My first relationship was with food. I loved to eat, cook, and go out to restaurants... anything having to do with food. It was fun and seemed normal enough - until I got older. When I'd go out with friends to Denny's they'd eat their sandwiches and only pick at their fries, leaving most of them untouched. I would marvel at how anyone could leave a plate of uneaten fries! I felt like an alien from another planet observing this strange species that didn’t desire to devour everything fat and starchy. 

 

Food was my lover, my best friend. It was far more interesting to me than anything or anyone else in my life. It didn’t reject me, it comforted me, it made me happy, and it was always there for me... unlike people. I felt safe with food. What I didn’t know at that adolescent age was that my relationship with food was replacing all other relationships in my life; with friends, boyfriends, family-even myself and God. In fact, food was my god. But why was this? Why had food become the most important relationship in my life?

The truth is that I was running from myself—I was afraid of what I’d find! I feared the darkness inside me, the crazy thoughts, the not-so-nice motives that I covered up with kind words and deeds. I was afraid to face any pain that was a part of me. The pain of having lived fearfully, of mistakes I’d made. The pain of ex-lovers, of friendships gone sour, of the deaths of loved ones. Of the sexual abuse I had pushed so far away from my consciousness I almost forgot it happened. But it’s impossible to fully forget. All that pain pressed on me, demanding attention, resolution, healing. And it continued to press until I faced it.

That is when the relationship with me began; when I decided that I was important enough to care for, to pay attention to, to set time aside specifically for honoring and healing that pain. If I didn’t stop and listen, I would have to run forever, and unfortunately, my form of running wasn’t like a jog in the park. It was all-out self denial: I was over scheduled, overworked, and overeating…constantly.

I finally made the decision that building a relationship with myself couldn’t be any harder than avoiding it—and that proved to be true. Today, after going through a rigorous process of self-acquaintance, self-care, and self-love, I have a relationship with me.

What does a relationship with me look like? Well, I first must try and keep my heart and mind as clear as possible, with meditation and prayer. I also need to guard against the build-up of negative thoughts and feelings.

When I am hurt and angry I must address it responsibly. When I am hurtful to someone (hopefully inadvertently) I must apologize. Carrying around resentment or guilt is the fastest way to regress into self-punishment or develop physical diseases. When I am tired, I rest. When someone asks something of me that I can’t do without hurting myself, I decline. When I have dreams and desires that seem like impossibilities, I pay attention and encourage their manifestation. I also seek to associate with only those people who support my growth. And when I’m trapped in self-obsession, I reach out to someone who may be in need of a friend.

I must treat myself as if I was a child I had birthed. I need to ask myself, would I treat my precious child the way I’m treating myself? Would I criticize her mercilessly, insisting she wasn’t good enough? Would I forget to feed her, or feed her with unhealthy foods? Would I deny her proper rest?

Instead of trying to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, refusing any help, I call on friends and God for assistance. God, to me, is simply that still, small voice inside me that has always tried to guide and protect me. For too long I snuffed that voice out with food so I couldn’t hear it. Today, by nurturing and continuing to build that relationship with myself and God, I have a healthy relationship with food and people. It’s a recipe for life that truly satisfies.