Are you a closet eater? Do you sneak food? Are you someone who hoards cookies, cakes, chips, and other yummy stuff so you can eat in privacy away from prying eyes?
I was.
In my early teens I learned to eat in the closet, literally. I inhaled sweets. In the mornings before school I’d fake that I’d eaten a bowl of cereal by putting a few flakes and a dash of milk in the bowl and deposit it in the sink. Then I’d get into my father’s airtight cookie bin and take 10 Oreos up to my room and savor them privately, in my walk-in closet…with guilt. I was 5’2″ 105 pounds. I was athletic, popular, and never thought about barfing or purging. I wanted to lose 5 pounds. But I wasn’t about to give up cookies to do it.
What drove me into the closet was shame. Disapproving looks came first. Then words. Early on questions from my parents and relatives like, “Are you sure you want a second helping?” “Do you want to eat that?” “What, another cookie?” turned me into a sneak. I wanted to eat where I could enjoy myself. In private.
I ate because of the luxurious deliciousness of sugar. I ate for the pleasure of companionship with other girls my age when we bought Ho Hos and Ding Dongs and boxes of Entenmann’s cookies and talked for hours together about intimate things. Dessert and confidential conversations became synonymous with the creation of a secret world, the secret world of girls, soft and dreamy, behind locked bedroom doors where we could share our thoughts — without adult intrusion or snooping. This was short lived.
The intrusion of mothers came by example. One chubby mother would eat a whole box of chocolates and then say, “I hate myself.” Another friend’s slim mother would smoke cigarettes at the kitchen table lost in thought, easy in our presence, while my friend and I would eat home made bialys smeared with lox and cream cheese happily chattering away.
In time I came to recognize the difference between self destruction and punishment through food and eating food for nourishment and deepening the bonds of intimacy through shared experience and pleasure.
But I still have remnants of the sneak eating. The other day I bought a flourless chocolate cake for my book group meeting at our home. There were a few pieces left over so I put them in the laundry room out of sight so I would only eat a piece if I really wanted it. I found myself waiting until my sweetie left the kitchen to seek out those last morsels. I caught myself feeling the familiar impulse to hide.
So I put the cake back and waited until he returned and then ate a piece while enjoying his company. I’m building new neural pathways in my brain to eradicate the shame. Continuing to associate the pleasure of companionship with the enjoyment of food gives me those same good feelings I had with my girlfriends, filmy, fluid and fun. I even tell my sweetie a secret or two over pudding, lemon curd, or cake, and feel good about it.
Thanks for another great and honest article Susan. Sometimes we forget the things we did as kids, though the feelings that went with them, linger on without us knowing it!
I did the same as you as a teen and realised about 15 years later that I was simply hungry and not getting enough nourishment. We forget that eenagers need a lot of food and that girls start getting curves because of puberty, not weight! With two work-a-holic parents, I was responsible for my own meals from about the age of 12 and just didn’t know how to feed myself. Sweets seemed the obvious solution and ring-dings became a staple of my diet as they fed more than the tummy! And yes, there was shame around this as I knew there were better choices but held myself to the impossible standard of knowing better, without having the knowledge of what to do or how to cook.
I like what you said about the adults around us as well and how they affect our views. I opened up my own business when I was 21 years old and I still remember (though would like to someday forget) my uncle sitting across from me, counting the number of little pastries I had, making sarcastic comments when I reached the third one. I remember how proud of myself I was for continuing to make my OWN food choices regardless of the comments. I remember that i was wearing an elegant skirt that ended above the knee and (looking back) looked stunning… yet still feeling chubby regardless of his comments.
I remember having a lightbulb moment when my uncle was saying the things he said and realised that it had nothing to do with me but was about his own hangups (though it still bothered me in spite of my pretending it didn’t). He was generally a gentle and quiet man so this was quite unusual especially when he still mentioned how many pastries I ate on that day, 3 years later … and then recounted it to his son who took over the reminders! (I haven’t seen him for years and I wouldn’t allow him to speak that way now if i did see him).
I remember when I was having rich life experiences and had so many wonderful things to think about … and all they had to think about was what I ate years ago and congratulate themselves on being extremely skinny, to an unhealthy extent, leading dry, empty lives. While I had luscious curves and exercised and enjoyed my food and travelled and fell in love …
I’m sharing in hopes that I can offer a different perspective to anyone who has been hurt by anyone else’s comments about their eating. Sometimes remarks are truly about loving concern and are helpful.
Usually however, they are more about the person making the remark and even said to make themselves feel better.
Thanks again Susan!
Regards
Chrissy