Last night, I had the strangest food dream. My mother-in-law baked this gorgeous caramel cream pie with a luscious burnt caramel glaze. I’ve actually never tasted such a pie, but I love all things caramel and, in the dream, I asked her for slice. She told me I couldn’t have one because I was fat. In the dream, I slunk off to dark upstairs room, humiliated and depressed.
It’s especially weird because my mother-in-law would not in a million years say such a thing. In fact, at times when I have told her about my body anxieties, she’s said pitch perfect things like, “The only one who thinks your weight is an issue is you.”
In the light of day, though, I think the dream speaks to the feelings of shame I have when it comes to indulging in bad or ounce-forbidden foods. Over the weekend, I split a milkshake with a friend at PYT, and I definitely felt guilty about it. In some deep dark recess of my mind, I believe I’m not entitled to a half milkshake or a slice of not-professionally-obligatory pie because I’m not thin.
