How it began

[val2zap]

She knew they were there. She saw them in the house hiding in the laundry room. They kept calling to her, beckoning her to come and save them, to make them feel wanted and loved. They teased and taunted her from afar. She couldn’t stop thinking about them, they haunted her thoughts.

She tried to watch TV, tried to ignore them, but it was useless. Finally, she got up the nerve and asked, “Mom, can I have a cookie?” Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies. Mom rarely bought them. They were a treat. She was very excited.

“Yes, Valerie, you can have two of them.” How exciting! How thrilling! I could have two cookies! But, I knew that wouldn’t be enough. I wanted more. I knew what they would taste like - I knew how the cookie would become softer when I dipped it in my glass of milk -the cookie and the milk becoming one making me thirstier for more. Two? Only two.

Since the cookies were in the laundry room on the shelf she would never see me. She would never know. I opened the bag, grabbed two cookies, hesitated then grabbed two more. I put them up my sleeve. She didn’t see! She didn't know! I made the pretense of turning off the TV, and in the meantime I put the two extra cookies under the cushion of the couch for later.

I was right. It was bliss. Two wouldn’t be enough. Mom left me alone in the kitchen. Slowly, I went and retrieved my hidden stash. I ate them quickly. So good. No one would know.

And thus, the closet, sugar addicted over-eater was born at the tender ripe old age of 4.

Most of my memories strangely revolve around food. That story is true and it is my first memory where food is concerned. In trying to analyze where my obsession with food began, this story tells so much about me and my behavior I can’t believe it took me well over 30 years to figure it out!

I am writing this as a cathartic process for myself. I’ve just had my revelation as to why I am the way I am. It stems from this story. In the hope of getting better, it is crucial that I put down all these memories – whether they are comical, shameful, sad, melancholic or detrimental. It is necessary for me to get through the obsessive compulsive over eating behavior.

It’s funny how in preparation for writing this, I wrote down a list. I thought I would list all these emotional instances in my life that caused me to be the way I am. Instead, I wound up listing memories that revolved completely around food – both good and bad memories – but the emotions were incidental to the act of eating food.

So, as thoughts hit me, I feel the need to write it out. You can elect to read it or skip over. Maybe you'll see something of yourself in this. Maybe together we can overcome our demons. who knows? But, stay tuned. My new obsession has begun...

[Dayanira]

Val,
Keep writing...I'm reading.... Very interesting stuff!

[Key]

Val, I think your efforts to conquer your demons through writing will not only help you. I bet a bunch of us will start thinking about similar instances in our own pasts and asking why. I learned to substitute love with food at a tender age - my mother (also overweight) was not really there for us, or even herself. I'm sure she - and many other women of her generation - got more (less?) than she signed up for being a stay at home mother with a workaholic husband in the 1960s. I'm sure she turned to food when she wasn't getting the love she needed from my father and then passed that technique onto us so she could retreat into novels.

Thanks for sharing this intimacy with us. Do keep it up.

[val2zap]

So, I have too much time on my hands. I've been writing and I am copying it here. Who else can share in the madness and understand what I am going through better than you.:party1:

Well, I already told you my first memory. But there are plenty more where that came from.

Once I found the power of sneaking cookies and that I could get away with it, I kept doing that with anything sweet. It’s strange that I am overweight now, because as a kid, I never ate anything. I was the pickiest of eaters. I liked my certain food and that was it. I wouldn’t try anything else.

I can remember many dinners where I was forced to sit there and finish my plate of food. Obviously something I didn’t want. It was the battle of wills. Who was going to win- my parents or me? I could sit there for quite a long time as my parents and my sister cleaned up the rest of the table.

I tried several times to pretend that I was eating the food, but my parents were smart. They knew the tricks. I would put a huge forkful of food in my mouth, wipe my mouth with my napkin and discretely spit my food back into it. Then, run to the bathroom to throw the food out. They knew it though, sometimes they would let it slide, other times they didn’t.

Ah, what lengths I would go through to try to deceive my parents. Sometimes I got away with it and sometimes I didn’t. In retrospect, I feel bad. A recurring memory I have is of my poor mother trying to get me to eat farina. She was so creative. She lured me with the idea of syrup and raisins. She made smiley faces with them. “Look Valerie, it’s happy to see you!” I would cry instead. Oh God, I feel bad. How did that make her feel, having this ungrateful daughter who cried at her ingenuity!!

But, it must be that I wanted to do what I wanted with food. I wanted to eat what I liked and fie on you if you wanted me to eat something else. I wanted to enjoy my food, not eat it because someone wanted it of me.

As I am sure all kids are this way, I craved sweet food. This craving has stayed with me all my life. But, I won’t kid myself - my bad habits have carried over even onto the healthy foods. But it really must have started with the sugar foods.

My parents didn’t want my sister or me to have a lot of sugar, but the sugar stuff was always a treat. Maybe that’s where they went wrong. “Look what we got? Cookies!” Or ice cream, or Twinkies or some such food. It was a treat for us. It meant we were good, it meant it was summer or Xmas or some other happy memory was attached to it. I don’t ever remember having a tantrum due to not getting a toy – but rather because I couldn’t get the candy bar.

My parents weren’t wealthy when I was growing up. The sugary foods were more expensive. I realize that now, but of course I didn’t know that then. I wanted Captain Crunch cereal or sugar corn pops. Instead of telling us he couldn’t afford it, my father would tell us that we couldn’t have it because there was too much sugar in it. I remember having the debate with him that I put more pure sugar on my corn flakes or raisin bran than the sweet cereals could possibly contain. And I really did. I would put between two to three heaping teaspoons of sugar on the cereal right after I added the milk. Then I would eat the top part and add more sugar as I got down to the bottom of the bowl. I think my favorite part was drinking the left over milk because it would be soooo incredibly sweet by then. Yum.

Dancing with Mrs. Buttersworth.

Do you remember those commercials in the early 70’s when Mrs. Buttersworth would talk to the kids while they were eating the pancakes? I loved those commercials. I totally related to Mrs. Buttersworth and I wished to have her at my house.

How wonderful would that be? Me and Mrs. Buttersworth! Think of the conversations we could have with each other. I would love her unconditionally. She was sweet, she was rich and thick. She made everything taste better.

Ok, I confess. I was also 4 or 5 years old and believed that the bottle could actually talk. I won’t even get into my unnatural attachments to inanimate objects. That’s another book.

But, can you imagine my surprise when one Sunday morning we are having pancakes and my father puts the Mrs. Buttersworth bottle on the table? My lord, it was my dream come true. There she was in all her thickness looking at me. I was elated.

I was so elated that I thought I would dance with her. I picked her up gingerly and exclaimed “Oh Mrs. Buttersworth.” I grabbed her hard and did a ballet move into the family room where I could truly express my joy at having her as my guest.

I was dancing side-to-side doing a little waltz, humming and singing nonsense tunes. Then, it was time to truly show her how I felt. It was time for a twirl. I held her tight and spun around and around in a circle. She was everywhere!

I mean it. She was everywhere. Apparently, the cap wasn’t on tight, just sitting on top of her pretty little head. When I spun, I spun her cap right off. With that all the syrup came spewing out of her head and all over the couch, chair and the shag rug.

Did I mention that the shag rug had just come back from being shampoo cleaned the day before? Um, yeah. To say that I was in trouble would be an understatement. I heard screams from the kitchen as my father and mother realized what I was doing. In my elation I did not hear them.

When I finally came out of my bliss, I realized what I had done, burst out crying and ran into my room to hide under my desk. Maybe they wouldn’t find me.

I don’t remember anything after that. That’s not to say that I was beaten, I think I just put the “bad” part out of my mind. Who wants to remember getting yelled at? I’m sure I was punished in some fashion.

My parents couldn’t afford to get the rug re-cleaned so for the next few years the couch, rug and chair had dried syrup on them. The chair was always a comfort for me, to put my head down and smell the old dry syrup. It still smelled fresh. I was sad to see that chair go a couple of years later.

So, if a psycho analyst were to analyze these two stories, what do you think he’d say about me? Is there supposed to be some sort of revelation on my part a la *** in the City narration where there is always a point or a moral (though sordid)?

I am no “Carrie Bradshaw” nor am I Robert Fulgham who also had a point at the end of each of his sweet moralistic, higher order vignettes. Unlike them, I don’t know what my point is here. But, I think it’s a good illustration as to my fondness for sweet things as well as not thinking clearly. You can come up with your own analysis. I’m not ready to come to a conclusion – I don’t think I could handle it.

[Samantha]

Val2Zap, great stories, keep writing, like Dayanira, I'm reading. Can't do they psychoanalysis bit, but love the insights, which such a stubborn streak in you, you should have no problems with overcoming the sweet desires!!!! Sam

[Aqua Eyes]

Val... this was truly a wonderful story. Reminds me of the time that I tried to "fly" down the stairs at age 4 because Peter Pan was my hero and I just knew I could fly like him! Ummm... well... it kind of hurts to roll down a flight of stairs from the top to the bottom. Good thing I was a resilient young kid. I didn't get any broken bones.

I can see how one could easily attach themselves to Mrs. Butterworth. She was a lovely lady and her syrup is so yummy. She evoked motherly loving warmth security. Have you looked at why you are "attached" so much to sweets? Your point in that you only got sweets when there was a happy event attached to them. You equated being happy with having sweets. If you didn't have sweets then your world couldn't be fun and happy. I think there is a bit of "safety" issue in this as well. You are safe when your world is fun and happy. Can you be safe without your world always being fun and happy? Can you have fun and be happy without sweets being a reward or being part of a holiday?

[val2zap]

I believe I have an addictive gene in my makeup. Only for me, as with others, I don't get addicted to alcohol - barely have a drink at all during a year; I don't get addicted to drugs, I don't get addicted to smoking - social smoker here. Can smoke a pack in three days and then not smoke again for 3 years. But, when it comes to food - I guess that's always been with me. As I go through my stories I can definitely see how some of my behaviors have come from the environment in which I lived - and I had a happy childhood - but I can also see how some of it is just plain old me. And sugar - sweet sugar - is my crack. I would - and still do - spend all day thinking about the snacks that were in the house, or that I could get on my own, or what was being displayed on tv.

And as kids, they made all those snacks so inviting - Mrs. Buttersworth - an animated character, Aunt Jemima - she would wink at you at the end of the commercial, Twinkies - remember the Twinkie cowboy? Who wouldn't want to hang out with him?

How could a child resist all those sweet temptations? Did you ever see characters for healthy food? Only recently in the past decade or so (Veggie tales) have they made those foods inviting on tv.

[val2zap]

Playing with food

Also from my childhood I remember always playing with my food. It was a source of entertainment in every sense of the word. Not only would I enjoy eating it for the sheer pleasure of eating something tasty, but I would finger my food (pun?) in all sorts of ways to show I loved it.

As a third and a half generation off-the-boat Italian (grandfather from sicily, other grandparents’ parents from italy) I developed an appreciation for eating. You would also think I would know all the fancy Italian names for food. I didn’t. Not then. There were so many different kinds of pasta, I could only tell my mother what I wanted by telling her how I played with it.

Take Rigatoni for example. I was able to describe the pasta to her because I explained how I liked to take a rigatoni and place it on my finger. I would then wiggle it around, make it “talk” to me, apologize for eating it and then do the inevitable mouth stuffing. I liked to put them on all my fingers at the same time to pretend like I had fingernails.

Why did my parents let me do that? I guess they were just happy I was eating, and again I was pretty little at the time.

What about Jello? I loved to put it in between my cheek and my teeth and then try to suck it through my teeth. I loved the sensation and it made me slow down when I ate. Maybe then I wouldn’t eat so much.

Oh, and what about twinkies? I loved to stick my finger in the 3 little holes to try to figure out how the cream got in there. (please don’t make that out to be any more than what it really was Let’s not get perverted here!)

O my God, I just remembered nabisco fudgetown cookies. There was a picture of a cowboy on the package. They don’t make them anymore, but I can remember how they looked and how I played with them. They were in the shape of little flowers with a hole in the middle and there was so much chocolate on the sandwich cookie that the filling almost exploded out of the center hole. I used to stick my finger in the hole and push out the chocolate. To be gross, I was pretending it was poop coming out, but I ate it nonetheless.

What’s with me and fingers and holes? Dr. Freud would have a field day with this. But there you have it. Food was such a tactile object for me. I enjoyed touching it, playing with it, savoring it my mouth. It was my first love affair at that age. I probably loved those foods just as much as I loved my Winnie the Pooh blanket. I think I’m starting to see the light.

Quality time with Dad and D&D.

When I was little, I was Mommy’s little girl. I always wanted to be near her, close to her. I cried for her all the time. I was kind of afraid of my father then. He always tried to do family stuff with my sister and me but I was too attached to my mother.

But, then the tides shifted a bit. I became old enough to go food shopping with my father and learn how to push my own cart in the supermarket.

Every other Saturday was shopping day. It used to be that my sister would go shopping with Dad and I would stay home with Mom and wait for the packages. My job was to fold the bags.

But then, I turned 7 and I was ready to behold the food shopping experience. In reality it was a chore. My father liked to get there early – right when the store opened and we had to travel a few towns away. So, he bribed my sister and me to get up early. Most times she and I would take turns going with him. This way he could have his quality time with each of us.

Our Saturday morning ritual was going to Dunkin donuts before going to Shop-rite. I don’t have any memory of donuts prior to this. I remember going in there and seeing all those choices. I didn’t know what to have.

Remember, I was a picky eater then and though I was (and am) a sugar addict not all things appealed to me. It was a very tough decision for me. I opted for a chocolate cream filled donut with a cup of hot chocolate and whipped cream.

My father watched me intently as I tried my donut. The donut was filled to the brim with chocolate filling. Mmmm, mmm. It was soooo good. The sweet confectioner’s sugar that coated the donut, the chocolate filling bursting from its doughy containment. Lord, I loved it. I think this incident is what started my strange cravings later in life.

My father and I had a good time. We talked, we laughed, we made the counter girl laugh and anyone sitting next to us. I had confectioners sugar all over me. It was impossible not to get the white powder from falling into my lap or on my shirt or to have it all over my mouth. Even today it is an impossible feat to eat that donut neatly. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine was close to being arrested for having that same powder on her lip which was almost mistaken for cocaine. That was during one of our road trips, but again, that’s another story altogether.

But I remember those times with my dad fondly. I couldn’t tell you what we spoke about, but I always got my chocolate cream filled donut and hot chocolate. I always made a mess and most important of all my father and I bonded.

[Key]

Hi Val,

To this day I love to eat with my fingers. I don't assign anthropomorphic characteristics to the food but I imagine that would be great fun. You definitely had/have a great imagination.

I found out a long time ago that donuts gave me indigestion so I stopped eating them. I can only imagine how big I would have let myself get if I hadn't!

[val2zap]

The power of creation

Dad and I bonded over the donuts. Mom and I bonded over cooking. I can remember her teaching me how to make chocolate pudding. I stood on a stool over the stove and stirred constantly. That, quite honestly was a pain. It was too much work and I didn’t get instant gratification. There was no such thing as “instant” pudding in those days. So you had to stir and stir for 20 minutes and then put it in the fridge for even longer. The temptation was too great for me and it took too long. I gave up on pudding being my food savior.

But, there were other things she taught me. As a youngster, kids always learn to make cakes – and that was very a good moment for me. But, the real crucial education was how to make icing. I didn’t learn how to make that until I was about 8 or 9.

Icing. How I love thee, let me count the ways. I love it. The sweeter the better. The grainier the better. Whipped or smooth, chocolate, vanilla or lemon. It didn’t matter. It was a delicacy that I was going to learn how to make. Would I have to stir constantly like the pudding? How soon would I be able to eat it?

And the commercials for icing. They always had those creamy icing swirls on the cake. I wanted to do that. I wanted to make my cake beautiful with those perfect swirls and drifts. The more icing the better.

So, patiently my mother taught me how to make it with the electric mixing bowl. There would be no tedious stirring. I was surprised at how simple it was to make this. Get a stick of butter, confectioner’s sugar, milk and vanilla extract. It was instant too. As soon as you’re done mixing it you can eat it! No waiting time. I could do a taste test over and over. I could lick the spoon, lick the bowl, dive head first into the cake! Sigh.

Oh Mom. Do you even realize the monster you created when you taught me how to do that? Such simple ingredients. I was clever. I deduced that I wouldn’t need the electric mixer if ever I wanted to be sneaky about making this. We always kept a supply of these ingredients in the house.

As I got a little older – say 10 or 11, the icing bug really kicked in. At that time my mother went back to work. My sister and I were left alone for about 20 minutes or so before we had to get the bus.

Mom would kiss us goodbye, tell us not to fight and I would watch her leave. I watched out the window to make sure she was all the way down the street. Once she was out of sight, I shot into the kitchen.

Grab a bowl, grab the butter, milk, sugar and vanilla. Take about a quarter of the butter and start the icing making process. Only a spoon was needed to be able to eat my sweet luscious, creamy breakfast.

So, this was my next reason for sneaking behind my parents’ backs. I wanted to bring my friends in on the action. Thus began my private bathroom experiences that are still a source for discussion today.

You were part of my secret club if I brought you into the bathroom to make some delicious dessert. Why the bathroom? It was the only room with a lock where my parents couldn’t come strolling in.

Why didn’t we just make this stuff in the kitchen you ask again? I don’t know. Probably because our society says we can’t eat icing without cake. We can’t eat raw cookie dough. We can’t stick our head in the mixing bowl to drink the brownie mix. All these cant’s. My mission was to be able to get away with this.

I looked at making this stuff as if I was a secret spy like James Bond or maybe Maxwell Smart – more than likely. I needed to spy out where my parents were. I listened intently as my friends stood in the bathroom with a dazed look on their faces wondering what in the world I was doing.

Wait, what was that? I knew the difference between the squeak in the downstairs chair when one was simply shifting positions or if they were getting out of it. Relax. It was just a shift of position.

I would then quickly tip toe into the kitchen. Slowly open the cabinets so that the magnetic release wouldn’t make any noise. Carefully remove a bowl and a spoon and disappear back into the bathroom.

Then I would go back, repeat the whole routine and grab the butter and the milk. I didn’t need to get the confectioners sugar nor the vanilla, as when we had stocked up our supply for public consumption I would take the half used items and store them on the secret ledge in the cabinet under the sink. It would be there for as long as I needed it or until I could replenish my stash.

Once safe and secure in the bathroom I would go through the process of demonstrating how to make icing to my friends. We would sit there on the floor stirring and sticking our fingers in the bowl. Being pigs basically, but me most of all. I can’t drag my friends down with me. It was the peer pressure and sheer curiosity as to what was so important we needed to do it in the bathroom.

The bathroom meetings didn’t just involve icing. It also involved making cookie dough. I would basically do the same process with the boxes of cookie mix. Then, once made I could sneak the bowl into my desk drawer and go in there anytime I wanted for the next two hours. Again, always keeping my ear out for the slightest noise or creak in the floors.

Even at that age though, I couldn’t just have a little bit. I would have to finish the whole thing. If I left it (in my drawer) to go back to whatever it was I was doing – homework, playing, singing, daydreaming – that cookie dough would call to me much as the chocolate chip cookies did from the laundry room.

I would try to get a backbone and tell myself that that was enough; even when I was feeling a little ill. I could leave it for about 10 minutes. But eventually my resolve would fade and I would be back in for “just one more spoonful”. The thoughts consumed me, I would picture the dough in my drawer, picture me eating, still feel the residue of it on my tongue. To chew it was divine.

Did I ever get sick you might be wondering? Surprisingly, I really didn’t. I may have had the runs the next day, but that was a small price to pay.

I did this throughout my pre teens and teenage years. I never got caught until after I went away to college. My mother decided to clean my room while I was gone – and lo and behold she found a bowl with petrified raw cookie dough in it.

I was embarrassed of course, but more than that, I couldn’t remember when I would have made that – and even more curious was why it wasn’t finished. My poor mom tried to rescue the metal mixing bowl it was in but it was useless. The thing was so hard she would have needed a chisel to get the stuff out. That was one bowl of wasted cookie dough.

I just re-read this passage. I am picturing what you might be saying – “man, this chick is sick!” If you’ve never had an eating disorder, you cannot understand. But, you must have your own type of vice – alcohol, drugs, ***, sports. Anything that you crave all the time, that’s how it is with food and me.

I also said that this type of sneaking went on into my teenage years. Who am I kidding? It has gone on my whole life – even to today. What can I sneak so that no one will know what I’m doing? Am I able to get away with it?

Now however, the feelings have changed. Guilt has accompanied this blissful feeling. I love eating the cookie, icing, ice cream or whatever junk food it is, but only while I’m eating it. Just for a few seconds. Once I swallow – guilt, unspeakable feelings of disgust with myself. But, as usual the food has a hypnotic spell on me and I go in again and again. It’s a vicious cycle when I’m in that mode. When it’s all done all I can feel is bloat and remorse.

These stories are funny when it is happening to a kid and when it’s in retrospect but it’s disgusting in an adult. When did that shift in attitude happen? It happened right now as you read this story. One paragraph you may have been smiling, but then you got sad or disgusted when I told you I was still doing it, didn’t you? Strange how that happens.

Maybe while writing this, when I have an epiphany I should recap the symptoms that I have seen in these stories. So, let’s see. I became a closet eater at the age of 4 but why? I wanted more and I couldn’t have it. My payoff (a la Dr. Phil) was knowing that I had 2 more cookies than allowed- so that is I liked going against authority. I resented the rules. Yet, I had some respect or fear of those rules that I didn’t want to get caught, thus hiding behind the scenes.

Then there was my attachment to sweet things and just loving the taste of them that I had to show my appreciation by dancing or playing with my food. So, that must indicate a physiological issue that I loved sugar as well. Is that something I have control over? Can I actually help myself? Don’t they say that alcoholism is an inherited genetic issue? Is that what is happening with sugar and me?

[Ms. CrackerHead]

Hi val2zap,

As I was reading your posts, I wondered if you had heard of Geneen Roth? She writes about the very thing you are talking about in books and magazine articles. I think you would really benefit from insight from her, although you do seem to have quite a bit already!! And very descriptive, nice posts that convey your struggles.

Anyway...good author who you would totally "get" as she has gone through this food addiction. Reading her articles has enlightened my thoughts on why I love food, sweets in particular! If you go to goodhousekeeping's website, it has links to her latest articles and I have inserted the biography they have on her.

http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/author-bio/about-geneen-roth

About Geneen Roth
Good Housekeeping columnist -- dieting and overcoming emotional eating.

Geneen's work proceeds with the conviction that our actions and beliefs make exquisite sense, and that the way to transform our relationship with food is to be open, curious, and kind.

Geneen believes that we eat the way we live, and that our relationship to food, money, love is an exact reflection of our deepest-held beliefs about ourselves and the amount of joy, abundance, pain, scarcity we believe we have (or are allowed to have) in our lives. Rather than pushing away the "crazy" things we do, Geneen's work proceeds with the conviction that our actions and beliefs make exquisite sense, and that the way to transform our relationship with food is to be open, curious, and kind with ourselves — instead of punishing, impatient, and harsh. She has worked with hundreds of thousands of people using meditation, inquiry, and a set of seven eating guidelines that are the foundation of natural eating.

Geneen has appeared on many national television shows, including Oprah, 20/20, NBC Nightly News, The View, and Good Morning America. Articles about Geneen and her work have appeared in numerous publications, including Cosmopolitan, Time, The New York Times, The Chicago Tribune, and The Philadelphia Inquirer. She has had a monthly column for Good Housekeeping magazine since May 2007 and is the author of seven books, including the New York Times bestseller When Food Is Love. Her most recent book, The Craggy Hole in My Heart and the Cat Who Fixed It: Over the Edge and Back with My Dad, My Cat and Me, is about love, loss, and thriving when we lose what we believe we cannot live without. For more information and support, go to GeneenRoth.com.

[val2zap]

HI,

No I haven't heard of her. I will have to check her out. And here I thought I was original! :) Thanks for reading.