The Guilt Complex

So, my co- worker and I were talking this morning about how her husband and I seem to have the same problem.  We find something we like and gorge ourselves on it until we're either in a food coma and can't move or we are sick to our stomachs from the overindulgence.  Another similarity we share is that we can't seem to stand watching food go uneaten on a plate, so we end up not only cleaning our own plates but everybody else's too.

Of course, the psychology student in me can't help but analyze this.  Given the fact that her husband is quite a few years younger than me, I don't think it's a generational thing.  So I asked a few probing questions about what his home life was like at meal time when he was growing up.  See, I'm a firm believer that a good ninety percent, if not more, of our behavioral characteristics that we carry into adulthood stem from behaviors we learned as children.  As a result, we carry these behaviors into adulthood, and even when we know they're wrong or undesirable, we continue to do them.  They become habits, and sometimes, they're not good.

As it turns out, I was right.  The similarities in her husband's and my eating habits stem from two entirely different scenarios.  In her husband's case, if you didn't hurry up and get some food, you didn't eat.  If you didn't like what was for dinner that night, too bad.  Eat it, or starve.

My house was a bit different.  Sure, the "eat it or starve" mentality was the same.  However, I think sometimes my brother and I would rather have went without rather than eat what my mom cooked (especially the time she cooked an entire rainbow trout, head and all, and served it up like a gourmet dish).  But we didn't leave the table until our plates were clean.  As in, everything gone.  Whether we liked it or not.  I can still remember my brother sitting for what seemed like hours in front of a plate of cooked broccoli.  I can't be sure but I'm relatively certain it was the only time he outlasted my parents.

See, I grew up in the "there are children starving in Africa" generation.  Which means, I don't have a deep seated fear of running out of food.  On the contrary, I feel guilty as hell watching it go to waste.  I feel as if the least I can do for those poor starving kids in Africa is to not willingly waste what they have so little of, especially since, according to Mom, I can't box up my leftovers and send them over there (yes, I asked).

Do I know this is wrong?  Sure, on some level, I guess I do.  And while this knowledge did stop me from passing along food guilt to my son, it did not stop me from cleaning his plate for him.

I have Angel food cake in my kitchen as we speak.  They were on sale, so I bought two (another compulsion of mine is to stock up on "two- fers", whether it's something I need or not).  Right now it is killing me to think that one of those cakes is probably going to mold and go to waste if I don't get it eaten before that happens.  I'm feeling the pressure to scarf the cake even though I don't particularly want it or need it.

But maybe, just maybe, my compulsion for two- fers can work in my favor this time.  Maybe if I let the cake go to waste, I'll see that the world won't come to an end if the cake spoils.  The little African kids will not be crying out in effigy, nor will they be forming a posse to come and string me up by my thumbs for wasting a perfectly good cake.

Of course, outer fatty is chanting "EAT THE CAKE!  EAT THE CAKE!" as she pounds her fists on her flabby thighs in anger.  And one again, the inner skinny bitch is flipping her the bird And sticking her tongue out.