The Unbearable Burden of Choice

By May

One of the first signs that my daughter was struggling was her sudden inability to make decisions about food. She began to spend far too long in shops studying labels. She would pick things up, put them down, pick them up again, put them in her basket, take them out. And in restaurants, she would study the menu like her life depended on it, finally make a decision only to change it again at the last minute. It was odd behaviour, but I had no idea of the battle that was raging inside her brain. Guest blogger May illuminates what this struggle is like from the inside.

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Just walking into a supermarket is a sensory nightmare.

The lurid halogen lights and music arrogantly blaring on the speakers make my head hurt (I am neurodivergent and find certain sensory experiences either over or underwhelming depending on the day). The rows upon rows of colourful packaging, different brands and promotions is overwhelming. There are infinite choices and yet I cannot choose anything to make for dinner.

Grocery shopping should be a simple task, one which you would imagine any 25-year-old would be adept at by now, but for me, with 17 years of anorexia hard-wired into my brain like a faulty circuit, a simple trip to the shops is as tiring as running a marathon and climbing Everest in the same day.

I get frustrated with myself and wander over to the pre-packaged meals. That eliminates the uncertainty and anticipation surrounding the cooking process and also means I can see the calories labelled. It feels more contained, packaged, neat. Less room for error.

Soup seems like a safe option because it’s homologous and plain. Eating it doesn’t involve cutting things up, dipping things or chewing. I automatically eliminate all of the soups containing meat (I’m vegan) and dairy (I’m cow’s milk intolerant), which leaves me with three remaining candidates: some fancy Moroccan tagine/lentil dahl concoction, a minestrone and a plain tomato and basil.

Lentils and beans are not good for my gastroparesis and I’ve been told to avoid them as they make my stomach hurt for days on end (everyone is different, so please don’t take this as medical advice), but my therapist said I should try to increase my protein intake (as a vegan this is hard) and to make my meals more substantial.

The minestrone also has more protein in it, but my autism decided a while back that minestrone was not okay since every spoonful is not texturally the same — it may have scratchy kale and mushy pasta in one spoonful and just the watery soup liquid in another. Moreover, if I have pasta in my soup, anorexia won’t let me have bread with it as she sees it as ‘too many carbohydrates’ (this is categorically untrue according to a dietician a few years ago, but it’s a hardwired rule I can’t seem to break).

That leaves the tomato and basil. It’s too low in calories for my meal plan, but I have had it before from other supermarkets and it rarely lets me down. However, I’ve not tried this brand before. What if it is too acidic or not salty enough or too watery or too thick?

What if I don’t like it? Then it’s a waste of calories altogether.

My mum asks me “Which one do you fancy?” as if my personal choice plays any role in this at all.

What if the healthy May picks the highest calorie one? My anorexia will scream at me: “Of course you would, you greedy pig!”

Having stood there for a good 15 minutes at this point, my mum gets impatient and walks away, suggesting, I “just make a decision. It doesn’t matter”.

Of course it matters. If I make the wrong choice, I’ve ruined the day.

My mum knows now not to make the choice for me, as she did back during my CAMHS days because my anorexia’s frustration over relinquishing control will be redirected at her — and I will lash out if she makes the ‘wrong’ decision.

However, part of me desperately longs for the control over food to be taken away, like it was in the inpatient unit or when I was younger. That was the only thing (besides re-nourishment) which seemed to silence this internal noise. When someone else is making the decision, your anorexia doesn’t bully you as much.

How pathetic of me that I, a grown adult, who was, up until now, living independently and studying to become a doctor, wants my mum to take control over something as basic as my nutrition again? Maybe I should just give up entirely and head over to the baby food aisle, ready to be spoon-fed!

I somehow find my resolve, pick up the metal basket, which feels ten times heavier than it should do considering it’s empty, and begin to feel the weight of the world pulling on my shoulders.

Maybe I shouldn’t have soup after all? It’s too much volume, and feeling full is a massive trigger of mine. In fact, maybe I shouldn’t have dinner after all? No, if I don’t have dinner today, I won’t be able to have it tomorrow, or the next day… or the next.

I wince and take the Tomato and Basil as it’s on offer for only £1.50. If I don’t like it, at least I’ve wasted the least amount of money. Surely that’s how most students my age make food-based decisions? This is normal. This is healthy, right?

I’ll deal with the other anxiety when that comes, inevitably, in waves after I eat. I will have to cross that (mammoth) bridge later, as I will have to do, at least three times a day, for the rest of my life — at least that’s how it looks from here.

For now, at least, I can escape the chaos of the store and retreat to the safety of my home.