Healthy Chicks

As a child, I absolutely adored food. I was lucky to grow up in a household that valued good food, and sitting down for family dinners. My mom’s chicken parmesan, shepherd’s pie and chicken devan were absolutely to-die-for, and I cherished each and every bite.

I have fond memories walking into my grandmother’s house to the comforting aroma of a fresh pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. I loved helping my grandma cook, plopping celery and carrots into the boiling water ever so carefully to assure I wouldn’t get burnt. She taught me how to make pierogies (making sure to pinch the dough juuuust right), and that there’s nothing sweeter than a tomato picked fresh from the garden with just a pinch of salt.

Food was love. And we all loved to eat.

Somewhere along the way, that all changed. I learned that food was “bad” and would in turn make me fat. And so the self-depricating, fat-shaming deprivation began. Food consumed me for a solid 6+ years of my life. It was always on my mind, and I completely let it dictate my life. I’d skip out on dates, dinner with friends, and fabulous opportunities all because of my fear of food.

Going out to dinner was the worst, as each meal was more like a science project than a joyous occasion. I’d sit there and dissect every little bite, count the calories and make sure I didn’t eat “too much.”

I vividly remember the spring during my senior year of college, when all of my girlfriends were going out to celebrate the last semester with margaritas and Mexican. At the time, it was my version of complete hell. I sat in my room by myself, contemplating whether I should go or not. All the while, I was super angry at myself for not being able to “loosen up” and have fun like the rest of my friends, whose thoughts were consumed with far more glamorous things than food. At the same time, I was scared shitless of what might happen if I did go: the calories I’d consume, the guilt I’d feel, what the number might say on the scale the next morning.

After a couple of hours of pondering — and some peer pressure from my friends — I decide to go. I snacked on chips and salsa all night, and then ordered a margarita on the rocks (because all the other girls got one and I didn’t want to feel out of place.) I drank half of it and immediately felt the sugar making me fatter. While everyone else was laughing, cheers-ing and celebrating, all I could think about was all the calories I was consuming.

Why can’t I just be like them? Will this cycle ever end? How can I be free?

Years later — through lots of soul-searching, positive mantra and self-love practices — I began to discover the notion of food as a celebration, an experience. And everything changed.

I realized that food wasn’t the villain; it was my mindset + relationship with my body that needed to change.

Nowadays, some of my fondest memories revolve around the table surrounded by food.

It brings me back to a summer I spent in Southern Italy during college. I was living in a tiny little village by the water, with an apartment that didn’t have a scale. Not to mention, the food there did not come with a label (as it was fresh, real food) so there was literally no way to track my calories.

I was on my own and, while I didn’t see it at the time, forced to improve the relationship I had with food.  I purchased fresh produce, cheese and bread from the local market (loving the fact that I could communicate in Italian!), I put olive oil on almost everything and indulged in a little bit of gelato almost daily.

One evening, some of the girls in my group were invited to an authentic Italian meal at a local’s house. We sat outside on a family-style farm table, enjoying a home-cooked 6-course meal. Although the salad was fresh as can be and the garlicky seafood-adorned pasta was absolutely decadent, it was the first time in years I wasn’t thinking about the food.

I looked around and thought about how lucky I was to be in such great company in a beautiful new country. I soaked in the vibe of the romantic, candle-lit table setting. When I closed my eyes, I felt the sea breeze swaying through my hair and heard the laughter carry across the table.

While I didn’t realize it at the time, that is what celebrating food is all about.

Have you ever struggled with your relationship with food + your body? Do you create specific rules for yourself when it comes to food?