it’s complicated. and thankfully, it keeps changing.
Sometimes, I don’t know if it was just a story my father liked to tell or if I really remember it happening. Either way, it informed how I thought and, in some ways, think about food.
The seeds plant themselves early…
As we crossed the tarmac to climb the stairs to the plane, I broke free from the hand that was holding mine. I ran as fast as my legs would take me back the way we came. We were flying to Panama. Away from everyone and everything I knew. I cried myself to sleep after my failed escape from the biggest thing I’d ever seen and woke up to a new horror. They said he ate my dinner. My brother kept proving himself to be my enemy. I was pissed. And, I was two.
My dad had a bunch of “Nikki in Panama” stories he liked to tell. The one where he forgot to make sure the door was closed and came back to find me climbing down the stairs backwards. Or that I called waves “Oobies.” He thought that Kourtney eating my dinner was just another funny story. In my head, as a kid, it set up the recurring idea of being deprived. That I had to eat what I wanted or it wouldn’t be there.
Separation makes the brain grow fonder or Sorry, we don’t eat that anymore…
It was the 70s. Daddy read that book and there you have it. We went veg as a family. Here’s the hard part. You tell regular folks, black or white, in the 70s about being vegetarian or shunning processed food and they’d look at you like you’d lost your mind. Neither side of our family really knew how to take it or deal with it.
Mom says Daddy went through the house throwing food away. Replacing it with the “healthier” alternatives. It was a shock to her, but she went with it. And stayed with it after they divorced.
We were more pan-africanist “crunchy-granola” than hippie “crunchy-granola” living in grad school housing. I loved going to the health food store. Bulk bins! And getting loose tea from Smile to make sachets in wax print fabric. (♥: Awww, crafty from way back.)
I♥how I was raised, hardcore. And had a lot of fun as a kid. We had amazing food that I’m still trying to recreate. But, with the divorce and two very different households, there was a lot of change for us to adjust to. Oh, yeah, and Daddy went back to meat.
We got conflicting food messages from all over the place. From school, TV, friends and relatives. It was one more obvious way we were different. Being “veg” only meant that I couldn’t have. It wasn’t about the benefits or making better choices or having good eating habits. I saw it and lived it as, ummm, no. We weren’t even that strict. There was definitely no red or other white meat in the house, but we had chicken and fish fairly regularly.
They were trying to do what they thought best or Have you met Little Me?…
So let’s go back to the pouty, petulant toddler on the plane. I should tell you what my mom told me last week. That I was willful from birth. Okay, she said the crib. Same thing. Power trippin’ in a onesie.
I found ways to act out every day. From eating the sloppy joe school lunch or allowing folks to feed me ribs and things knowing how my mother felt. Even name brand peanut butter and jelly on white bread washed down with kool-aid felt like I was getting in a good jab.
Willful Little Me would sneak food. I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it. Partly, because I felt like it wouldn’t be there if I waited. But, that was, also, just who I was. A bit spoiled and entitled. All those things my friends and relatives got to eat became things I longed for and found ways to get.
We weren’t allowed to have breakfast crack brought to you by cartoon characters and toy prizes. Mom gave us granola and Grape-Nuts. My dad would buy whatever cereal we wanted when we spent the weekend with him. That box was ghost by Saturday afternoon. My brother was a “growing boy” and I worked the guilt. We, okay, I figured out how to manipulate the situation very early. It just was never enough.
It gets complicated after that or We’re skipping the tween and teen years…
I think it’s simplistic to say that control and the lack of it set up a pattern of deprivation and overindulgence, but it’s key to understanding how I look at things today.
As an adult, I’ve been veg and vegan by choice. I’ve done Atkins and I’ve done nothing. I’ve overeaten and I’ve not eaten. I got off on telling folks what I couldn’t/wouldn’t eat like it was a sign of courage and strong will. It became how I related to people. How we related to each other. The conversations we had. It’s like we all needed that gold star for putting all the power in no, can’t, don’t and won’t.
The crazy part is that whenever I went off-label, regime or binged, everything I thought I was missing and really, really wanted, couldn’t live up to the internal hype. My Bye-Bye VeganLife meal was a Cuban Sandwich and Mexican-style Corn from Café Habana and a cupcake from Magnolia. They were fine. It was the pressure I put on myself to live confined rather than balanced, that had expectations frequently met with disappointment.
A work in progress or How I don’t eat shame with that burger…
I choose to live a way that’s become pretty straightforward. I eat what I want. I eat better. I eat less. And I move more. What I want is informed by the little discoveries over the years. How amazing and naturally sweet fruit and vegetables can be. That I don’t really like fast food. That Meat and I have a love/bored relationship. That Ben, Jerry and I will survive not being Besties. That making kick-ass food is just as fun as eating it.
I really don’t think about what I don’t eat. It’s usually because I don’t like it, not because “I can’t have it.” My conversations about food are from a place of excitement and wonder, not fear and anger. I don’t feel guilt or shame. It’s a set up.
There are things that concern me. Like, wow, there’s a lot of sugar in marmalade making. How do I balance experimentation with consumption? What sugar is better? Do I take a break? There’s no hand smacking bad Nikki going on.
I still struggle with bouts of not eating. Or not eating “right.” I’m not chasing some ideal. I, really, forget to eat. Hopped up on coffee, with my brain reeling, I have time to make tricked out ramen before I get cranky.
I’m learning to be patient. Sooo new for me. I’m starting to plan meals. Because the only way the food won’t be in my fridge is if I let it rot.
It’s all a process. I’m happier not worrying about food all the time. It took all the fun out of eating. And cooking. Have you ever just contemplated the flavors in a spoonful and allowed yourself to be blown away? That is some goodness.
This relationship with food is growing and changing. I’m feeling empowered to make better decisions. Finding balance and treating myself a lot better. I like that.
Nikki♥
With the exception of Chipotle visits, my rice life is pretty brown.
