Growing up in the heart of America, where I spent my childhood in a small town, food was always at the center of every significant event. A new arrival in the family? Expect a feast of cakes and casseroles. A loss? The same, with an assortment of meat-and-cheese platters. Graduations, birthdays, holidays, or even just weekends were often celebrated with enormous spreads of food, accompanied by laughter and camaraderie.
For my grandmother, cooking was her way of expressing love. Instead of warm embraces, she would ask, “Are you hungry?” And even if you weren’t, it was wise to accept her offerings, whether it was her famous cookies or a home-cooked meal—rejecting her food felt like turning down love itself. Her culinary delights were truly irresistible. While some grandmothers show affection through cuddles, mine did so by serving up hearty portions of goulash or lasagna, and those moments were nothing short of fantastic.
This upbringing led me to associate food with comfort, joy, and security. While I believe there’s merit in this connection—after all, many cherished memories are indeed created around the dinner table—it also comes with a hefty price tag. When food becomes a source of happiness, it can lead to overindulgence, especially during challenging times.
I find myself turning to snacks when I’m stressed, sad, bored, or even excited—this emotional eating has consistently impacted my weight. If someone asked me if I’d want to pass this legacy to my children, my answer would be a firm no. Yet, the irony is I’m doing just that.
My partner shares a similar upbringing, so we effortlessly celebrate our children’s achievements with pizza or plan “family fun nights” around special treats. When organizing birthday parties, our first question is usually about cake and ice cream, and no movie outing is complete without a bucket of greasy popcorn. Our intentions are pure, much like those of our parents and grandparents, and while there’s certainly a place for indulgence, our family traditions are unintentionally nurturing the same food-centric mindset we both wish to overcome. We’re inadvertently teaching our kids to lean on food the way we do.
Despite the love and nourishment that food represents, it has cast a shadow over my health and self-esteem as an adult, and I want more for my children.
Fortunately, I still have time to encourage them to celebrate victories or process losses through activities like family hikes, bike rides, or by focusing on games rather than snacks. Breaking this cycle will require significant effort on my part, as my instinct remains to turn to food during emotional moments. However, I am determined to pave a healthier path for my children, who will face enough challenges as adults without the added burden of a food-centered lifestyle. They must learn that true happiness and fulfillment don’t come from potato chips.
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Summary
This article discusses the impact of a food-centered upbringing on emotional well-being and health. The author reflects on how traditional celebrations often revolve around food and acknowledges the need to shift these patterns for the benefit of future generations. By emphasizing active celebrations and experiences over indulgent snacks, parents can foster healthier relationships with food for their children.