I Tried to Eat Away My Childhood Pain

Hi, I’m Viktoria and I’m a recovering binge eater.

This sentence alone represents my life’s biggest struggle, biggest achievement, and biggest bane. I’m a recovering binge eater who found her light at the end of the tunnel. The tunnel of self-hate, dreadful relationship with food, and mental self-abuse. The tunnel that I carefully built for over 20 years.

But that tunnel had also felt like a shelter that protected me from a miserable childhood.

Some people drown their sorrows in a bottle, some opt for drugs. I also opted for drugs, but a far more legal kind: food.

I was born in a post-soviet state where the whole country was still struggling with finding its independence. Due to troubled family bonds, I ended up growing up with my grandparents who, to my sadness, were extremely soviet-minded people. The kind of people that wished for the Soviet Union to return. The kind of people who were mad because our country was independent. The kind of people who enjoyed the Soviet Union.

Their mindset, which unfortunately bled into their parenting tactics, was one of the main contributors behind my developing toxic relationship with food.

Growing up, we didn’t have much. My grandparents didn’t have a steady job and we mainly lived off welfare and some odd jobs they took now and then.

I grew up on a steady diet of fatty meat, potatoes, and the cheapest macaroni you could ever find. We often ate a pack of 25-cent macaroni that was just plainly boiled. No sauce or anything.

My breakfast consisted of a slice of bread, covered with a slice of baloney. Well, it was more of a baloney-replica than actual baloney.

Luckily, my grandparents had a small garden and grew some vegetables themselves, so during summer, I could vamp up my vitamin intake.

During winter, I barely got to eat vegetables. Fruits were considered too expensive. Our household never bought bananas, spinach, broccoli. Frankly, our house never had even one banana in it.

Even when my grandparents established a better financial situation, they barely ever bought fruit. Instead, they bought packs and packs of sweets. My grandpa even hunted down discounts in the local store, so he could buy discounted cakes. We had a „best before“ cake almost every week.

But still, fruit and vegetables were considered expensive.

Their main mentality revolved around buying the cheapest stuff possible. For that reason, every pack of sweets they ever bought was the cheapest one in the store and, naturally, tasted like cardboard.

That consistent diet of fat and sugar was just one part of the formula that would later make up my food addiction trap. In addition to terrible food choices, my grandparents also kept me almost as a prisoner.

No, I didn’t have physical bars on my windows nor chains on my feet. But I did have mental ones.

I wasn’t allowed to have my own opinion.

I was banned from being me.

Whenever I even dared to say anything that didn’t coincide with their beliefs, I was instantly shut down. I was conditioned to only say and act according to their beliefs. I was conditioned to not have a personality. My own thoughts. My own life.

I wasn’t allowed to go out. The only activities I was allowed to partake in were related to school. I only found my freedom when I got to go to the library but even then, they constantly called to check how long I would take in the library. I always had to make sure my library trips wouldn’t take more than an hour.

I wasn’t allowed to go out and exercise. When I grew older, I learned to negotiate with them better and got a chance to go out and jog now and then. But even then, I had to be back at home at a very certain time frame because otherwise, I would have been punished.

Negotiating to have the freedom to be healthy and exercise was the toughest part. Even when I got to go out for a run, it always preceded with a round of mocking. My grandpa would make comments like „Aren’t you a little too big to run?“ or „Are you sure the Earth doesn’t shake too much when you jump around?“.

Those comments stung me like a sword. Because the very people who were supposed to care about me the most on this planet only stomped on my self-esteem.

I felt like a tiny ant in the middle of a battlefield. I felt alone.

After a while, I gave up.

I simply didn’t have the strength to keep negotiating every single day to get the chance to go out and jog for 30 minutes. I didn’t have the strength to listen to the mocking comments every time I dared to do situps, danced, or went for a run.

I was tired of the endless arguments and negotiations. I was tired of battling for that freedom. And I was afraid of getting hurt all the time.

So I gave up. And submit.

I never let go of my personality, but I took great care in hiding it every step of the way. I learned to keep my thoughts to myself and I tuned out of the conversations I had with them. I simply let it all slide past me.

But I wasn’t strong enough to keep fighting on all fronts. So I ended up going along with their food choices and gave up exercising.

The only thing that kept me from going insane was the dream of my future life. That as soon as I would finish school and move out, I would finally take control of my food choices and start exercising.

A few years before finishing high school, I started writing down delicious healthy recipes that I dreamed of making. I dreamed of going to the grocery store and buying healthy food. While other 16-year-olds were partying, I was dreaming of the life I would start living. The life of a fitness fan who would go out for a jog before morning classes. Who makes oatmeal, drinks smoothies, eats delicious salad bowls.

To this day, it saddens me that one of my biggest dreams was making oatmeal for breakfast. But that’s what you get when you’re a prisoner.

Once my independent life began, I discovered that the real battle was actually just beginning.

And I learned that those childhood battles had left wounds inside me.

And that nothing would be the way I dreamed.

Instead of going on a healthy route, I went the exact opposite road. I felt as if I was let loose. Finally freed from my cage. And there was so much in this world to explore! So many tastes. So many options!

There was cheese. Chocolate. Ice-cream. Ice-cream with peanut butter cups or caramel swirls. To imagine! All those options.

I had to try it all.

I felt like a starving kid in the candy store. Quite literally.

I bought everything I could. Most of my salary got spent at the grocery store, buying anything I hadn’t tried yet. I went to McDonald's and other local fast food places almost daily or at least whenever I had money. I easily devoured a whole Big Tasty meal together with a cupcake or huge chocolate afterward. Eating a few pounds of cookies wasn’t a problem.

I tried to make up for 19 years of missed experiences and a broken childhood but instead of acquiring actual experiences, I exchanged it all for food. When me and my boyfriend wanted to spend a nice time together and do something fun, we went to the grocery store, bought a load of sweets, chips, or fast food, and watched Netflix.

Nothing I ate ever filled that hole inside me. Nothing ever healed that wound.

My self-esteem only decreased. After a few years of binging on food, I realized it’s never going to fix that wound.

By the time I made that realization, I had broken my relationship with myself. I felt as if I had let myself down. How could I have let myself go down that fast food road when I dreamed of cooking healthy meals for myself and becoming this fabulous girl who wore tight leggings and went on a jog every morning...

Why did I keep hurting myself when I had promised to heal my soul after those dreadful 19 years in that Soviet mind-trap...

Why?

Why did I do that to myself?

I blamed myself. Oh, how I blamed myself.

And the circle began.

I started dieting, trying to „make up“ for that binge-fest. I started exercising – I jogged, even tried to follow Shaun T’s Insanity. I didn’t eat any treats. I completely banned any sweets for days and weeks.

After a week or two, I couldn’t keep myself in that prison and fell off track, binging again and even more heavily than before.

When Monday or the 1st of the month came, I started dieting again. Counting calories. Religiously marking down my food in MyFitnessPal.

A week or two went by and I gave up again.

I binged again. I dieted again. I binged. I dieted.

Again.

And again.

And again.

For years.

I thought I had been strong enough to avoid any of my grandparent’s mindset bleeding through to me or influencing me in any way. I was oblivious to the fact that I had built a new mental prison for myself. This time, I didn’t have my grandparents feeding me fat and sugar or mocking me for exercising.

Now, I did that to myself.

And the moment of that realization was the moment I started fixing the relationship with food and myself.

I started learning more about nutrition. But more importantly, I started giving myself some slack. I didn’t ban sweets anymore. Instead, I started listening to my body and appreciating myself a little bit more every day.

Gradually, our Netflix-nights became healthier, and binging stopped. The only guideline I used for shopping was very simple. I asked myself if that particular product was improving my well-being in some way. I started avoiding food that contained additives and instead, bought food that was as pure as it could get. When I wanted a burger, I made it myself. When I wanted chocolate, I opted for the one without emulsifiers.

I provided my body with the absolute best care possible. I still do, every single day.

And after a while, I noticed how I’m liking myself a little bit more with every passing day. I felt happy when buying groceries because every single item I bought gave something great to my body. Buying food became something of a spiritual experience. It felt amazing to empower my body and health by choosing the best possible food.

I celebrated the amazing fact that all those years ago at the beginning of the 90s, I was created out of thin air. And here I am. What a gift it is to be alive! To be me!

I didn’t want to waste that gift. So, I only gave my body the best. Only the absolute best products, whether it was food or cosmetics.

I didn’t force self-love on me. I didn’t follow any mantras nor did I give myself any positive reinforcements. I simply asked if whatever I’m buying is something that improves my well-being.

Self-love started blooming slowly, but steadily. I didn’t judge my body anymore. I didn’t forbid anything. I allowed myself to live fully. Food wasn’t my enemy anymore. It was my medicine, my empowerment.

I finally found freedom, 27 years after being born.

Those childhood wounds are still there. But I now know that I don’t actually require „fixing“. Those childhood wounds are always there and that’s okay. We are all conditioned into believing that the wounds in our soul need fixing and closing. They really don’t. Sometimes we just need to forgive ourselves and accept the way we are, wounds and all. Those scars and wounds and tears don’t make us any less worthy of love.

And they certainly don’t mean we’re broken.

Being alive is such a wonderful gift. Let’s not waste that gift by debating over tummy rolls, hip dips, size, shape, color. Or letting food control us. Or let anyone's opinion control us. Every human body is a wonderful piece of art. Every experience, good or bad, makes you YOU. We don’t have to delete the bad to be worthy.

We are all already worthy.

So be you. Be unapologetically you. And be kind to yourself.