When Old Triggers and Food Rules Show Up in Unexpected Places

By Jennifer Kreatsoulas, PhD, C-IAYT, Founder

The glass doors of my daughters’ day care opened into a magical world filled with paintings of farm animals, drawings of dinosaurs, posters of the solar system, and rhymes about the alphabet. The three of us entered the school. Crepe paper streamers transformed the ceiling into a bright rainbow. The girls let go of my hands and ran down the hall to their classrooms. I smiled, watching their backpacks, which were too big for their bodies, bounce behind them to the rhythm of their steps.

“Come on, Mommy,” my four-year-old (now teenager!) said, waving me to walk faster. She was waiting for me in the doorway of her classroom. My two-year-old (now pre-teen!) was standing next to her. Both were grinning and saying hi to their friends. I took my time, admiring the artwork on the walls as other parents, mostly men in ties and women in heels, hurried down the hall and out of the school. I should be rushing too. I looked at my watch.

I did not feel like rushing. This time in the morning at school with the girls was one of my favorites in the day because not only would I get a glimpse of them in their social world, but I was also a fully present mother. Morning drop-off eliminated the responsibilities of home and work. School represented fun, a world without phones, meal plans, and errands.

I hugged and kissed my oldest daughter goodbye at her classroom and took my youngest to hers. I opened the door to a familiar scene: groups of children playing at various stations—dress up, kitchen, library, quiet corner. There was the little boy who needed a diaper change like clockwork this time of the morning and a little girl asking the teacher’s helper for her sippy cup. The Frozen soundtrack played in the background.

But there was something that I did not see coming. From somewhere in the room, I heard a grown-up trying to calm down a child. They were saying, “We do not cry over waffles.”

Wait, what? Waffles? Crying?

The unexpected scene unfolded at a little red table with chairs. The teacher, wearing a blue shirt with a collar and the school logo, sat next to a boy with tears and mucus dripping down his face. She was gently trying to coax him to eat the waffles in front of him. I stood, blindsided, at the front of the room, holding my daughter’s hand. “We don’t cry over waffles.” These five words triggered a litany of “scary foods” I didn’t allow myself to eat in the past.

I felt my heart race and my breath shorten. In my mind I was hearing a narrative about food in a place it didn’t belong. The girls’ school was the carefree world of imagination and color and play, where I got to be just Mommy, not Mommy and the woman in eating disorder recovery. Plus, I was not even afraid of waffles anymore. I had eaten them just the other weekend. Old stories, old habits, old rules were running through my mind at a rapid pace—still fresh enough to fire in my brain when the right stimuli came together.

My daughter pulled my hand, leading me to her cubby. I glanced at the teacher empathetically as she sat with the child, talking to him in a nurturing tone about why he needed his breakfast for energy to learn and play, but it was the little boy sobbing over cold waffles who I really felt for. I gave him a little smile, but he was crying too hard to see me. I was tempted to ask him why he didn’t want the waffles, to find out what he wanted instead, and to be a voice of understanding. But the teacher was there with him, a caring adult giving him her compassionate attention. Who would do that for me? I was still practicing how to offer that kindness to myself.

I hugged my daughter, told her I loved her, and hurried out of school like all the other parents. I drove away from the school feeling troubled by how effortlessly that old script returned to my awareness. I hadn’t realized that I was going to be myself—all of me—wherever I went, and that would mean bringing old scripts and triggers along, even when I was surrounded by rainbows and teddy bears, and even in recovery.

The incident I least expected at the kids’ school helped me see that I, a woman in recovery, was still learning to accept myself—all the parts of myself in no matter what setting I was. Initially, I felt ashamed, believing I had taken a step backward in my recovery simply by having those old “food rule” thoughts. But as the day went on and I had space from the “waffle incident,” I was able to refocus the shameful mindset to that of an observer: noticing those old familiar thoughts were there and then watching them move on and drift out of my awareness.

Recovery required a new, fluid mindset. Healing wasn’t going to be linear. If I don’t judge the ocean for its ebb and flow, then why do I need to beat myself up for the ebb and flow of old tapes and triggers that show up? We can notice the old tapes and rules show up and then give them space to flow away while releasing any shame that came along for the ride. This is true for any phase of the recovery journey, including when you think certain things are behind you. It’s ok – no ground has been lost. I promise.

If you are looking for some new ways to deal with triggers and/or food rules, I invite you to check out a few opportunities that may feel comforting and helpful.

• Consider incorporating Yoga Therapy into your recovery journey, where we can work together to create yoga-inspired practices that support your efforts to cope with triggers and food rules in new ways.

• Join me on Wednesdays from 2pm to 2:30 pm EST for the free Connection Call on Zoom for more support and conversation with others who truly get it.

• Head over to the Yoga for Eating Disorders Community Facebook Group for more support and conversation with others who truly get it.

Remember, you aren’t “less recovered” because an old trigger showed up in an unexpected place. No ground has been lost in your recovery. Call on what you know helps you in these moments and move through it, with support, as needed. 💗