Pictures in an Envelope

Many times I have wandered. Many times I have unfolded the pages. I am seeking. 

When I was a young teenager I believe I was trapped inside of a box. Inside this box were pictures of who I thought I should be. I was young and exploring. I cared about the environment, I cared about children. In many ways I was developing into a human being, the human being that I am today. I was laying the platform for a creative artist, and a loving compassionate person. I was traveling the world. 

At this time I traveled to Spain and Italy, London. Food was amazing, culture and art. The people I met were dynamic and unique. I drank coffee and chamomile tea, and I bought trinkets of incense, jewelry, and clothing. I would bring these gifts back to friends at my school. Life was good, life was normal. Yet somewhere I began to crumble, almost unbeknownst to me. I must have read about it in a magazine. I remember a few years back, sitting in my carpool, on my way to soccer practice, and noticing the thighs of my friend Greta, and wishing mine were as thin and tone. I was not over weight, I was fit and trim, an athlete and a dancer, yet I wanted to be thinner.

The next thing I know I am binging and purging, or not eating at all. When I had to clear my locker at the end of my sophomore year, it was full of moldy lunches that I stuffed in there at the beginning of the day and forgot about for months. My mother made these lunches for me every morning, and asked me profusely to return the plastic containers the left-overs were in. Somehow I still did not want to eat this left-over home cooked meal that was so wholesome and healthy, I wanted the crap that everyone else had. Had my lunch been a processed bread sandwich with yogurt and a cookie- I might have eaten the food. Such a conundrum, when I was in elementary school, I begged to have hot lunch- cherry cobbler and chicken nuggets. On rare occasions I would, or perhaps it was a cone at McDonalds, or French fries at the ski resort. 

I wouldn't be surprised if my Mother has an imbalanced relationship with food. She was an amazing cook, yet obsessed with health, diet, and appearances. We ate very little meat, never butter or sour cream, and my mother made me swallow orange flavored cod liver oil from a bottle in the fridge. I remember saying I would take my vitamins in the bathroom, and chucking them in the trash. This was the beginning of rejecting my surroundings; the lying to myself and the hiding. I was developing at a very early age the psychological addiction that affected me in my later years.

I don’t believe it was what we ate; I believe it was the attitude, strict rules and behavior that surrounded food. I’m sure there is research to be read on what causes an eating disorder, yet I have my reflections to base this story on currently. There should be “rules” and guidelines around food. Some of mine were: No singing at the table, hands in your lap, no elbows on the table, remember please and thank you, and forcing me to eat my vegetables. This all sounds very normal and like good parenting, really. Yet there was something in the air in my house; a silence that surrounded the shouting, a vacancy when no one was by my side in our 5 Bedroom, four story, very large house.

Somewhere along the way I lost sight of myself like some old pictures in an envelope. I came across those pictures later in life with much inner speculation, and getting in touch with my subconscious though painting, poetry, and teaching children. I have since been able to embrace health. Mental health was ignored in my house, even though eating broccoli and having good manners were priorities. Sometimes learning to love yourself, appreciating who we are, and making self-discoveries, is a much harder thing to teach our children, and we rarely have the time.

Make the time, if only to really look into the eyes and see your neighbor’s child, one you pass in the super market, or perhaps your own. We put so much effort, even in the current and quality early childhood institutions out there, breaking child rearing down to a science, worrying about standards that shouldn't even be there in preschool. We need to love our children unconditionally, so please make time for that, and make the time to love yourself, and the child that needs to be truly seen that lives inside. Don’t let these parts disappear like forgotten pictures.