Food Shaming

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You eat differently when people watch you.

Or at least you should do, according to my mother. Elbows off the table. Mouth closed. Take small bites, the food’s not going to run away from you. You are a girl and you must eat like one.

My childhood was filled with these words and phrases, and there was never a moment where I wasn’t conscious of the way that I ate. I still distinctly remember the embarrassment and shame I felt when one of my friends pointed out my particularly boyish eating habits. Whatever that means. Holding back tears, I pushed my plate of food away: still hungry, but knowing deep down that I shouldn’t be. The other girls in school seemed to know, innately, just how to be. They knew to choose the salad, to always leave at least some food on the plate, to cover their mouths while they chewed the daintiest of bites. As girls, transitioning into women, they accepted the limits to their taste buds’ enjoyment. Even, seemingly, embraced them.

But I struggled with these most basic of tasks. I envied the freedom of the boys and the mountains of food piled on their dinner trays. I longed for their confidence; to take delight in the soft school carbs, tap into my primal meat-eating instinct with chomps of over-cooked lamb and bland chicken, and ignore the disgust of those around me, focusing solely on the gravy I was lathering over everything (dessert included - don’t judge). I only wanted to eat.