“Slowly, Id become vanilla, my least favorite flavor.”
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I want to feel, taste, and live the whole of this life, in all its nuances.
I also learned from a very young age that desiring such a life was wrong.
It was excessive and inappropriate, shameful and gluttonous, self-involved and not normal.
And oh, in so many ways did I long to be normal, too.
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One time, I even went on a diet of phentermine pills and protein shakes.
None of it worked, but it did make me feel isolated and broken.
So I stayed away from people, afraid that my excesses would push them away anyway.
Always hearing the refrain Youre too much!
in practice or its echoes.
They are capable of bringing us joy, evoking a memory, or satiating a desire.
Our metaphorical taste buds can do the same.
I found comfort in experiencing the wonders of food and the world through the stories of others.
And it kept the leering eyes of odious men mostly at bay as my body grew slowly bigger.
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When Im depressed, food tastes different: blander and less alive, less satisfying.
Do you know how many people lost their sense of taste over the pandemic?
Probably hundreds of thousands.
When Im depressed, food tastes different: blander and less alive, less satisfying.
My cooking goes from grandiosity to microwavables.
Its hard to feel like I deserve to feel joy.
By the fall of 2020, I was under 200 pounds for the first time since 6th grade.
I was hungry, but not for food.
It excited me, made me feel hopeful and alive.
It also scared me.
I didnt want to lose what, at first, felt so good and tasted so sweet.
I knew what this meant, but I was starving, so I accepted the crumbs of his affection.
Slowly, Id become vanilla, my least favorite flavor.
Flirtatious attention at a distance.
I texted too often, overthought every word to the point of negating my own personality.
I often worried about my body to the point of inactivity and a lack of pleasure during sex.
One that put his tastes and desires for oursituationshipabove my own.
I was a woman driven by shame.
Slowly, Id becomevanilla, my least favorite flavor.
It was in the not-tasting that my imagination grew wilder.
A projected sense of what might make me palatable?
More likely than not influenced by the words and urgencies of my mom in childhood?
And so the snake continues to eat its tail.
Cooking is all about finding balance.
But its different for everyone.
For years, a lot of my cooking and the things I gravitated towards were in extremes.
I have a sweet tooth.
I cravespiceso hot it burns.
I love junk food.
I am abipolar-IIwoman, so its not surprising that I go overboard in every direction.
It takes time to learn how to handle these thingsand I mean that in both instances.
Cooking and impulse control both involve lots of failure and practice.
In February, Iset a boundaryand told the man from Hinge that he and I could no longer communicate.
He was like a challenge to win, to prove I deserved self-acceptance.
A less shame-based relationship with my body.
In time, I will find the perfect recipe.
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