I was working at my kids’ school carnival. My daughter, who is in Year 2, was hanging out with another mum and me. My daughter said she was hungry, so I asked the other mum if she could hold down the fort while I took my daughter to the pizza stand. I bought her one slice and a bottle of water.
As we walked back, I was already thinking about how much I wanted to eat the crust of her pizza. The melted gooey cheese, tang of tomato sauce and doughy crust is one of my faves. I asked my daughter to please save it for me. She had no idea how urgent my request was.
You see, at the time, I was about five months into recovering from compulsive overeating, an eating disorder.
“Compulsions go back to a time in our life when we feel we weren’t satisfied by how our parents soothed or comforted us in times that were difficult or stressful,” notes Mark Magerman, PhD, LCSW, BCD, Gestalt Psychotherapist. “Consequently, when those needs aren’t met, we seek out ways of soothing ourselves, and food can be one of those things.”
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While I hadn’t binged in awhile and considered myself “abstinent,” I still had an obsession with food and compulsive tendencies I was trying to work through. That day, my daughter’s slice of pizza had activated my obsessive thoughts about food.
A large slice of pizza on a flimsy paper plate can be challenging for a seven-year-old to balance on her lap, and it didn’t take long for the pizza to slip off the plate down to the ground. Even though it landed crust-down, and I’m a five-second-rule mum, this pizza was trash.
I took my daughter over to get another slice and explained to her that she really needed to hold onto the plate so the pizza didn’t slide off again. I was still thinking about the crust and reminded her, somewhat frantically, that Mummy wanted to have it. The next thing I knew, I saw my daughter walking about 15 steps to the large bin in the middle of the food area to throw out her plate. I actually scolded her for not saving the crust for me as I had asked.
Without even thinking, I went over to the bin. Fortunately, the rubbish was piled pretty high. My daughter’s paper plate with her napkin placed neatly over the remaining bites of pizza and crust was sitting right there on top.
I grabbed it.
I started eating the bits as I walked back to my stand. The crust was burnt, and it didn’t taste good. I like a doughier crust, but that didn’t matter. My mind had been made up to eat that crust, and in my disordered brain, there was no turning back.
Suddenly I realised with horror what I had done. In front of a bunch of parents, teachers, and children I knew, I took and ate food out of a public bin. Who saw me do that? How could I explain what I had done? Did my daughter see me? What was wrong with me?
I was mortified.
I immediately sought out my husband who was walking our five-year-old son around the carnival. In tears, I whispered to him what I had done. He comforted me, but I was still so ashamed. Then I sought out a friend who had a similar eating disorder. Ever the practical person, she told me that it was done. I couldn’t change it; I needed to move on. I knew she was right, but it wasn’t until the next day that I could truly put it behind me.