Feeding Ourselves

My sophomore slump of college was a time inundated with mental health crises, but it cultivated a framework that has brought deep wellness into my life: how to feed myself. It sounds strange even now, but in between consuming whatever cafeteria food was available and bingeing Chick-Fil-A and huge portions of takeout food, I realized that I didn’t know how to feed myself. I didn’t have a kitchen, so I was at the mercy of whatever affordable meals and treats I could get my hands on. The body dysmorphia and anxiety I experienced (not to mention obsessive meal planning) was certainly influenced by other factors—loneliness, insecurity, loss of identity, etc.—but the root of the problem seemed to be that I didn’t actually know how to feed myself.

Up until college, I had grown up with a mother who cooked wholesome meals for our family nearly every night. My parents rarely ate out, and never ordered fast food, with the exception of the occasional milkshake. They grew their own vegetables from their garden, and we ate dinner together every night. Moving out of state and learning how to be an adult from inside a dorm, I realized I didn’t know how to recreate any of the aspects of eating that I had grown up with. And since college is a lovely time of over-utilizing your thinking mind, I tried to think my way to a better body and better life.

I thought that if I ate too much chocolate, I had to eat more vegetables, even if I was full. I thought that if I felt gross after eating, then I shouldn’t eat. I became scared of food and loathed myself anytime the act of eating happened. It was…obviously not good, not healthy at all.

After a couple years of recovering, I came across something that changed the way I thought about eating completely. Some of my close friends had been making meals for me, and I had a small margin of bravery about eating without being controlling. One night, I was reading Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott, and came across a chapter called “Hunger.” It began, “This is the story of how, at the age of thirty-three, I learned to feed myself.” In this essay, Lamott details how with the help of a food therapist, she began identifying her emotions and bodily feelings that came up when she ate. How she was lonely, and how she could separate her people hunger from her food hunger. How she continued to eat Cheetos and cereal, but only when she was hungry, and stopping when she didn’t feel hungry anymore.

The kind of eating Lamott is talking about is known as intuitive eating. I began to practice intuitive eating, and as I did, I began to pay attention to other things too: how I felt when I ate sugar or drank wine; how I felt when I bought the cheapest snacks at the grocery store versus the fresh produce, and how I felt when I ate them. Between now and then, there have been a few more influential books, a couple of pay raises (which is obviously a huge factor of healthy eating, but I’ll dive into that another time), and a whole lot of bravery. And the support of some wonderful people. But here’s what really changed: I stopped fragmenting my body from my mind and environment.

Feeding ourselves doesn’t take place in a vacuum. What and how we eat affects our physical health, mental health, emotional, social…every part of our health and wellbeing. It also affects our environment, and likewise, our eating is affected by our environment. So that’s what I want to help my readers and clients see: how you and I can learn to feed ourselves in a way that makes our whole life healthier, a way that manifests wellness in every aspect of our selves, relationships, and environments. There’s a lot to learn, but by slowly starting to pay attention, feeding ourselves becomes one of the most enjoyable aspects of life.

#food #spirit #nourish #feed #wellness #nutrition #healthyfood #healthylifestyle