A time when food was not a reward or a punishment, friend and enemy, but most often a secret. Maybe having a mother who struggled with her weight influenced this thinking. Maybe it’s more innate, ingrained, genetic. Could the potato famine lead to inherited trauma? Where did it start? M&M’s as potty training reinforcement, Dairy Queen dip cones after school. 6 butter Santas missing their heads, pewter bowls of Doritos before dinner to keep the children quiet. Celebrations and gatherings and funerals. Ample bottomed aunts and uncles who buckle their belts under their bellies. Instead of asking questions I don’t have answers to (or need answers too, really) perhaps I just need to reframe my thinking entirely. Choose acceptance and letting go. No more shame. Fuel. Joy. Celebration.