Who Died and Made My Stomach the Boss?

Like Rin and M, I cannot deny my tendency to hibernate when unwell. I also can’t add much to their thoughtful and funny observations, so I’m going to talk about another tendency that we humans have when we’re not feeling up to snuff . . . and it has to do with food.

So, which are you? When you are physically, mentally, or spiritually unwell, do you hoof it for the pantry? Or does bad karma put you off your food and make you waste away into a swooning, pale, slender poor thing, described in 18th century whispers as suffering from “nerves” or “hysteria?” I cannot escape any kind of personal scrape without being reminded that my stomach is actually the ruler of this house. Distress reminds me that food is all, and all is food.

I have both tendencies, depending on the nature of the problem. Colds, flus, fevers, sore back, stubbed toe, chicken pox, my little finger hurts – if it’s a bodily illness that does not involve nausea, then a meal every hour and a half or so is definitely in order. PB & J, toasted. Hot chicken broth and grilled cheese. Tea and shortbread cookies. Sliced apples and cheese. Things steamy and cheesy seem to be my preference. Nourish the sick and sniffly me.

Things existential, especially affairs of the heart gone awry, leave me without an appetite. I have been known to drop twenty pounds following the demise of a relationship, and boy is that awesome when you run into the guy and his new girlfriend later. Fights with my loved ones leave me listless, all food tastes bad, and I’m put off my meals til things are made right again. On occasion I have asked Darlin’ to fight with me, please, because my pants are fitting a little tight this week and I need an appetite suppressant.

What’s your trigger? What makes you wolf down the chocolate, and what makes you push away the plate? Spill it.

Peace and tummy growling love to all of our readers (and their un/healthy relationships with food) - G