Last spring I invited you to share with me your “untold stories” around food and nourishment. Each time I launch my Well-Nourished Woman program, I am reminded that even though I have hundreds of useful tips and a PASSION for bringing ease and joy to your kitchen and artistry to your plate, there are much bigger issues at play when we enter the world of food and nourishment.

We have a past.

We have a food story.

We have CRAZYbusy lives.

Some of us even have some pretty strong ANTInourishment stories to unravel before we can fully embrace a new way of being around food. And our bodies.

From time to time I will illuminate some of these stories so that we can engage in a deeper conversation around what it means to nourish ourselves at every level. If you feel called to share your story, either privately or with a larger audience, please send me an email. Some of these stories are simply looking for a private space to be witnessed and held. Others come with full permission to appear in this blog. Together we’ll decide where they will live and in what form.

Please acknowledge the courage of the writer and engage in the conversation that follows. I am deeply honored to present Emily Stringer. . .

The Teeter Totter Of Eating
by Emily Stringer

I’m not sure I would call myself “athletic,” but I do really love to ski. I grew up in a small mountain town in upstate New York. When I was around two years old my dad taught me how to ski. I still remember the thrill of my dad taking me down that steep slope named, “Wolf.” I can close my eyes and feel the brisk, winter air brushing my cheeks. I can envision the white powdery snow cushioning my falls and the joy of feeling my first taste of freedom. After every ski trip we would go get a giant M&M cookie. I remember that giant doughy cookie, being just as pleasurable as the skiing, if not more. I saw it as an emblem of all my hard work, a reward. If I was a “good” girl, I got a cookie. I am sure there were days when I didn’t get my cookie, but I don’t remember those. For some reason, when I think of my history with food and eating, this story comes to mind. I think this was one of the first of many times that I experienced food as a way of rewarding myself for something I accomplished or punishing myself for something I failed at, rather than as a form of nourishment.

Although my childhood was indeed full of bright “rewarding” moments like skiing, I also had many moments hiding in dark alleys of turmoil. During my teenage years and even into young adulthood, I was bulimic.  I was stuck in a prison cell with food, chained to my own dark horse. Like most bulimics, I ate only foods that were  “healthy” and if I went off the “healthy” list or ate too much on that list, I’d punish myself by purging those foods.

On the outside, I became thin and people rewarded my exterior with compliments. I would hear things like: “You are so beautiful!” “You look so great!” “You are so healthy!” (the most ironic of them all) and these comments would encourage (reinforce) my secret life. I was a spider trapped in a huge web of reward, failure, punishment, and guilt. Oddly, instead of being full of health and beauty, I was empty and dead inside. You may be wondering, “How did that rosy-cheeked little girl go from learning how to ski with her daddy to hating herself and her body?” I wonder that too. I’m sure I can conjure up many excuses and reasons why, but none of the blame matters. The fact was, food was my outlet, my poison of choice.

The vicious cycle of self-loathing erupted one day on a trip I took to Bali when I was a Freshman in college. A dear friend of mine called me out on my “habit.” After a fine Balinese meal she noticed me slipping away into a bathroom stall for too long and returning with a sorry excuse like, “Did you see those paintings?” I thought I was clever, but she didn’t take my excuses and explained her own past with eating and food wars, and asked a simple question, “What are you doing to yourself?” What was I doing to myself other than punishing myself for being me? I was humiliated yet relieved. Finally, I was able to talk about my secret to someone I could relate to. I really tried my best to let go of my best friend (the bulimia) and I wish I could say I did, but like most addictions, I traded it for alcohol. Instead of the nice life of an eating disorder I was happily partying my way into horrible drunk-induced stupors. For me drinking and over-drinking always led to sticky situations, guilt and more guilt. Yet, food and alcohol were clever hats for me to wear while I was living a hollow life of punishment.

After graduating from college I self-destructed some more (I know, surprising, right?). I had lost my identity of over-achiever, over-drinker, over-thrower-upper and over-doer. I was left with no outlets for my inner turmoil. I sought refuge in others and ran away to Tennessee with a grade school sweetheart. The binge-purge cycle started up again. This time I had a nice cocktail of self-destruction containing over-drinking, binge eating, purging AND toxic male relationships. I eventually hit another rock bottom and sought therapy. I knew I needed help more then ever. Therapy helped. I ended up finding a job in Boston. Boston is where I finally found some inner-peace and… my future husband.

I wish I could say it was roses and lollipops from there and my prince charming cured all of my ills. Eight years later, there are days when I still struggle to find peace. Now, I’m a mother of two, I have a blossoming writing career, a husband who adores me, friendships that nourish me, yet I still struggle with loving myself. I do, however, have a much nicer friendship with food. I have been writing a successful food blog empowering people to choose healthy places to eat and feed their families well. We teach what we most want to learn, right?

For me, a measurement of my self-love is eating nourishing foods, participating in nourishing activities, surrounding myself with nourishing people, and thinking soul-nourishing thoughts. Recently, I have also noticed that it’s ok to go towards one direction even if it is an extreme low or high as long as I am aware that it is part of the teeter-totter ride towards finding balance. I have learned to trust that all will eventually even out. I don’t think any struggle in life is always either up in the air or rock bottom on the ground, unless of course we are dead. So today, I accept that my relationship with food is much like my relationship with myself, my husband, or my children, a work in progress and I’m ok with that.