Food Trauma

In an effort to help me lower my blood sugar during a weird spike, my guy suggested I buy some zero sugar gelatin as a snack. I was in a hurry and didn't look at the label, so I didn't realize it was artificially sweetened with aspartame, which I try to avoid. Also, it's Jell-O, which still brings back unhappy childhood memories.

Mom made Jell-O because it was cheap and she was probably trying to give us a treat (we didn't get many of those in our house.) She made cakes with it, partfaits, and that molded ring with canned fruit in it, too. Unfortunately my mother expected me to eat it every time she served it for dessert (along with all the other food she piled on my plate. She constantly overfed me because I was small.) I could never refuse, even when her Jell-O concoctions made me sick enough to throw up. Then Mom would get mad and yell at me for that, which she believed I did deliberately like I did with milk (I was severely lactose intolerant, too.) So I learned how to throw up as silently as possible so she wouldn't find out.

I left home when I was 17 and started making my own food choices, and that's probably why I didn't end up with an eating disorder. I've slowly tried to get past the trauma, too -- I can and have eaten Jell-O since then, but I'm not a huge fan of it.

I know my problems with food are rooted in that childhood trauma. Mom didn't like to cook, so she loved anything that was fast and easy to make as well as cheap. She made dozens of recipes with Bis-Quick biscuit mix, including this huge pasty cheeseburger pie she cooked in a skillet that was particularly awful. Like Jell-O she went way overboard with the Bis-Quick. I still shudder when I see the box at the market.

Beets, squash, okra, lima beans and anything made with cornbread stuffing make me nauseated because of forced consumption during childhood. I can't even look at beets without wanting to throw up, honestly. I will never eat pumpkin pie again because everything Thanksgiving I was expected to eat a huge slice immediately after dinner. I also haven't touched Cool-Whip, which Mom piled on pies and cakes, since I left home.

During Mom's lifetime I never confronted her about the consequences I faced because she forced me to eat what she decided I had to. It was the way it was back then, and I know she was trying in her own way to be a good mother. At the same time I still struggle with these triggers. They may seem silly, but they're very real to me.

I'm writing this post in hopes that someone who reads it will understand how important it is not to force others, even kids, to eat. Respecting others and their food choices is the only way to prevent trauma that may haunt them for the rest of their lives.