Just one more bite

Whilst flicking through old folders I found this piece from 2012. Anyone who knows me now knows that I love food. I am not a fussy eater at all and eat near enough anything.

But that wasn't always the case.

When I was a child I choked whilst eating and that sparked a fear. A fear of eating. I couldn't eat solid foods. I couldn't physically force myself to swallow as I was terrified of choking again.

At this time of year when the house is filled to bursting with food it can be torture for people with food anxiety. There are snacks and sweets stowed away in every nook and cranny and goodness forbid you don't want that mince pie your aunt is offering you.

So, here is a short story about my experience with my food anxiety and therapy. I hope it helps someone out there.

Enjoy

Sophie




23/07/2012 00:03

Just one more bite

By Sophie Brown

Just one more bite, it’s all I’m asking.

There’s no reason to be afraid.

Stop being ridiculous and just eat!

You’re just doing it for attention.

Stop trying to lose weight like that it doesn’t work!

Please, just please eat.

I stare at the plate in front of me. I’m hungry but I can’t eat, won’t eat, want to eat. My stomach doesn’t even hurt from the lack of food. I’m used to it now. My meal sits on the table mocking me with its presence.  Bringing the fork to my lips my mind tries to remember how natural this is, once was. My subconscious corrects me often. The food is in my mouth and all is well. Chew, chew, chew swallow that’s the pattern, so I do just that... or at least try to.

Chew.

Chew.

Chew.

Stuck.

I try to swallow but it won’t budge. The food feels like it is glued to my tongue, like an immovable lump in my mouth. Did I really put this much in? Or has it tripled in size? My mind races, memories of that day that feels so long ago, the panic, the fear, the anxiety. It all washes over me and I can’t do it. Grabbing a tissue I remove the imminent death from my mouth and sit back with a sigh of relief, safe. My family frowns at me, their emotions scrawled along their faces as plain as day. Fear. Worry. Anxiety. Anger. All of my emotions reflected back at me. Now I feel ashamed.

It’s ridiculous really how it all began. I was eating a bacon sandwich. That’s right just a simple sandwich. Did I laugh? No. Was I eating while running? No. Was my mouthful too big? I didn’t think it was. One minute I was eating and in the next moment my mum was hitting my back. It didn’t work. It’s a strange feeling choking. For a moment you think it will be fine if you swallow again but then it makes the situation worse. You stop breathing and for a brief moment you think you’ll die. Die from something so ridiculous and pathetic. People have died from choking, it isn’t entirely uncommon. I was fine and not for the first time was I glad my mum was a nurse.

Months on and my mum would compare pictures. Me then a happy child with puppy fat as most kids tend to have. Me now, a happy child but slowly wasting away as the number on the scale slipped lower and lower. What did I eat? I ate custard, chocolate, soup, rice pudding... basically anything that didn’t require much chewing or any at all for that matter. However, I chewed everything regardless. It had been going on too long. They had said I’d grow out of it, be fine in a few days. Still, months later I was refusing to eat and the only thing left was...

Therapy. It sounds scary but I wasn’t scared. You have to remember I had a child’s naivety back then I was only six going on seven. My first task was to play so they could see how it had affected my mentality. No change. Then my mum spoke and showed pictures of me her maternal concern shining through. The therapist was young, dark haired with a bright and truly warm smile. He made a chart with two peaks. One was how I reacted and what level my anxiety was at any given point. He made it red. The second, green, line showcased what he hoped to change my anxiety to and how I just had to ‘overcome the bump’.

Off down the winding steps to the kitchen. He tried to make friendly chit chat and most children when provoked will spew utter endearing nonsense. Spaghetti. That was my challenge food. It sounds simple but it was so hard. My fork would push the little strings around in the sauce refusing to touch loop to mouth. School lessons were missed for these sessions. It took a while but finally I ate again. It’s funny because I don’t remember a sense of achievement from it but one memory stands out to me.

One day in the summer I had fallen asleep on the settee and awoke feeling peckish. If hungry you eat food, it all seemed so obvious and simple. My little feet pattered to the fridge and took out a milky way before hazily making my way back to the dining room and into my mum’s lap. I ate it. No fear, no anxiety, just ate it. My mum and nana were shocked to say the least and everyone was so proud. Even my teacher had been proud. She’d made me stand up in front of my Year 2 class and told them how proud she was of me and gave me a little book of paper dolls with paper dresses... I still have that book.

It seems funny looking back now to think I was ever that way. My friends and I constantly joke about how much we love food. One friend of mine once said to me ‘how do you eat so much and stay so skinny? Then again I can’t ever imagine you ever not liking food’. It made me laugh when I thought of this stage of my life. They couldn’t believe it had ever been so but it had.

Although sometimes things seem hopeless at the time, we get over them. Something that can cripple us with fear one day becomes laughable the next. However sometimes we delude ourselves into thinking we are fine, that we don’t need help. When you think something hasn’t affected you that badly, take a moment to look at your loved ones and see what is reflected in their eyes. Sometimes you’ll see things you never noticed before. Sometimes you’ll see the real you and what you’ve become.