Once upon a time, in a land far away known as Brooklyn New York, there lived a beautiful, incredible, smart, and talented girl (if I do say so myself) who sat on her stoop and waited for her prince to come.
All of a sudden, she heard a noise. Looking down the street, she saw the swift movement of a four wheeled white horse rushing towards her. Her heart grew hopeful as it halted right in front of her.
Then, she saw him.
Carried by his trusty servant, he drew nearer to her. She stood up and smiled as his servant said,
"Your food, miss."
She carefully held him in her arms. The aromas of garlic, basil, and oregano tantalizingly seduced her nostrils and tempted her with its promise of warmth and comfort.
It was love at first whiff.
~~~~~
I love food and trying new dishes, but sometimes food doesn't love me.
While I wish for a symbiotic relationship, I sometimes feel like the unrequited lover in a parasitic relationship. I want to keep giving my love to food, but it devours me and leaves me in a crumpling mess both physically and mentally.
In case you couldn't tell, I have a few chronic conditions. For one of my medical conditions, I take corticosteroids. These make me hungry all the time. Another of my conditions is so sensitive that if a dose of my medicine is a drop too little or a drop too much, all my side effects, including my weight, fluctuate with it. With another condition, I get so nauseous and sick after certain ingredients that it takes a full day of recovery to get back to normal. My fourth (and final, I promise) condition directly impacts my weight, my hair growth, and my acne.
It's like a very depressing trading card game and I'm collecting them all (at least no one can deny that I'm an overachiever).
When I was a child, doctors were telling me I had to lose weight, so of course, I interpreted it as "You're fat and it's gross". That was only reinforced by some kids who would mock my weight or "manly looks". Apparently, going through puberty before others and having a unibrow and armpit hair was very "manly", who knew? Basically, I constantly felt that everyone could tell how effeminate and fat I was, and the only way to become a woman was to lose my weight and my body hair.
With these battles on one end, at home, it was another story.
Since I was 10, I've been placed on every diet imaginable. I once spent weeks eating frozen Lean Cuisine or Weight Watcher meals. I was told to try Keto, did it. I was told to try Atkins, did it. I was told to try the Adele one (sirtfood), did it.
But every time I stepped on the scale, it returned the same number or a bigger one, and I hated myself for it. I blamed every part of me and hated every part of me even more. I'd lock up in my room and let the tears fall while holding in any noise so as to not alarm my family. I'd be pacing my room filled with anger and I'd hurt every part I hated--I'd pinch my stomach, slap my mouth, dig my nails into my thighs until I bled, and open my mouth to let out a silent scream.
Being in a house where you must have meat and carbs for dinner followed by tea and dessert, I couldn't always ask my family to stop buying certain ingredients for my diets, so I was constantly being tested. I'd walk into the kitchen, see a box of donuts, and even though I knew I shouldn't, I would give in and munch one...two....okay, maybe the whole box.
To men in my house, the concept of someone not wanting steak and carbs was foreign, and I didn't really have the luxury as a 10 year old to say "I'm not eating this, I'll have the kale salad". Because in our culture, to reject the food you have been given is a huge insult. You eat what you see in front of you and thank the people who worked painstakingly to make it. So, my diets would frequently fail as a result.
It was like a constant battle between my brain, which was telling me to stop eating, and my heart, which was telling me to finish that episode of Good Eats and make a sandwich.
I had constant pains but didn't know where they were coming from, because I was so overwhelmed with that thought of weight loss. And feeling that pain 24/7, I thought it was normal. Only when I went through my first wax without flinching and the lady said "wow, you have extraordinary pain tolerance", did I begin to second guess all my thoughts.
Was my relationship with food on the rocks? Were all my eating habits red flags? Is this self-hatred after each bite my dealbreaker? Why are the opinions of all these people running my life? Why am I in pain all the time?
These questions didn't come overnight. I fought this internal tug of war for years. It was only when I was in college and my friends asked me if I ever researched my illnesses did I start to consider these things. I'd look up what each problem is, what foods to avoid, and what to eat more of. My creative instincts sparked and my culinary passion was rekindled.
It became a game--which substitute is so close to this ingredient that it can replace it and still taste good?
I soon realized that a few changes in the recipes can ease a world of pain for me while also preserving that love I have for cooking.
From there, food and I were in sync again, and we were able to ride off into the sunset with our newly rekindled relationship.
So my dash of advice is this (and it's advice I still strive to follow for myself):
Don't internalize the hate you receive from the wrong people. Internalize the love that you get from the right ones.
Love your body and yourself, cause no one will love you like you will. And honestly? No one will have the same exact struggles as you, so it's useless to compare yourself to others. If it's your weight, your intellect, your success, just remind yourself that you are doing great with the challenges you have, and you did better today than you did yesterday.
If you are told that you can no longer have something, it's not the end of the world. Don't tell yourself that you will never be able to have it again, cause it'll just make you want it more. Instead, find a good substitute or try one of my recipes that offer all types of substitutes, and tell yourself, I'm happy to enjoy something that is just as delicious and will make me feel good.
Then, you too, can walk off in the sunset with your loving and tasty relationship.
And yes, I guess that makes "food" a polygamist and we're all the willing partners, so let's share a group hug and keep moving forward. You got a lot of us in your corner.
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