Straightening the Cake

I wrote this essay several years ago, and just ran across it again...

S'mores Cake

I remember as a kid, standing in front of the refrigerator, scanning for something I wanted to eat and not finding it amidst the low-fat cottage cheese in the pink container, the non-fat milk in the blue container, and the steamed, skinless chicken breast wrapped in plastic. My mother would yell at me to shut the door and stop wasting energy. She meant the energy the fridge used. Looking back I realize I was wasting my energy trying to find something I actually wanted to eat. Outside in the garage we had an extra freezer that housed Sara Lee cheese cakes and pound cakes - for my mother's dinner parties. I liked to open that freezer door and stand there too, wasting energy.

My mother hid "goodies" for herself. On top of the fridge in a big wooden bowl, under a towel lay a bag of malted milk balls. Her stash. My two older sisters taught me to climb onto the counter and find the bag. We would each have a couple. Not too many or Mother would notice.

When my mother threw those elaborate dinner parties, she created dishes out of Gourmet magazine. Gourmet magazines filled the rack in the bathroom. I could read about buttery sauces and cheese filled pasta while sitting on the toilet. But in the kitchen, there was nothing good to eat.

At my mother's parties, I learned to sit at the table and pretend to be satisfied with a smidge of this and a sliver of that. I ate the salad with the real dressing, full of fat, and pretended I didn't want more. I ate the pasta filled with ricotta and spinach and parmesan and pretended I didn't want more. I ate the dessert - one of those frozen cheesecakes, now defrosted and decorated with cherry pie filling. I pretended I didn't want to eat the whole thing.

When the parties were over, and it was my turn to help clear the table and clean the kitchen, I would sneak more food. I carried the warm brie and crackers from the living room back to the kitchen, sneaking a bite as I set it on the counter. I ate the remnants of pasta off the serving plate before washing and drying it. And when there was cake left over, I sliced off a tiny wedge, so no one would notice.

My sisters would do the same. We were in cahoots, conspiring with each other as we ate forbidden food, literally behind my mother's back. Sometimes my mother would even be "in" on the process. If my mother turned around at just the right moment, she might catch one of us enjoying a transparently thin slice of cake. My sister Sue, in training to become a master manipulator, would say innocently, "I'm just straightening it out. It was crooked."

We would all laugh, nervous laughter, the laughter of recognition. We ALL wanted more cake, even mom. Sometimes, we would put the cake in the middle of the kitchen table. Mom and her three daughters would sit around the table talking, making each other laugh, and straightening the cake.

Though my mother restricted our food (or tried) and dragged us to Weight Watchers, and complained bitterly when we got fat, and despaired over her own (usually minimal) arm flab, I can't blame her for the shame I felt about my body. It was her shame too. In the process of trying to protect us and ensure our happiness, living in a culture that hates fat, she did her best to keep us thin. She fed us her anxiety on a bed of undressed lettuce, topped with a weighed and measured portion of very dry chicken.

Befriending Your Inner Critic

So much has been written about the inner critic - that voice in your head that says you aren't good enough. Cognitive therapists use the term, "shame busting," to describe how they approach the inner critic. And many of the other psychological theories advocate some variation on this same theme - silence the inner critic, tame the gremlin, etc.

But most of my clients, like me, have inner critics that do not want to be killed off. Many therapists would call this "resistance," or some kind of self-sabotaging impulse. I disagree.

As an adult attachment therapist (I look at how early attachment in our families shapes our self-image and world-view), I learned that my inner critic developed to keep me in alignment with the values and needs of my family, peers, and teachers at a time when I was too little to survive in the world alone. Being so young, I could not know that many of the values and needs I was trying to conform to were unhealthy. They arose out of the insecurities of those around me, and they created insecurity inside of me.

I have written here about my dad and his abuse history, but my mom's insecurities were far more damaging. She is a classical narcissist, whose primary objective is to procure admiration from others. When I reflected well upon her, I was treated kindly, even celebrated. If I needed her (especially if I needed something she was not good at providing), I was ignored or rejected. I was constantly compared unfavorably to my sisters, cousins, even strangers. I spent a lot of my childhood depressed, but didn't know it. Depression was my normal. I turned to food for soothing, even though the price was more disapproval and rejection from mom, who needed thin daughters that people would admire.

As I began to understand this dynamic through my adult eyes, so did my inner critic. As soon as I stopped trying to kill her off (my inner critic, not my mother), she became my ally and took on a new job. Instead of keeping me in line with people who are not healthy for me, her job is to let me know when things don't feel right. Instead of yelling at me to conform or be "good enough," her job is to remind me that my life is for me, not others. I am no longer tiny and vulnerable. I can say "no" or walk away from anything that is depleting, diminishing, harmful - or even vaguely not-quite-right.

When I was little, I had no choice about who surrounded me. Today, I actively choose friends, clients, colleagues, and extended family who are healthy, safe, and loving. My inner critic is AWESOME at detecting narcissists, psychopaths, and other icky folk and sounding the alarm so I steer clear of them. I LOVE her in this role.

She also keeps me company now when I am alone. She knows this was the lynchpin for me - the thing that kept me stuck in one-sided relationships far too long. Now, instead of buying into the notion that my aloneness was my own fault, she reminds me that there are lots of people in the world who are compassionate and caring, who love and accept me as I am, warts and all. She also reminds me that she is with me now in the best of ways. I will always have her loving, supportive presence within. And that inner safety and sweetness is more than good enough.