I started bringing food to work because all the children I worked with claimed to be hungry when they arrived in my office for their session. I started with a box of goldfish or graham crackers, but years later, my office pantry looked better than my home pantry. It had juice boxes, sparkling water, bottled water, candy, crackers, protein snacks, popcorn, and a tiny fridge that held my lunch and snacks, which were also fair game to my food-insecure kiddos. They often wanted my food. I never said, “No.” I learned early on the precious security that feeding children gave them, especially those with food trauma.
Esther’s Story
Esther was 14 years old the first time she was brought to me. She had been abandoned to a group home by her adoptive parents only a year after coming to America. She was one of the most wounded children I ever worked with, but she protected her wounds with defiance and rage. I was a little frightened of her. She was a good foot taller than me and shot daggers at me with her eyes. Her reported issues included threatening behaviors, stealing, and a refusal to follow anyone’s rules.
“I’m coming, but I ain’t talking,” she said at our first appointment. Lots of kids said this to me, but not many stuck with their initial declaration. Session after session passed. First, I tried to draw her out, but any question would elicit an angry tirade and a hurried exit from my office way before the session was supposed to end. I didn’t know how to reach her. I didn’t deserve her trust. No one did.
I decided I would have to do all the talking, so I did. I told her about my childhood, my siblings, what it was like to grow up in Mexico, and one day it happened. She engaged. She would listen to my tirades, sprawled out on the couch in my office, pretending to be asleep. It triggered all my insecurities as a professional. I can’t get this kid to talk. This group home is a great client, and they know this is not going well, and one of these days, she is going to hit me. But that day, she opened one eye and said, “Do you cook Mexican food?”
Healing Food Trauma with Enchiladas
It was the one and only invitation to engage she had given me, and I didn’t want to shut it down. “Yes, I actually have some that I packed for my lunch if you want me to warm it for you.”
“Ok, but I’m picky. So don’t expect me to like it,” she responded.
I hurriedly warmed my enchiladas, rice, and beans, and set them in front of her. She ate it all without saying another word. I started to make sure to cook a big, spicy Mexican dinner the night before our sessions. She said my rice and beans reminded her of home. We started eating lunch together every week. Little by little, her defensive exterior began to melt away. She told me about her biological family and how they struggled. She told me about the adoptive family that never really wanted her. She told me the pain of being abandoned over and over again.
Under the rage was a big-hearted little girl with a desire to protect those she loved the most (her younger bio siblings). Yet, here she was in a place where she loved no one and no longer felt a purpose in life.
She was a remarkable survivor who still had the best and deepest laugh, whose threats were empty of real aggression. She complained if I forgot to hug her at the end of the session, but also complained that I was too much of a hugger. She complained that my nails were too short and that I needed to upgrade my style. In this unsophisticated teenage way, she started to “see” me, too. I took it as a compliment. I had my own teenagers, and I took this teasing as pure affection and trust.
The Nuturing Power of Food
It’s been over ten years since I saw this kiddo in my office, and I still hear from her occasionally. When I asked her, “Why did you finally decide to give me a chance?”, she said, “Maybe it’s hard to understand, but I think it was the enchiladas. Like, once we started eating together, everything changed. Even when you didn’t eat, you gave me your lunch if I wanted it. Didn’t nobody else do nothing like that for me.”
Don’t underestimate the nurturing power of food. Food means I care for you. Food means your physical needs will be met here. Food is comfort. Food is one of the greatest attachment tools we have. Sometimes we complicate things too much with kids who have endured early trauma, when meeting basic needs really is where attachment begins.
©2025 Dr. Melody Aguayo. Used with Permission.
