious discussion – that was certainly not my intent.]

When I started this series on “Feeding with Love,” I thought that Communion might be a good topic for Christmas. But as I started thinking about what I would write, I quickly realized that I didn’t know enough about it. My family left the Catholic church when I was eight, so while I remembered Communion being important, I couldn’t have said why.

After some asking and poking around, I found this description online: “The sacrament of the Holy Eucharist was instituted as a food, a spiritual food…. When we eat physical food, it becomes united to us…. In Holy Communion… [we] become one with Christ…. [It] is a mystical and spiritual union of the soul with Jesus.”

And my minister (also a former Catholic, although for much longer than me) sent me this description: “Sacramental communion… was a chance to experience our oneness with Jesus, and thus with God. You might say it was meant to feed the life of the spirit.”

This resonated with me more than I expected. Previously, my only real memories about Communion revolved around transubstantiation, but this definition made more sense to me. After all, both “Am I Hungry?” and my health counseling program stress the importance of feeding other areas of your life, including your spirit, recognizing that in many ways this is more important than what we physically consume.

In fact, to me, this seems the ultimate expression of feeding with love because it is honoring what we truly care about. We may not think about it very often, but we all need food for our souls. Some people find this in sacramental Communion, in accepting the bread and wine as the body and blood of Christ. Others may find it in a different type of communion, in connection with nature or other people, or whatever it is that moves them.

What I find fascinating is how feeding this other hunger can nourish the rest of our lives. When we are satisfied spiritually, the whole world may seem brighter, everything more vivid and engaging and exciting. We may find that we don’t crave physical food as much because our deeper need has been acknowledged and assuaged. We may go about our day with a lighter and more loving heart.

So this Christmas, whether you celebrate is as the birth of Jesus or not, or even if you don’t celebrate it at all, I invite you to consider his example of providing food for the spirit. And perhaps that nourishment will allow you to celebrate the holidays with less focus on the food on your plate, and more on the people, places, and traditions you love. 

Feeding with Love - Feeding the Hungry

(Part of my series on Feeding with Love)

Have you ever been hungry, so famished that you feel like you could eat anything, and the hunger takes on a life of its own, clawing at your stomach, such a constant demand that you can’t completely focus on anything else? And if you have felt that, have you been in the position of not being able to feed that hunger, but must somehow live with it, until it becomes a hollow ache, no longer pain but a chronic emptiness?

I think about this sometimes these days when the bus takes me past the soup kitchen on the way home, and I see the long lines of people gathered in the cool darkness of late afternoon. How many of them would have access to a meal if not for the soup kitchen? How long has it been since their last meal?

Some members of my church volunteer there once a month because they consider it one of the most important forms of ministry. Although I’ve only joined them a few times, I have to agree. Many of us know the joy of giving, especially in the holiday season, and what could be more rewarding than giving someone one of the very necessities of life? And even more, to do so in a loving way, to recognize and respect the humanity of each person and act accordingly as you serve them food.

That can be hard for those who are used to feeling superior to people who get their meals in such places, thinking they’re lazy or taking advantage of those with soft hearts. In truth, though, more and more people are turning to those services, people who have been hit hard by the economic downturn and have no other options.

For some people, too, the concept of hunger is abstract, not a reality, making it difficult to empathize. In a society of such abundance, it’s possible to eat so much that you no longer recognize hunger in yourself, and the only thought you might give to it is when someone says that you should “clean your plate because there are starving children in Africa” (or other country of choice). 

But I do know what it’s like to be hungry, not because I can’t afford food but because I no longer overeat. Comparing that to those who face hunger by force, I am both humbled and grateful that most of the time I don’t waste food any longer by eating what I don’t need. (Note that I am not advocating deliberately starving yourself, just following your body's natural hunger and fullness rhythms.)

This makes me think about my food choices in a more critical way. When I go grocery shopping, instead of buying so much that rather than waste excess food I’m tempted to “clean my plate” (which to my knowledge has never particularly helped anyone, starving or otherwise), I question what I”m buying. Could I make a less expensive choice? Do I truly need so much?

I may not save a lot of money doing this, but what I do save I’ve recently decided to set aside to help feed those who don’t always know when they’ll get a meal. And in doing so, I can feed both my own hunger and that of others with thoughtfulness and love.

Feeding with Love - Vitamin L

Have you ever heard someone say “I can taste the love” when eating food prepared by caring hands? Or have you noticed yourself how a dish made by a loved one tastes different somehow?

These subtleties come from what my health counseling program refers to as “vitamin L” - the love that goes into food as it’s being made. While this is not recognized among the standard micronutrients, the idea is that this is beneficial, and that food including this ingredient is better for us.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure how I feel about the concept of energy impacting the nutritional value of food. If something is made by a person who is angry, depressed, stressed, or lonely, does that really change the composition of the dish so that those eating it absorb those emotions via the food? I’m not sure.

What I do believe is that if someone is relaxed and joyful when cooking, and they’re making food for someone they care about, they are apt to be more careful. They will likely pay more attention to not only the quality of the result but also the presentation, wanting the food to be pleasing in every way. And I have to admit that given a choice between something mass-produced and packaged, or something homemade, even if they have the exact same ingredients, I’ll go for homemade every time. Whether from the nebulous vitamin L, or simply my perception being different when I know it was made with care, I find such food does taste different.

I’ve been keeping this in mind as I do my holiday baking and potluck cooking. Instead of getting stressed out by the busyness of the year, I put on music I enjoy, breathe deeply, relax and have fun with it.

But the other piece I like to remember is that this also holds true when I’m cooking for myself and no one else. Too often we neglect ourselves, thinking it’s too much effort for just one person, but I am just as deserving of food made with love and attention as anyone else. And so are you.

Approached this way, even the simplest of foods - scrambled eggs, grilled cheese sandwiches, steamed vegetables - are more satisfying. I can truly feel and taste the love, and I hope that you, too, find ways to add vitamin L to your meals and to all areas of your life.

Feeding with Love - Showing We Care

This time of year can be very rough for people trying to be careful of their weight and what they’re eating, because food is everywhere. Potlucks and holiday gatherings and food in the office and people giving you cookies and holiday fairs – it can be quite overwhelming.

What can make it even harder is that many people like to prepare food for those they care about. That can be wonderful, providing joy to both giver and receiver if it’s truly wanted and appreciated. But it can sometimes put uncomfortable pressure on the receiver. You feel like you’re obligated to eat because you know they made it for you. And if you try to politely decline, I’ve heard stories about the giver saying things like, “I made it just for you!” and “If you love me you’ll have some.”

I fully understand the desire to make food for people you care about. I discovered this joy in college, when I first made chocolate chip cookies the way I’d learned from my dad for people at work who had helped me through my initial rough adjustment period. I couldn’t have asked more from their reactions.

“Are you sure you didn’t use magic to make these taste so good?” one of the guys asked, after about his sixth cookie.

“Oh my God, they’re perfect!” another woman enthused. “It’s like eating a little piece of heaven.”

“They’re so moist and gooey,” my manager added. “They’re great.”

Hearing it made me feel warm and melty myself, and I realized how happy I was to be able to make good food for people that I liked. It’s something I continue do, particularly this time of year. My Christmas presents for the past few years have always included pumpkin muffins (made with pumpkin I get at the Farmer’s Market in the fall and bake down then freeze), often a variety of cookies, and sometimes, if I’m feeling adventuresome, things like caramel.

And I don’t just stick with the sweet. I recently made some soup and roasted root vegetables for a friend who has brand-new twin boys. I’m also on my church’s list of people to contact to provide meals to those who are ill or recovering.

The key for me is make sure that the people I’m giving the food to actually want it. I know that the goodies I make people for Christmas are appreciated and consumed, so I continue to make them. Baking things for church events (like the Holiday Fair) satisfies my baking itch while also providing something they’ve asked for. And I know personally how wonderful it is to get home-cooked meals when not in a position to make them myself, instead of having to rely on eating out or packaged meals.

And if people try to encourage me to eat when I don’t want to at that time? I may ask to take some home, or explain that I’m just too full from all the other good things and wouldn’t truly appreciate it just then, but maybe I could have the recipe? Or I may take just a tiny portion, enough for a bite to get the taste of it, because sometimes that’s the only thing you can do.

I also try to be careful that making food for people isn’t the only way I choose to show that I care for them. Hugs, cards, e-mails, phone calls, and smiles all help, too. And the times that I do express those feelings with food, I’m as respectful as possible of their wishes and preferences. To me, that is the best way to feed people with love.

Feeding with Love - Love Feast

[Note: The Sunday before Thanksgiving this year, I went to the All Souls Unitarian Universalist church in Brattleboro, Vermont. They were kicking off the “Guest at Your Table” campaign, so the service was about hunger and providing food. It included the fable about the difference between heaven and hell, which reminded me of the first time I heard that story. It all combined to make me think about what it means to feed one another with love. I decided to blog a short series about it, approaching this idea from different angles over a few weeks.]

The first time I heard the story about the difference between heaven and hell was during the Love Feast at the 1992 Young Religious Unitarian Universalist conference called Con-Con (short for Continental Conference). It was held that summer in Poland, Maine, and my brother and I were able to attend for free since we agreed to babysit the kids of a couple we knew who were working at the conference. It lasted a week, and the Love Feast was my favorite event. At the time, I weighed around 200 pounds and had been heavy for a number of years. Below is what I wrote about it for my memoir.

The conference was on a lake (hard to avoid in Maine), and the Love Feast was held at dusk on the second day. I didn’t know many people, both from shyness about interacting with them and because some of my time was taken up at the infirmary and watching the kids. So I stood on the periphery at first and just observed: the candles winking like fireflies on the picnic tables; the crowds of people milling around in tie-dye and flannel and henna tattoos and long hair and dreadlocks; the trees turning slightly amorphous against the darkening sky; the soft ripple of the water under the chatter; the cool breeze; the first stars coming out; the bowls of finger food on the tables.

Then everyone quieted to hear our leader, who liked to go by the name Yoda. “The Love Feast is inspired by a story of a group of people who wanted to know what heaven and hell were like, so they went to visit them. In hell, they found everyone seated at a huge table filled with food, but everyone looked hungry. The group realized it was because the table only had very long forks, and people couldn’t feed themselves, so they were forced to sit in front of the food without eating.

“Then the group went to heaven. To their surprise, it was almost the same as hell, with the same long table piled with food, and the same long forks. But here, everyone was happy and laughing, because they were feeding each other. So tonight, for the Love Feast, you can only eat what other people feed you. And I ask that you feed one another in silence.”

Almost everyone started immediately, grabbing grapes, pretzels, pieces of candy, apple slices, popcorn, and whatever else they could find on the tables before feeding each other, some solemnly, some laughing. But by some unspoken rule, they all hugged after the food.

My heart hammered. Did I dare take part in this? Would anyone actually feed me? Would they recoil if I fed them and offered a hug? Could I even think about this food offering as something done only out of love, not judgment? Did I deserve to be included?

Then one of the girls in my Shamanic workshop came over with a smile and proffered grape. I felt slightly silly, like a baby, as I opened my mouth and she popped the grape in. It was sweet and faintly tart as I chewed. She gave me a quick hug then walked off. I looked after her a moment, heart suddenly expanding like the Grinch’s. With a smile, I grabbed some peanut M&M’s and made my way into the crowd.

I was looking specifically for Yoda, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Eddie Vedder (the lead singer of Pearl Jam), only shorter, and whom I therefore instantly adored. But I also found others who had been kind to me, and they didn’t turn away when I offered to feed them. Neither did Yoda, and he even returned my shy hug. What most astonished me was when the leader of my Shamanic workshop, a young man with coffee-colored skin, black hair, and smiling brown eyes, not only fed me but enveloped me in a warm, nurturing embrace. It felt like he actually cared about me in some way, that the hug wasn’t because of the Love Feast but rather the event was an excuse for the hug.

Overwhelmed, I wandered down to the shore, arms wrapped as far around me as they would go. I stared at the gentle water, sparkling with reflected moon- and starlight, trying to cry as quietly as possible. I could not remember feeling so accepted and welcomed. I looked down at the few remaining M&M’s in my hand and realized that for the first time in a long while I wasn’t tempted to eat them. Instead, I quieted my breathe, wiped my tears, and went back to the feast.

That memory has remained vivid for me for almost two decades. It was the first time I had ever considered what it would be like to be fed only with love. Even now, it brings tears to my eyes, and I can definitely say that it was a heavenly experience. This holiday season, may you and your loved ones share food with such love and grace and holiness.

Appreciating Thanksgiving

[Note: This is a piece I originally wrote for a church service on Appreciating Everyday Miracles.]

I haven’t always appreciated Thanksgiving. In fact, during the years when my body-mass index was far higher than recommended, I positively hated it. The societal encouragement to indulge in gluttony was like torture because I knew it was only for other people; anyone my size should deprive themselves as much as possible, as we were supposed to do every day. It emphasized all the issues I faced with food and made the holiday full of guilt and shame and very little in the way of enjoyment. 

Only in more recent years have I been able to truly understand and embrace Thanksgiving. Not so much the story of the Pilgrims, but the simpler and older tale of the wonder of food itself. Only now do I appreciate the fundamental and miraculous ability of a tiny seed to grow into something that will nourish other life. 

Letting myself truly imagine this, I can now approach the holiday with a deeply humble spirit. Surveying the feast spread out each year, I am no longer conflicted about whether or not I should partake of it. Instead, I simply appreciate the bounty and everything that went into creating it, and I eat as much as I need and want, savoring each bite. Creaminess of mashed potatoes, tartness underlying the cranberry sauce, bursting kernels of corn, juicy bites of turkey, warm golden-brown rolls spread with butter that melts into every nook and cranny, savory-turned-sweet pumpkin pie with freshly whipped cream. 

Even better, this has also freed me to delight in the companionship of my family and friends. Sharing that meal, and all the others I eat throughout the year, I am no longer separate and ashamed. Instead, I can embrace the holiday wholeheartedly. And that truly feels like a miracle.

Competitive Eating

Last week’s episode of Bones featured competitive eating (see http://www.fox.com/bones/videos/, the clip for The Gluttony Games), something I have to admit I’ve never understood. In the show, Booth commented that it “really is a sport”, since people train for it, compete, and win trophies as well as quite a bit of money if they’re good enough. But this is the part I don’t understand. Why do you want to do that? And why is it fun to watch?

Bones said that societies have had eating games for millennia to use as a show of abundance. But surely there can be other ways of displaying that than gorging to death, as some Romans did.

Perhaps my struggle is because this is the absolute antithesis of what the “Am I Hungry?” program teaches, as well as what I would counsel people from a health coach perspective. When eating competitively, the last thing you want to do is eat mindfully. The goal is actually to not chew your food, simply get it down your throat as quickly as possible. If you paused to savor and taste it, you’d be out in no time flat.

Then there’s the whole overeating aspect. In the episode, the agents went to a competition, and the winner had eaten fifty-six hot dogs in a matter of minutes (I think 12). I can’t imagine eating five or six hot dogs in that time. Even if I think of eating something I prefer of around the same size, say a banana, I would feel absolutely terrible afterward, bloated and uncomfortable and probably literally sick. It would take me days to recover. Why would I want to do this? (Admittedly, some of the people in the clip commented that they “purge” afterward, but that seems almost nastier to me.)

For the competitive eaters, as with any competition, I suppose I can understand that if they’re good at it and it makes good money, they would want to pursue that. But where is the joy in watching people eat that way? Bones and Booth were both getting into it, yet I found my stomach turning. Is it the morbid fascination of watching a car wreck? Is it sheer amazement of what the human body is capable of? It all eludes me.

Yet much as I don’t understand the idea, it’s something that most Americans indulge in at least once a year, if on a less intense scale - Thanksgiving. Maybe it’s not quite a competition, but many people certainly pile their plates high, seeing how much they can fit in. Even those who are generally instinctive eaters may get caught up in the indulgence, eating well past the point of satiation. I remember, for instance, when my niece was 10, she ate so much that she unbuttoned her jeans and just laid in a heap on the floor, moaning and holding her stomach. (I will say, though, that I’ve never seen her do that again - apparently she didn’t enjoy it.)

Whatever the reason this is a popular sport, it’s not one in which I plan to participate or watch. I’ll find my competition elsewhere if I want it, and stick to the simpler, easier enjoyment of savoring my food, one bite at a time, and appreciating feeling better after I eat than I did before I started.

"Think Direction, Not Perfection"

I admit it – I’m a perfectionist. If I’m going to do something, I’ll do it to the best of my abilities, with a (sometimes obsessive) attention to detail. I double-check and sometimes triple-check my work, wanting it to be as error-free as possible. When I make a mistake, I am often my harshest critic.

This is especially true in relation to food and eating. After all, I, better than most, know what I should be doing, and that I may feel physically bad if I misstep. Plus, as a facilitator for the “Am I Hungry?” program and a health counselor in training, I experience additional internal pressure. To be a good model for those I work with, shouldn’t I be perfect?

Except I’m human. By definition, I’m not perfect, hard as that is to accept. Which is why one of the phrases I love from “Am I Hungry?” is Dr. May’s advice to, “Think direction, not perfection.”

The goal is not to make no mistakes, but rather to learn from them. When they happen, we shouldn’t beat ourselves up but rather see what happened so that in the future we can apply that learning to achieve a different result. And in that sense, perhaps it would benefit my clients to know I still mess up now and again, and they can see how I recover.

In thinking of this, I am particularly inspired by the example of Julia Child. She started cooking on TV with a very limited budget, before they could afford multiple takes. Therefore anything that went wrong was captured forever on tape, for millions to see. Ironically, that’s one of the things viewers loved most – her humanness, her relaxed attitude toward mistakes, and how she found ways to correct them. It made her that much more accessible, and made the art of cooking less intimidating.

In that same spirit, I confess that I’ve lost and maintained weight not by having an unbreakable will but by forgiving myself for those mistakes I make and moving on. Some examples of things I still do at times include:

• Eating when I’m not hungry out of a sense of obligation or social pressure
• Choosing foods that might not be the healthiest option
• Eating more than I need (see my recent Harvest on the Harbor post)

I’m very happy to have gotten to the point of acceptance and forgiveness when these mistakes happen, so I can move back into my instinctive eating cycle without wasting time or energy on making myself feel bad. While it can be hard to get to that point, it’s so important. We are, after all, only human, and direction, not perfection, is the best route we can take. It allows us to live and eat in a sustainable way, but it is also very freeing and joyful. And I’ve decided that for me, that is perfection enough.

Tricking or Treating

The first fall after I moved into my condo, when October rolled around, I did what every good American did. I bought Halloween candy. I surveyed the options at the store and tried not to be overwhelmed by the variety: chewy, crunchy, gooey, jaw-breaking, sweet, sour, chocolaty, nutty, fruity, and more, in all shapes and sizes. I went for what I considered the “good stuff” – Kit Kats, Snickers, Reese’s Sticks, and Smarties.

On Halloween, I put it all in a big bowl (except for a few pieces I’d sampled – only to make sure it was good enough to hand out, you understand), then waited for kids to show up. A few did, but I was left with quite a lot of candy. The next year I bought less, but I also had fewer visitors, so I ended up in the same situation. This was prior to the change to daylight savings, when it ended before Halloween, which meant finding a way to my door in the darkening afternoon was challenging, and perhaps not worth the effort.

I’ve since given up on buying any candy, since I no longer get trick-or-treaters at all, but I know other people who want some on-hand just in case. Who knows? Perhaps a new family has moved in. And if that lone knock comes at the door, do you really want to be the one to turn away that eager child in fancy dress empty-handed? (My strategy is that I could give them a couple of pieces of my Dove dark chocolates in a worst-case scenario.) The risk of getting a “trick” played on you seems slim these days, but I suppose that’s a remote chance.

The real trick, though, is dealing with the candy at all. For those who buy it in excess, is it just to be safe, or is it because we’re tricking ourselves, saying it’s for the kids when really it’s for us? And if that latter is the case, then we need to perpetuate the myth by eating the candy guiltily, in secret, and if we get through an entire bag before the holiday, replacing it before anyone finds out. I know some people buy candy they don’t really like to try to avoid this – but it may still tempt them, in which case they end up eating something they not only don’t need but don’t even enjoy.

In those cases, the trick is on us. To avoid it, I have a suggestion. Treat yourself. Imagine allowing yourself to eat exactly what you want. Maybe it’s in the Halloween aisle, maybe it’s somewhere else. But whatever it is, remind yourself that you are worth enjoying what you eat, if you’re truly hungry for it. And perhaps, if you fully savor this treat, you won’t be tricked into eating that candy. 

Harvest on the Harbor - Going with the Flow

Display from Cranberry Island Kitchen

This weekend was the third annual Harvest on the Harbor event in Portland, and I attended again, this time with some of my family members. Since I’d been before, I wanted to be more strategic about it, keeping in mind the recommendations I make for my “Am I Hungry?” workshops.

“I’d like to take a quick look at all the options before starting, to make sure I’m hungry for what I really want,” I said as we walked in.

“Okay,” they said agreeably.

I got past about three tables when I realized they weren’t with me anymore. I glanced around quickly, knowing that with the crowds it would be all too easy to get separated. I saw them a table back, licking their fingers.

When I rejoined them, my dad gave me a semi-apologetic shrug. “I couldn’t help it. I’m hungry, and I am what I am.”

I had to grin, knowing what he meant by that – food it one of his greatest pleasures, and he doesn’t hesitate to indulge that pleasure. I knew then I had a choice. I could try to stick to my original plan, which would make staying together difficult and the whole event more complicated. Or I could just go with the flow, enjoy myself, and trust myself.

It didn’t take me long to decide. “Did they have anything good?”

From that point we slowly made our way around the tent, trying whatever appealed to us as it came up. I didn’t try everything, and I didn’t eat everything that I tried (some of the portions were quite generous), but I didn’t turn away from anything that I wanted to sample. And what a feast to choose from! Various seafood dishes, meat and poultry, soups and chowders, pizzas, condiments, jams and jellies, snacks, desserts, soda, wine, and beer, from numerous vendors. Some of my favorites were:

• seaweed coleslaw
• smoked salmon wrapped in a crepe with a balsamic reduction
• gingerbread of a blueberry compote with whipped cream and a sprig of mint
• sesame roasted cashews
• chai applesauce
• a medley of gelato and sorbetto flavors: Maine apple lemon ginger, strawberry balsamic, mint cookies and cream, and chocolate caramel

Salmon wrapped in crepe

Gingerbread with blueberry compote

Did I eat more than I needed, past the point when I was hungry? Yes. Do I feel guilty? Definitely not – and more to the point, I also agree with my aunt, who commented, “I don’t regret eating anything that I tried.” Do I wish I had stuck with my strategy? No – it would have made the whole event much less relaxed and enjoyable. And it was a good reminder that while I eat as healthily as I can most of the time, sometimes just going with the flow is the best approach.

Treating Yourself

“Treating yourself is never wrong.”

That was the pithy phrase in the wrapper of a Dove dark chocolate I recently ate. I can understand why the chocolate people would want that message with their candy, but I don’t know that I can agree with it.

For one, on principle alone, I’m not comfortable with absolutes. How can it never be wrong to treat yourself? What if doing so means exceeding your financial means, or risking your health? Or what if it means causing harm to someone else?

The other troubling aspect is that reading the message while savoring a piece of chocolate automatically makes me think of treating myself only in relation to food. This is nothing new in our society, and that association is particularly easy to make this time of year when we’re bombarded with candy sales in preparation for Halloween, so we can have a “treat” on-hand to avoid the “trick.”

But even in the late winter and early summer, when we don’t have as many holidays to contend with, that idea of reward being food-based is hard to escape. When I was trying various means of losing weight, it took me and my mom a while to settle on a way to acknowledge my progress when I had lost five pounds. What do you offer someone who loves sweets as an incentive or encouragement that isn’t related to eating? It depends on the person, but for me, it was getting a new paperback book.

Not that it’s wrong to treat yourself with food - it is, after all, one of life’s great pleasures. But to only  think of food when treating yourself is very limiting and potentially destructive. We can do so much to nurture and nourish ourselves that isn’t related to food. Consider these ideas:

• talking to a friend
• telling a loved one all the reasons you care for them
• letting yourself pause and take some deep breaths
• listening to your favorite music
• reading works that comfort, inspire, cheer, and/or motivate you
• playing with pets
• going for a walk
• listing all the reasons you appreciate yourself

If I shift my thinking to those types of “treats,” suddenly I find I am much more comfortable with the message. While these are not activities that are never wrong (for instance, reading while driving would not be the best idea), these sorts of approaches can provide a much deeper and long-lasting pleasure. With that in mind, I urge you to think of your own ways of treating yourself, and to think outside the box (or candy wrapper) to something beyond food.

Forgoing Food

What would you give up if it meant that you could live forever and have eternal youthful? Sunlight? Your soul? Food?

That question came up recently when reading a novel that included vampires, and it gave me pause. Much as I enjoy fantasy, for some reason the food part of the equation had never struck me. In most modern vampire mythology (the “Twilight” series excluded) vampires are creatures of the night, and they are considered unholy, so the sunlight and soul sacrifice are usually a given. But to forgo food?

Would I want to live forever, but never be able to eat? I understand that in most vampire stories, the vampires don’t crave food, nor do they need it. The problem is, food, for me, is one of life’s great pleasures. It’s not the only one, to be sure, but I can’t imagine giving it up for eternity. Luckily, I’ve never been tempted by the idea of living forever, and I doubt that it will ever be offered, so I suspect I won’t have to make that choice.

Then I came back to reality, where people may voluntarily give up eating, when I watched the movie Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead, by Australian Joe Cross. It’s the true story of a man who was about 100 pounds overweight and suffered from an autoimmune disease that kept him on a small pharmacopeia of medication and put him on the path towards an early death. He decided to “reboot” by going on a diet of fresh fruit and vegetable juice for 60 days, with no solid food, to shed pounds and allow his body to heal.

It’s wonderful that this approach worked for Joe, and many of the others he inspired, allowing them to find their own path to wellness. And since he did start eating again (albeit a very different diet than the junk food he’d previously been consuming), 60 days seems quite reasonable compared to the centuries a vampire might live. Still, I don’t think I’d want to go that long without eating, or even the 10-day reboot some people did. The sight, smell, taste, texture, and sheer enjoyment of food are all too integrated in my life.

Perhaps if I was as sick as Joe, I could go without, but perhaps not. I’ve never been one for such drastic and immediate changes, and I am personally glad that so far, that’s not something I’ve had to face, allowing me to view the question as entirely hypothetical. And I will do everything I can to make sure it stays that way, since I have no desire to forgo food.

Forbidden Foods

[Note: This piece contains some religious references, but hopefully in an inoffensive way.]

With the arrival of fall, we’ve been getting an unexpected treat at work – apples! One of my co-workers has been bringing in a large bag of them every Monday or Tuesday for the past few weeks. An even happier surprise is seeing that people are eating them pretty regularly, so by last Friday, only a few were left. Then that morning we got our usual supply of Dunkin’ Donuts. Seeing the two offerings side by side was an interesting contrast, especially when it got down to just one of each.

It got me thinking about what makes a food forbidden, and the implications of that.

Take the apple. According to some traditions, this is the original “forbidden fruit”*. I have to wonder how long Eve resisted the urge to eat it, how long she tried to be “good” and restrict her eating habits, before finally giving in to temptation.

Consider also “Snow White”. One of the times Snow White succumbed to her step-mother’s plots was by eating a shiny apple. The princess knew that she wasn’t supposed to accept anything from strangers, but the apple looked so good and delicious, she couldn’t help herself.

Prohibitionists weren’t that fond of apples, either, since when Johnny Appleseed went around planting apple trees, it was to make hard cider, not for eating. In more recent years, apples are off-limits on some low-carb diets, or for those people who eschew food altogether.

Happily, most diets these days put apples into the “good” category, especially if it’s an organic apple. And most of us are familiar with the phrase, “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” The apple also features positively in some religions; last week, as part of Rosh Hashanah, many Jewish people celebrated with apples dipped in honey so that they could have a sweet start to their new year. (See this YouTube video for a fun song about it.)

The doughnut’s history is not quite as illustrious, since I’m not aware of any religious texts referencing it. (The holy book of the Cat people in the “Waiting for God” episode of Red Dwarf, who considered Lister their god and thought the idea of heaven was a hot dog and doughnut stand, probably doesn’t quality) Doughnuts have probably only been around for a couple of centuries. But they are also more widely categorized as a “bad” or “forbidden” food. Most diets, after all, condemn anything with lots of sugar and fat, and any of the rules that restrict people from eating apples would also apply to doughnuts.

As with apples, making doughnuts forbidden has not stopped people from eating them, at least in the majority. They still sell quite well, and when they show up at work, they disappear with sometimes frightening speed. This is despite the fact that the consequences of eating a doughnut are typically more pronounced than those of eating an apple. For instance, you might have a sugar crash and feel sleepy later on. Or you might have consumed all those calories but still feel hungry. Or both. If you’re diabetic, it could spike your blood sugar. Not that this is always the case – in certain circumstances, eating a doughnut might be exactly what you need. But realistically, those situations are less frequent than with apples.

Despite the current trends towards both foods, which do you suppose disappeared first from the kitchen, the apple or the doughnut? It’s a rhetorical question - I’m sure you can guess the answer. And I think it’s in part because the doughnuts are forbidden. They’re just so much more tempting that way.

I personally don’t consider doughnuts off-limits, and I suspect that’s why Dunkin Donuts variety leave me cold. If I’m going to have one, I want it to be really good, such as one of my dad’s homemade varieties, barely cooled from the oil, perhaps rolled in a little sugar. That I consider worth eating. But given the choice at work, everything being equal, I’d go for the apple, because I know that I’m going to feel better after eating that than the radioactive pink doughnut. And that, for me, is what food should be about.

*Note: I’m aware that it’s unlikely that the original fruit was an apple, but for whatever reason, that’s what people envision these days.

Weight Stigma

BEDA (the Binge Eating Disorders Associations) is dedicating a week to raising the awareness about weight stigma, the first of what they anticipate to be an annual event. Specifically, the focus this year (from September 26-30) is on "Healing Myself First: Challenging Weight Stigma from the Inside Out”, which means being honest with ourselves about prejudices we carry about weight.

To achieve this, the CEO of BEDA suggests that we asks ourselves questions like, “Do I contribute to 'fat talk,' such as, 'I need to lose 10 pounds,' or, 'You're too fat to wear that,' or, 'You look great! Did you lose weight?'"

The beauty of this approach is the inward assessment – including my own. I will freely admit that when I see people who are heavy wearing certain clothes, I cringe: bikinis; Speedos; shirts that are too small and ride up to expose the person’s stomach; skin-tight outfits that seem to be at least two sizes too small; etc. I don’t generally think of this as weight stigma, though, more simply a matter of what I feel to be in good taste. I feel the same way about people wearing pants that are too big and fall halfway down so you see their underwear. It just comes up more with people who are heavy because it’s harder to find clothes that fit well if you fall into that category.

And if I know someone is trying to lose weight, I may comment that they look good, primarily because I know how nice it was to hear that for myself. On the other hand, I try to say that to people in general when they look nice, regardless of how much they weigh, because I also know how much I missed that when I was overweight.

Otherwise, when I see people who are heavy, I more often feel sympathy for them, remembering how difficult it was for me. But my own experience has made me more in tune with that – I think many people carry weight stigma without even being aware of it. Or they may try not to show it, but it can still come out.

For instance, I remember in gym class that even if the other kids didn’t actively make fun of me (although they sometimes did that), they certainly didn’t want to be near me. During those horrible times of forced group activities like square dancing, it seemed to me that anyone who had to actually touch me did so only after overcoming an instinctive recoil. I don’t know whether that was real or in my imagination, but I suspect that for at least some, it was all too real.

Or when I was spending the night at someone’s house, and the woman of the household commented, “I hope the bed works for you, since it’s just a twin and you’re a such big girl.” As I wrote in my journal: “I didn’t say anything to that, because it was her house, and I know she meant well, but I can’t tell you how upset I was about it. Nothing so drastic as fleeing in tears, but just a sort of sick helpless anger inside that nothing can quite cure. Honestly, what are you supposed to think of that? Yes, I know I’m overweight – I’m not stupid.” I still remember that fourteen years later.

I therefore urge people to follow BEDA’s suggestions, so that such words get a second thought before they slip out. Because contrary to the popular rhyme, while sticks and stones may break my bones, in the end, words may hurt me even more.

Holy Healthy

This weekend I attended a conference hosted by the Institute of Integrative Nutrition, where I’m getting my certification as a health counselor. The conference included a number of amazing speakers, most notably Deepak Chopra. It was held in downtown New York, but I decided to stay in Brooklyn, since I found a UU Bed and Breakfast with a very welcoming couple who gave me tea and cookies upon arrival and provided a wonderful home and breakfast.

Among other things, my hosts and I talked a bit about church, and on Sunday morning, they said, “We’d invite you to go to services with us, except that you’ll be at the conference. But it sounds like that will be another form of church.”

“Yes, it will,” I agreed.

The first few sessions on Sunday provided great information and reminded me how important this is. But it was when a yoga instructor came up and got us moving that I reflected anew about how what I’m doing is a ministry. 

As we went through the exercises - waving our arms, circling our hips, etc. - she asked us to repeat after her. “Peace. Love. Happiness. Bring it. Rock on!” And then, “Holy. Holy. Healthy. Healthy. Holy, healthy, holy, healthy.”

The energy in the room brought tears to my eyes, remembering how the work we are doing - helping others learn how to heal themselves to discover their own optimal health - truly is holy, that we were engaged in a sacred and spiritual practice.

Deepak Chopra’s wonderful talk reinforced this. It ended with a meditation where we focused on moments that brought us great joy, great love, where we felt compassion for another, and finally when we felt equanimity and peace. He said those are the moments that we should strive to live for, and make them more present in our lives.

The images that came to mind for me were largely entwined with my health. When I was struggling with my body image and weight, I couldn’t let that go long enough to experience true joy, love felt conditional, I couldn’t muster compassion for myself and only sometimes for others, and I was too tormented to experience peace.

Which is why I consider this work a ministry. If I can help others learn to find joy, open their hearts to love, bring a sense of compassion to their interactions with themselves and others, and allow them to feel peace - that, to me, is sacred. And I couldn’t be happier to be on the path that will allow me to share this sense of holy healthiness with others.

The American Cheese

One of my recent assignments for my health counseling program suggested that we look at packaging and advertising to assist in thinking about our own marketing strategies. I wasn't quite sure what do with that, since I tend to deliberately ignore and/or be oblivious to advertising.

But it reminded me of a commercial I started seeing around the 4th of July for Kraft Singles, which still appears in different formats. It started off by saying that Kraft was "the American cheese", the implication being that it was this way because it's a "can-do" type of cheese. (What, exactly, does cheese do?)

But the part that really got me was this: "Hey, our country put a man on the moon, maybe because we put cheese in our sandwiches."

Yes, they used the qualifier "maybe", but even the possible association between cheese sandwiches and the space program is ludicrous. Is that why we landed on the moon before the U.S.S.R. - they didn't eat enough cheese? Or more specifically, not enough Kraft Singles, which they wouldn't have probably eaten anyway because it's an American product?

Apparently I’m not the only one to be bothered by this. I did a quick internet search on Kraft Singles to see if I could find the exact commercial (I couldn’t – all the YouTube ones are shorter versions that don’t include the man on the moon reference), and found:

• Digital Papercuts writing about the shock of the ad and the horror of processed foods
• CommercialsIHate.com has some interesting comments as well
• And more on The Straight Dope

Even assuming the advertising department at Kraft views this as tongue-in-cheek (which I doubt), it completely trivializes the fact that many Americans actually suffer after eating cheese. When I was little and having cheese sandwiches every day, I assure you that it did not give me a "can-do" attitude or make me a better student. If anything, the opposite was true. Being allergic, all the dairy made me feel like I had a constant cold, complete with runny nose, sore throat, and muzzy head. Once I stopped eating it, I was able to get through the day better since I wasn't constantly blowing my nose or sneezing. Does this make me un-American?

I’m sure that many people support this type of advertising, but personally, it does make me sometimes want to live elsewhere. Somewhere, for instance, that doesn't treat processed foods as manna. Furthermore, do we really want to say that our country got where it was by suckling cows? Somehow, to me, that doesn't make me a proud American, and it’s not a marketing scheme I plan to use.

Goldilocks Gets it Just Right

[Note: When I did the facilitator training for “Am I Hungry?”, when we got to the section on how much to eat and getting it just right, one of the women commented that it reminded her of Goldilocks. Since we just finished that section in my latest workshop, I thought I’d use that as a starting point for this little story.]

            Goldilocks’s parents dropped her off for lunch a few minutes before noon at the quaint cottage in the woods where her new friend Bera Baird lived. She knocked at the door, excited to see her friend, and also looking forward to lunch, since her stomach was already growling.

            The door opened, and Goldilocks smiled at Bera, a girl about her own age with brown hair, brown eyes, dimples in her cheeks and arms and legs, and a warm smile. “Come in,” she said. “We can go in the kitchen, but we have to wait a few minutes for lunch.”

            Goldilocks sniffed at the aromas eagerly. “Is it still cooking?”

            “No.” Bera hesitated in the hallway, looking around. Then she dropped her voice to say, “My mom is a little weird about food sometimes. We have to eat right at noon, and she’s really fussy about what she eats. So don’t say anything, okay?”

            “Okay.”

            They went into the kitchen, where Bera’s father was already seated at the table. He was a huge man in every way, his stomach pushing against the edge and his head considerably higher than Goldilocks even sitting down, with brown curly hair and a thick, bushy beard. “You must be Goldilocks,” he rumbled, his dark eyes twinkling at them. “Glad you could join us.”

            “Thank you for having me.”

            Then she looked to where Mrs. Baird was at the counter, a woman so skinny that Goldilocks wondered how she could even stand up; it seemed a sharp gust would blow her over. The woman spared them a glance and quick, automatic smile. “Hello, girls,” she said. “Lunch will be ready at noon.”

            Goldilocks glanced at the clock. Nine more minutes. Her stomach growled again, and she clasped her hands over it in embarrassment. She didn’t know what to say, and so she watched as Mrs. Baird filled the plates with baked chicken, rice, broccoli with cheese and green beans, but in very different ways.

            On the first plate, she piled food on top of each other, so that it was balanced precisely but precariously and almost overflowing. For the second plate, she started by scooping rice into a tiny measuring cup before adding it. Then she cut a sliver of chicken, put it on a scale, frowned, and whittled it down a bit more. Finally she counted out the number of green beans and broccoli pieces and added them without any cheese. Goldilocks had heard about such behavior but never witnessed it, and she tried not to stare in fascination, remembering Bera’s comment. Mrs. Baird filled the third plate more naturally, adding enough food to mostly fill it but without weighing, measuring or counting.

            That left just one plate empty, and two minutes to go. Mrs. Baird turned to Goldilocks. “How much would you like?”

            The girl considered. “I think the first plate would be too much, and the second one too little, but the third one looks just right.”

            Mrs. Baird nodded and with quick efficiency served the food. “Go ahead and sit down.”

            She set their plates down in front of them, and they all took their seats just as the clock turned to twelve. Goldilocks carefully waited until Mr. Baird tucked into his overflowing dish, and Mrs. Baird cut her food with mechanical precision, before starting on her own. She and Bera talked a little as they ate, about school and homework and vacations, but Goldilocks also enjoyed the meal. The chicken was nice and juicy, the rice cooked well and pleasantly spiced, and the vegetables tender but not mushy, just the way she liked.

            She paused to look at her friend’s mother. “Thank you for the food, Mrs. Baird. It’s very good.”

            “Is it?” The woman looked down at her now-empty plate in surprise. “I suppose so.”

            Goldilocks turned back to her food but found that her eyes had been bigger than her stomach. She still had a little left, but she was full. She glanced at Bera, who also had a left a tiny bit of rice. Bera asked, “Mom, may we be excused?”

            Mrs. Baird looked at their plates. “You’re not going to finish?” she asked in surprise.

            “I’m full,” Goldilocks admitted. “But it really was very good.”

            “What are you girls going to do?” she asked, eyeing the leftovers hungrily.

            Bera said, “I was going to take her out to the woods to play.”

            “Better you than me,” Mr. Baird said, stretching and yawning hugely. “It’s nap time for me.” Goldilocks looked at his plate in amazement, cleaned of all except for a few green specks of broccoli. “But you have fun.”

            He left, but the girls helped clear the table first. As Mrs. Baird loaded the dishwasher, she paused over the few leftovers, murmuring, “The chicken was 150, the rice 100, green beans 20, broccoli 40, so that’s 310, which means I can have this, or have a 90 calorie snack later, or maybe both if I exercise enough, or if - “

            “Come on,” Bera said, tugging her hand.

            As they went outside, Goldilocks asked, “What was she doing?”

            Bera rolled her eyes. “Counting calories. She does it all the time.” Seeing her friend’s expression, she shrugged. “I don’t understand it, either. And I don’t know why Dad has to sleep all the time and never wants to play.”

            “Well, I do,” Goldilocks said. “I feel great, and I’m excited to see the forest.”

            “Me, too,” Bera said, and they wandered off to play. 

They're Just Lazy

Last week I blogged about how some people exclusively blame parents for their children being overweight. But who do you blame once someone is an adult? Why, that person, of course. Because they’re just lazy.

This was one of the prevalent themes in some of the responses to the JAMA study and related articles. I had to stop reading them because they infuriated me. I knew people thought that way, but somehow seeing their vitriolic words in print, with so much support, hit me viscerally.

I remember too well feeling that negative energy directed at me when I was heavy, that if I just moved my fat ass then I could lose the weight. What no one who isn’t in that position pauses to consider is the sheer amount of effort it takes to move your body, ass or otherwise, when you’re overweight. I would really love to see some of the people who talk about laziness strap on 50 or 100 pounds and walk around with it, day after day after day, go up stairs, pick things up, carry small children, etc.

This is work, but it’s unrecognized because our bodies do grow accustomed to it and slowly adjust as we gain weight, at least for the most part. But that doesn’t negate the fact that it can take an incredible amount of strength. Of course that doesn’t mean that people who are heavy shouldn’t exercise – I think they just deserve a little more credit and sympathy about the exercise they get that’s built-in.

More than that, though, I learned something rather interesting in a recent lecture at IIN. It was presented by Marion Nestle, a professor of Nutrition, Food Studies and Public Health at New York University. She was looking at the fact that weight gain really started to be a problem in the 1980’s, but she pointed out that studies have shown that activity levels haven’t changed significantly since then.

Let me repeat: as a nation we have been gaining weight, but our activity levels haven’t changed.

How, then, is sheer laziness to blame? People are moving as much as they did in the 1950’s, ‘60’s and ‘70’s, and most of them weren’t particularly obese.

Additionally, I have known many, many a thin person who moves much less than I did even when I was overweight. How, then, do you explain the difference between us? Dr. Nestle pointed out a number of factors. We have: 700 more calories available per person per day; a “gorge yourself” society; farm subsidies; increased portion size; greater proximity and availability to food; increased pressure on food companies to make a profit (i.e., their goal is not to create healthy foods); and deregulation in advertising.

I might be missing something, but the point is that none of this has to do with movement or laziness. And in fact, telling people who are overweight that they are lazy could have the unintended consequence of making them that way. After all, you tell someone something long enough, even if it’s not true, and they’ll start to believe it.

For those who like to blame laziness, I therefore ask you to reconsider, and also to reconsider the negative, hurtful impact of those words before you share them.

Are Parents to Blame?

It’s part of human nature to look for patterns, trying to tease out what triggered a particular event. We like to think that the world has some order, that every effect has a cause. In most cases, it’s probably quite true. The problem comes in when the cause is so much bigger and more complicated than we can (or want to) comprehend, but we pass judgment based on the small part we can see because we want to blame someone.

Take the obesity epidemic. On the one hand, it’s easy to say that people are overweight because they’re consuming too many calories. But why are they eating so much? A recent study by JAMA (Journal of the American Medical Association) looked at obesity in children, and decided that in many cases the reason is the parents.

It is easy, after all, to point the finger at them. They’re the ones who bring food into the house, who let their kids overeat, and who model eating habits (poor or otherwise). And if they let their children gain excessive amounts of weight (the extreme example is of a 14-year-old boy in South Carolina who got up to 550 pounds), they obviously don’t care about their children’s health. So take the child away, and everything gets better. Simple. Right?

Except it’s not. I won’t argue that parents play a role, sometimes a significant one, in their children’s weight problems. But I don’t think it’s fair to place the blame squarely on them, for a number of reasons, though I’ll focus on two.

One, unless the family is completely isolated – the parents homeschool the kids, don’t expose them to advertisements of any sort (internet, TV, movies, magazines, etc.), prevent them from attending any social events with any kids who aren’t equally isolated, don’t celebrate any holidays with a focus on food, etc. – the children will have access to food without their parents’ knowledge and will be tempted to eat that food for many reasons other than hunger.

It is not, after all, the parents’ fault that our culture has access to so many easy calories. Consider government subsidies of corn, creating an abundance of HFCS, instead of subsidizing a variety of fruits and vegetables, making them affordable for all income levels. Parents cannot control the marketing and advertising of highly processed foods, all the glitz and glamour, nor can they avoid all the social emphasis placed on eating.

The other reason is that in many cases, I don’t think parents are aware of what they’re doing that’s causing the problem. It’s often not nearly so obvious as having lots of food around, or allowing the child to eat, or not worrying about their weight. Parents may not know how to provide better choices. They may also not realize that the emphasis on weight can contribute, or off-hand comments can start the child down the path of turning to food – for comfort, out of rebelliousness, as a distraction from the pain of that comment, etc. I think in most cases the parents are concerned about their children’s weight, but perhaps need better education on how to address that in a way that will make sense to their children.

So before anyone plays the blame game, I hope they pause to consider that the answer is rarely simple, and that destroying families out of a knee-jerk reaction is perhaps not the best solution.

Cooking Matters

Last week I finally had a chance to volunteer with Cooking Matters, a program developed by the Good Shepherd Food Bank. It’s designed to help teach people how to make healthier food choices and especially how to do it on a budget. Some of the classes are for adults, some are for teens, and some, like the one I volunteered with, are for kids.

The class was held at a local Boys & Girls Club, composed of three boys and five girls. Going into it, I didn’t quite know what to expect, but I was impressed.

Many times, I feel like adults don’t give kids enough credit for being not only willing to eat healthy foods but to choose them given the opportunity. For instance, last week we talked about what some good choices are if you’re going out to eat, especially at a fast food place. Some of the things they suggested were:
- lots of veggies on pizza
- getting a salad
- drinking water or milk instead of soda
- ordering a regular hamburger instead of a super-sized cheeseburger

When asked what they had the last time they went out to eat, one boy said he had chosen a chicken salad. They understand that whole grains are better because they have more fiber, and we talked about the fact that you want to be careful of saturated fat because of your heart.

Then came the cooking! Each class has a demonstration of some recipes, and the kids are sent home with a bag of ingredients to make one of the dishes for their families. We made:
- Mac & cheese with whole wheat pasta, some cheddar cheese, low fat milk, and low fat cottage cheese. No one balked at the whole wheat pasta, or complained about the taste (at least that I heard). This was also the recipe they got to take home.
- Chicken fingers, which were just chicken tenders dipped in egg, then flour, then breadcrumbs, before cooking at 400 degrees for about 12 minutes. They came out great, and probably healthier than store-bought.
- Mozzarella sticks, very similar to the chicken preparation except skipping the flour. The sticks got a bit amorphous during baking (also at 400 for 8 minutes), but the kids liked them anyway, along with the tomato sauce for dipping.

What most impressed me was how willing and in fact eager the kids were to do the cooking. I was working with the group doing mozzarella sticks. Everyone wanted to break an egg, or beat it, and one boy demonstrated perfect technique for whisking an egg with a fork. They loved getting hands-on by dipping the mozzarella in the egg, then rolling it in the breadcrumbs. They were good about taking turns, and even with helping clean up when asked.

I was pleased by this because such early habits are a huge help in developing a life-long interest in cooking and healthy eating. I know that many kids get to college without having any idea of how to do anything beyond make toast or maybe scrambled eggs. Part of the problem, I think, is that too often we don’t encourage our kids enough, or may deliberately keep them out of the process.

As one of the girls told me, she likes to cook, but, “My grandmother doesn’t let me in the kitchen.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“I think she’s afraid I’ll burn down the house or something.”

In my experience growing up, I was largely limited in the kitchen for a time because of the potential mess. And I won’t argue that kids are likely messier than adults might be. I will also confess that I’ve felt the same way at times, or gotten too easily upset with someone (kid or adult) doing something the “wrong way” – i.e., differently than how I do it.

But working with these kids reminded me that it’s okay and actually good to get them involved. If they’re messy, encourage them to help clean up. If they’re doing something differently, just watch at first and see if it will come out okay, and offer help or suggestions only when necessary. Who knows – maybe you’ll learn something. Like the fact that cooking should be fun!

And I did have fun. I just relaxed and went with it and enjoyed the kids. Now I hope to remember some of that in my own kitchen. I am also grateful for the reminder that kids will learn and listen and get excited about cooking and food if you treat them with respect and intelligence. I can hardly think of a better overall lesson, and I am so impressed with the program for highlighting that. Because, truly, cooking matters.

In Need of Comfort

In last week’s “Am I Hungry?” class, we talked some about comfort foods, since it’s been my experience that when we’re stressed, or lonely, or depressed, these are often what we want to eat. You’re probably familiar with that kind of food –usually high in fat, carbohydrates, and/or sugar.

In the example that I shared with the class, about six months into my process of losing weight, I was often stressed. Work was hectic, and the fact that my dad was seriously involved with someone just a little over a year after my mom’s death was very hard for me.

One day when work had been particularly difficult, I got on the bus to go home and immediately started craving chicken fingers and curly fries. That was my favorite order at the convenience store at the end of my street, which was also where the bus would drop me off.

But – I knew the only reason I wanted those foods was because of the stress. I also knew that I had every right to feel that way. Not wanting to let my emotions have that much control over my eating, I managed to walk away from the store.

Once home, while eating my planned supper I realized that my craving came from that fact that I was in need of comfort from something. Food was the first thing that came to mind because it was the easiest and most familiar way to address that need, but I wanted to find another option.

Then it struck me. Pulling Ghostbusters off my shelf, I popped it in, sat on my couch with my cat Salem on my lap and cross stitch at hand, and settled in for an evening of laughter. The fact that I had seen the movie so many times that I could practically quote it verbatim was exactly what I needed.

I wrote in my journal that it was my “comfort viewing” instead of “comfort eating”.

When I shared this with my class, one of the women said, “That’s it – I sometimes want to eat because I want comfort from something.”

It reminded me of a comment I heard in my health counselor training. If everyone went home to someone who enveloped them in a warm hug and asked, “How are you?”, and they really wanted to know the answer, would we have so many people with eating problems? Possibly not.

Not all (or perhaps even most) of us have that, but sometimes we are all in need of comfort. Perhaps, though, we can all learn to find it in something other than food.