Chapter 14 - Food Therapy
Benson did not need an eating-disorder diagnosis.
He needed predictable food.
Dr. Morris worked with him.
Rules at my house:
Breakfast.
Lunch.
Snack.
Dinner.
Optional bedtime snack if genuinely hungry.
Not endless candy.
Not unlimited alternatives.
If he disliked dinner, there was always one boring safe option:
Yogurt.
Toast.
Banana.
No debate.
No moral language.
Not “good eater.”
Not “bad eater.”
Then consequences.
If he threw toy:
Toy goes away briefly.
If he hits:
Repair/apology.
If he refuses cleanup:
Screen delayed.
No hunger.
Within two months he stopped asking:
“Red?”
Mostly.
Then one night he screamed because I turned off television.
I held boundary.
“No more TV.”
He cried.
“You’re mean!”
“Okay.”
“I hate dinner!”
“Dinner is still there.”
He looked at me suspiciously.
Then ate two bites.
Left.
Came back ten minutes later.
Plate still there.
That mattered.
He learned:
Emotions do not erase access to food.
Then I learned another lesson:
Not every time he cried meant trauma.
Sometimes he was five.
He wanted TV.
He could cry.
I did not need to soothe immediately.
Agatha had accused me of over-accommodation.
Maybe she was sometimes right about my tendency.
May you like
But correctness about one parenting habit did not validate hunger.
Nuance.
