We All Have a Food Story, Here’s Mine
We All Have a Food Story, Here’s MineI grew up in a family full of food stories and secrets.
Candy was sometimes a reward. Cookies were there to hold my hand through loss. And a steamy bowl of my grandmother’s matzoh ball soup always made me feel cherished.
But at the same time, I was taught that women weren’t really supposed to like food. We were supposed to be careful, watch our weight, and never go back for seconds.
By the time I was 11, I’d already started dabbling in diet culture — losing and regaining the same pounds again and again in an endless cycle of “success” and failure.
As a teenager, I found myself drawn to the kitchen. I loved experimenting with recipes — but almost always with a diet twist. My first cookbook? The No Fat, No Salt, No Sugar Cookbook. (Doesn’t that sound dreadful?) The goal was always to be smaller, never to be nourished.
Then my health-food-loving aunt came to visit and completely changed my perspective. She introduced me to “foreign” foods like brown rice and tofu — and the idea that food could heal instead of harm. I was hooked.
That spark led me to study health-supportive cooking and clinical nutrition, where I learned how to help women make peace with food and with their bodies.
It also prepared me for one of my biggest life chapters — an MS diagnosis at age 27. That moment made me profoundly grateful for what I knew about food and how it could support my body from the inside out.
Then came motherhood — twins, and a third baby less than two years later. Exhaustion, extra weight, stress, and a whole lot of mindless eating and drinking became my new normal. Even with all my training, I lost my way for a while.
Sugar and wine were my quick fixes, but they always left me more tired, more frustrated, and further from myself. The old food stories I thought I’d outgrown came right back — and I had to learn, all over again, what nourishment really meant.
I Got Back on Track