When hunger is a trigger for trauma

I belong to a modern group of co-madres. No, not the good old fun, making tamales while gossiping and cracking jokes kind, but the nurturing, busy professional care provider Latina/Latinx who gather to honor our indigenous practice of co-mothering kind. Together we create a space where we can reconnect with our indigenous practices and discover pieces of ourselves that have been missing due to various types of traumas.

On our most recent gathering, a co-madre guided us through an exploration of our relationship to memories of food and its association to our bodies and our sense of wellness. As la co-madre pointed out the seven types of hunger we can experience, I had difficulty getting in touch with my food related memories. Every experience in our lives, gets fully stored in the bodies. And the well-hidden ones, can only come out to give us vital information when we are safe enough to handle it. 

“Close your eyes,” she guided us, “think about the food your ancestors shared with you... what does it look like? What color is it? How many colors do you see on the plate? Does it inspire you because it looks so good?” 

“Uh...” I couldn’t think of anything.

“Is it mole? Is it verdolagas, o albondigas?” She prompted but even these suggestions refused to settle in my mind. 

“Now, notice what it smells like... does the smell tickle your nose?” 

“Smell?!” I opened my eyes to get a glimpse of the Zoom grid... was I the only one who couldn’t invoke these images? All the co-madres had their eyes closed, seemingly at peace. Some even smiled. Ashamed, I shut my eyes again. 

If I had to go through the forest solely guided by my sense of smell, I would perish there. I don’t have an intimate relationship with my sense of smell.  In fact, if I had to carry all the food I can smell, I’d easily put it in a small basket: coffee, strawberry, banana, and peanut butter. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. But, as a therapist, I know that all I consciously remember is not all there is. 

“Does the smell awaken your hunger? Does it make your stomach growl?” she prompted us, and it was at this moment when I heard a howling. I took an unexpected detour from the guided meditation, and I found an important memory associated to food: hopeless hunger. It is a big, bad, hungry wolf.

In my meditative detour, I find myself next to my big, bad, hungry wolf, Don Lobo. It is after school. I am eight years old and I’m in Guadalajara. The trip home takes too long because Don Lobo stops and growls at the midday aromas attacking us from every kitchen. The tomato in the arroz rojo makes him salivate. The frijoles de la olla at the verge of burning make him mad, what a waste! The fried fish makes him dizzy. The chicken soup ultimately makes him faint. 

And me? I don’t want to go home, but it’s more tormentous to stand here in this whirlwind of aromas. I yank my lobo by the loin but in truth, I’m dragging my feet to bask in the aroma of food a little longer. The memory of the smells are so strong, ...and so delicious! I had forgotten this part, that food could smell so good. I could have stayed here a lifetime, and now I recognize that a part of me did. 

In the distant background, I heard the co-madre giving us more guidance, “do you have mouth hunger or is your stomach reminding you that you haven’t eaten?” 

My starving wolf suddenly whimpers. The body sensation of hunger elicits terror. Can I safely access the wisdom from hunger and its associations to food and wellness in a way that will not harmful my mental health? What is hidden in this experience if at one point it was so aversive that I tried to bury it into oblivion? But importantly, what’s at stake if I decide this memory is not worthy of exploring?

I am lucky to have a safe place among my professional care giver co-madres. This is a place where I can face the effects of childhood trauma not only in my psyche, but also explore how it is still affecting my daily life. Childhood trauma, whether it is what is known as Big T trauma or little t trauma, leaves a mark not only in our bodies, but in the most innocent decisions that we make throughout our lives. For instance, am I buying an extra loaf of bread because I need it, or because I’m afraid I might? Is my pantry a reflection of my personal food preferences, or is it a reflection of my fears? How does this trauma impact my current health and wellbeing goals? 

“Where are your memories of food taking you?” the co-madre prompted us again. 

I find myself in my childhood home, after my dad left us. It is dark and cold. We have no gas or electricity. And we have no food. I looked for my lobito and I find him in the patio right in front of me. It’s tied to the fig tree. My siblings and I stalked that poor tree even when it wasn’t in season. To my right, I see my lemon tree, I plucked it bald to make tea and appease my hunger. To my left and taking over our roof, there’s our neighbor, a tostada maker. Since dad left, he took over our roof to set up wire mesh tables to lay his half-baked tortillas to dry. He could do that now because there was no man in our house to challenge him.

I look up, I had stopped praying to God and instead I prayed to the wind.  “Padre Viento, toss our way the half-baked sunbathing tortillas and blow our hunger away.” If we had oil and gas, we’d fry them, but we’d have to be quick, otherwise we’d devour the premature tostadas before the Tostadero sent his seven sons to claim them. 

Sitting here in the safety of now, I look at my misunderstood lobito and I realize for the first time that I have issues with food. No, not the weight or body image related type, but the type that can go unnoticed and is the result of trauma. So much becomes clear now, for instance, it makes no sense to carry food in my purse when I leave the house, even when I’m going to the store, right?

And there’s more revelations, I go into pseudo panic mode if a shelf in my pantry or fridge has room to spare. It terrifies me to see empty food shelves, I get tunnel vision and worry about nothing else but filling it. A full pantry may not be a reason for therapy, but the irrational need to do so in order to feel at peace is most definitely a good reason because it is robbing me of the sense of wellbeing.   

I pet my lobito and I commit to learning to savor food, despite my poor sense of smell. I commit to rescuing all the pieces of myself that have been scattered because of trauma. No child should ever have to suppress their sense of smell to decrease the shame of hunger. 

For some, this insight might be more telling of their relationship to poverty than to food. If I had been older, with a developed sense of autonomy and self-efficacy, maybe. But for a young child experiencing chronic hunger, coupled with the hopelessness of depending on absent parents, my mother’s poverty affected me at the most basic level: my relationship to the sensual aspect of food, its pleasures, and surprises.  

This is what is known as complex trauma, it is the fusion of traumatic responses intertwined with the developing self. In other words, one does not know what is like not to have traumatic responses to life. This results in a self that was fused in the service of survival leaving us feeling and experiencing less than we deserve. 

When our co-madre brought us back from the guided meditation, we shared our food stories, shared our cravings for connection over meals, our discomfort about food talk, our fears of hunger. We held space for each other the way co-madres do. We even shared a good laugh over la idea of “sopa de pito.” 

I say it again, I am so lucky to have a safe place to find pieces of myself. I’m lucky to have found my starving lobito, my hunger. What knowledge is it holding for me? What is the superpower of hunger? 

“Now, think about how you will engage with your food as a result of this platica” the co-madre concludes.

I look at my lobito, he’s feral and scared. What would happen if I took his hunger? How can I recondition my body, so I don’t fear experiencing my own hunger? What if I explore the benefits of fasting? How could being at peace with hunger improve my life experience? 

I guess, I just found a worthy challenge for self-growth. 

How about you? Do you need help finding pieces of yourself? Would you like support in meeting your next self-growth challenge. Let me help you co-mother your new self.