He told me I wasn't to eat any dessert all week. This was in a family where my parents made homemade donuts, and my mom made those delicious pies.
What did I do? I felt unloved. I felt I must be a very bad person. I used my lunch money to buy the junk food I craved. I begged my friends at school for dessert and they always shared with me.
So food became my drug. When I'm unhappy, sad, and lonely I know I can turn to one source: junk food. It never lets me down. I always feel good afterwards. I know it doesn't make sense rationally. Emotionally I still enjoy junk food though I do try to be a lot more careful. I have a husband who loves me just the way I am (plumb) and a son who is wonderful. I no longer need to eat to feel good, but the habit is hard to break. I am overweight and always struggling to cut back and lose weight.
Until I wrote this essay I hadn't realized all the connections to food and abuse in my life. Maybe knowing this I can help myself. I long ago forgave my father, but until I read this I hadn't realized why I often felt angry at my mother. Now I see why.
One thing I must add is that I made a conscious decision not to carry the abuse on to my family. My son has no weight problem. He is physically fit and strong and an athlete. I think I should end this essay with saying even though I have a loving family now, I'm not so sure I love myself. That's a major revelation. I don't know what to do about it, but at least it's out in the open. So I guess I'm a work in progress, just like my writing.
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