My inner child loves doughnuts...
I keep putting off the discussion of my low-carb food plan so much that I'm starting to sound like one of those self-help books that repeats over and over, "Just keep reading for the secret to a better life!" but never ends up getting there. I promise, the backstory is necessary because it needs to all be taken in perspective. This post might actually be shorter than the others because it's a pretty simple subject.
My family didn't like me and the only way I know how to soothe that subconscious pain is through eating.
Don't get me wrong. My family loved me, they gave me everything I needed, they clothed me, fed me, gave me toys, kept the house clean, sent me to good schools, and provided me with countless enriching educational experiences.
They just didn't like me. For instance, one day when I was in my early 20's my uncle (Mom's brother) said to me, "If you weren't related to me I wouldn't want to spend any time with you. You're just not the kind of person I like to hang around with."
I'm not an ax murderer, I'm not a sociopath, I'm not even (very) socially awkward. I just like different things and care about different things than my family does. I have a different style in fashion and music, I value different things (for instance, I'm liberal and they're not), and, the most important thing: I was born in the USA and the rest of them were born in Cuba. I don't have any of the Cubanismo or Cuban attitudes that they thought a "good little Cuban girl" should have. And I heard almost every day that they wished I had been born in Cuba so that I could be more like all the other "good little Cuban girls". I heard, "What's wrong with you?" more often than I can remember. I heard, "You're abnormal," a few times too. And every time I heard those things I learned that I wasn't valued by the people that should have valued me the most.
As a side note, they all had their own problems too: alcoholism, rage issues, paranoia, abuse. Every holiday or family get-together ended in a huge fight among the adults with me being fully exposed to it as I sat on the couch making myself as small as possible so I wouldn't get caught in the crossfire, either as a pawn or as a target.
The only time I remember my family peacefully interacting was when I was in the kitchen helping my grandmother cook or when we were sitting down to eat. My best memories of my childhood were in that blue-painted kitchen helping with Thanksgiving dinner or just learning how to cook perfect rice.
Food is how I feel love, it's how I express love to others, and it's how I show myself love. From the moment I could serve myself food I used it to show myself the unconditional love my parents weren't showing me.
I think I spent about $8,000 in therapy last year to learn that about myself. Worth every penny.
My family didn't like me and the only way I know how to soothe that subconscious pain is through eating.
Don't get me wrong. My family loved me, they gave me everything I needed, they clothed me, fed me, gave me toys, kept the house clean, sent me to good schools, and provided me with countless enriching educational experiences.
They just didn't like me. For instance, one day when I was in my early 20's my uncle (Mom's brother) said to me, "If you weren't related to me I wouldn't want to spend any time with you. You're just not the kind of person I like to hang around with."
I'm not an ax murderer, I'm not a sociopath, I'm not even (very) socially awkward. I just like different things and care about different things than my family does. I have a different style in fashion and music, I value different things (for instance, I'm liberal and they're not), and, the most important thing: I was born in the USA and the rest of them were born in Cuba. I don't have any of the Cubanismo or Cuban attitudes that they thought a "good little Cuban girl" should have. And I heard almost every day that they wished I had been born in Cuba so that I could be more like all the other "good little Cuban girls". I heard, "What's wrong with you?" more often than I can remember. I heard, "You're abnormal," a few times too. And every time I heard those things I learned that I wasn't valued by the people that should have valued me the most.
As a side note, they all had their own problems too: alcoholism, rage issues, paranoia, abuse. Every holiday or family get-together ended in a huge fight among the adults with me being fully exposed to it as I sat on the couch making myself as small as possible so I wouldn't get caught in the crossfire, either as a pawn or as a target.
The only time I remember my family peacefully interacting was when I was in the kitchen helping my grandmother cook or when we were sitting down to eat. My best memories of my childhood were in that blue-painted kitchen helping with Thanksgiving dinner or just learning how to cook perfect rice.
Food is how I feel love, it's how I express love to others, and it's how I show myself love. From the moment I could serve myself food I used it to show myself the unconditional love my parents weren't showing me.
I think I spent about $8,000 in therapy last year to learn that about myself. Worth every penny.
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