i'm done shaming myself for ordering food delivery

or at least i'm trying to be

Photo by Kelly Sikkema

let me start by saying this post is absolutely not a moral or social commentary on food delivery — just one gal’s emotional experience in relation to illness. order away my friends!! or don’t!! whatever floats your boat. no judgment.

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Want to understand the idiosyncrasies of someone’s inner world? Ask them about their shame.

I have unrelenting shame for regularly ordering food delivery (look here for a brief primer on shame).

I can acknowledge the absurdity that something as innocuous as using Uber Eats 2x per week (not even that much! sometimes once!) causes enough shame that I’m writing about it for you today. But at the end of the day, you can’t logic your way out of shame. Shame dissipates when it has room to inhale and confidence to exhale; it dissolves when your nervous system feels safe to accept the parts of yourself that fuel it. With shame, it’s often not the subject itself that perpetuates the shame, it’s the stories you tell yourself about the subject that keep it active and alive. For me, ordering food delivery has become glaring proof of my perceived unworthiness due to disability, stoking the fire of my internalized ableism.

[for you: think about something innocuous you feel shame about and keep it in mind for reflection prompts below]

some relevant background

I was inspired to write this after two friends came over last weekend. They hadn’t eaten dinner, and, true to form, I had nothing to feed them. It became clear they almost never ordered food delivery, while I was practically an expert at scrolling through restaurants, weighing delivery prices and times, and placing an order to fit the right energy for the night. During that interaction, a familiar uncomfortable buzzing crept in, causing my thoughts to spiral and convincing me I was categorically wrong for ordering food delivery regularly.

You see, an ungodly amount of my mental energy is taken up by nutrition, eating, and surviving a slew of digestive nightmares — nausea, low appetite, diarrhea, malnutrition… the list goes on. Struggling with eating has been a daily part of my existence for seven years.

[is there important background feeding into your shame?]

what I want, but can’t seem to have

I want to walk to the refrigerator to eat due to a pang of hunger, not an alarm on my phone that says, “food is friend.” I want to open a jar and chop a vegetable without my joints burning and my fatigue fatiguing. I want to chew and swallow food without coughing when it gets stuck in my esophagus. Following a meal, I want to feel satiety (picture me rubbing my tummy with a smile on my face) instead of a dire need to lie down because I’m shaking uncontrollably. I want the nutrients I eat to actually get absorbed by my body. I want the weight gain progress I build up over months to not be upended in one week of a bad flare.

Simply put: I want to eat like a normal person.

[what do you want that you can’t seem to have?]

i’m releasing my food delivery shame!! here and now!!

The most effective way I have found to release shame — and as a psychologist there’s scientific backing for this — is to talk about it openly and shamelessly (wink, wink). So here we go: a list of the stories my brain has created about people who don’t use food delivery, and, by extension, about people who do.

1. People who don’t order food delivery are thriving. They have normal energy levels. Normal hand dexterity. Normal eating habits. They don’t have food sensitivities or daily nausea. They are interesting and interested. They like to research new recipes and source local ingredients. They have magnetic auras that reel people in. They are not tired and in pain like me.

2. People who don’t order food delivery are money savers. They have investment portfolios. Delivery fees creep them out. They save their money to experience the world: to see live music, eat at a hip new restaurant, travel. They don’t throw money away for mere convenience. They are more disciplined and intentional than I am. And they also definitely make way more money than I do (and still, they don’t order delivery!).

3. People who don’t order food delivery are edgy and cool. They probably pick up takeout on the way to a trendy pop-up shop or art gallery. They’re never home — well only to sleep — so there’s no time for them to wait the hour it can take to get food delivered. They don’t waste time waiting around. They’re always on the go! They are living a more fulfilling life than I am.

4. People who don’t order food delivery are in touch with their bodies. They want to know exactly what they’re putting into their precious vessels and have high standards for only the best and freshest ingredients. They’re into sustainable food systems and reducing their carbon footprint. They only buy organic. They’re adventurous and go on biking trips in the mountains because they are physically FIT. They are not dissociated the majority of the time or consistently malnourished. They do not consider five minutes of physical therapy exercise.

[what are the stories you tell yourself related to your shame? who are the people who are not like you?]

let’s snap back to reality

Let me debunk these mythical people created by my shame for you (but really, for me) by grounding them in my reality.

1. My body has limitations that other people do not have and I am allowed to make accommodations not only because of my disability, but simply to make my life easier.

2. I absolutely do not need to be good at or interested in everything despite what my lingering perfectionism might say. Maybe one day I’ll get excited about cooking but it’s not joyful for me right now, and that’s ok. Nothing is wrong with me because I don’t like to cook.

3. The fact of the matter is, I need to eat to survive. So removing as many barriers to eating as possible given my history is important. My energy is finite and I deserve to save it for activities that nourish me — well, spiritually and creatively at least.

[what are 3 truths that debunk your shame?]

i deserve ease

I may not be one of the aforementioned mythical people, but I am myself. I deserve nutrition in the way that works for me. I deserve to accept my body as it is. I deserve ease. Shame is not ease. Shame is struggle. Bye, for now.

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Want to find me other places?

support my work by buying me a tea; on instagram; talia’s lists of helpful things

Some previous posts you may enjoy:

chronic illness will break your heart; the agony I was bearing by not speaking openly about chronic illness; i cried when the dentist said my teeth looked great; on “worthy” time while sick