I seem to be a little squeamish about food.
I am yet to work out whether this is a consequence – or a cause; a commonality – or a quirk that’s peculiar to myself.
It goes back to a peanut in a glass of orange juice incident, and is proving quite hard to shrug off –
Despite my best efforts, I am still freaked out by the sight of crumbs on the counter or the sticky aftermath of finger food. I have to remember to breathe
when I’m around eaters – and the act of eating.
I find myself snapping at open mouths and crunching teeth, and shuddering at the remnants of a mealtime. I get a little worked up if I come across, for example, a forgotten cereal flake behind the cupboard door –
This is proving quite problematic.
It is impossible to avoid food; and impractical to walk around with a dettol spray and a magnifying glass; and incredibly impolite to sit through a mealtime drumming the table to cover the noise –
I suspect that it started with the eating disorder playing games or telling me things that got stuck on repeat. I’d guess that it was an anorexia-derived decoy to minimise the temptation: a swift stomach churn of revulsion designed to remove any desire.
I could read it analytically and deduce that I’ve got food worryingly linked up with greed and shame and ‘feeling dirty’. I could theorise that the reaction was all wrapped up with my perception of myself and a representation of the horrible feeling that I am somehow tainted, unclean –
Or it might have been far simpler than that. Fear might have turned to intolerance; discomfort, to disgust. I might just have been traumatised by the peanut in a glass of orange juice incident.
Identifying the contenders is a useful exercise, but managing the situation is the priority: food’s not going anywhere and, this time, I’m not running.
I am, instead, forcing myself to
breathe – (when I feel the urge to scream at an open mouth or the sound of a little chumping)
- and focus on the conversation (if I find myself fixated on a coffee stain or the leftover plate of sandwiches that is making me want to cry).
I am reminding myself that “food won’t hurt me” (when I feel my stomach turning at a browning apple core), and that “it’s part of the world I want to belong to” (when dodging a dinner invitation feels simpler then bearing the discomfort).
I am telling myself that food heals (rather than hurts) and should be embraced (rather than feared) and could be appealing (rather than repulsive) –
If I stopped running away, and started facing what I fear –
Because I seem to be a bit squeamish around food; and, it’s probably a lingering control thing from the eating disorder, that might be a commonality – or a peculiar quirk; but, it’s holding me back and boxing me in –
And this time I’m not running.
Tags: Anorexia Nervosa, Eating, Food
